To Die but Once (Maisie Dobbs #14)(59)

“Far as I know.”

“All right, Freddie—I’ve kept you from your work for long enough. You’d better get back. Thank you for your time.”

The young man drew on the cigarette a couple of times, blowing the smoke to one side. “Got to do our best by Joe, haven’t we?” He turned to leave.

Maisie watched as he took two steps, and then called to him. “Freddie—just one more thing. Sorry, but I have to ask this—you all seem to have a good supply of smokes. Where do you get them—you’re out of the way down here?”

“Mr. Yates sends them. They come with the supplies.” He gave a half-laugh. “In fact, they’re probably from the same place as that paint—” He stopped abruptly, raised a hand as a final gesture of departure, and turned back to his van.

As Maisie stepped toward the Alvis, she heard the guard shout across. “And watch your bleedin’ speed, sonny—you’re on government property and you’d better follow the rules. This ain’t your cushy civvy street.”

“Oh wind your neck in, getting upset because you’re stuck out here and not one of them fly boys up there,” came the retort from Freddie Mayes.

She started the engine, and as she slipped the motor car into gear, she wound down the window to thank the guard, who shook his head.

“That bloke and his mates on the painting job—untouchable, that’s what they are. They’re all right, I suppose, but sometimes that one can get mouthy. His mate said it was on account of the paint they’re using. Well, all I can say is, he should be over there with our lads in France. Then let’s see where mouthy gets you. You’d be wishing all you had to do all day was paint so the buildings don’t burn.”

Maisie bid good-bye to the guard and drove away from the airfield, and at a very low speed.





Chapter 12




Consulting her watch, Maisie realized there was no time to locate Phineas Hutchins, though she dropped into a local pub to get change for the telephone kiosk, and directions to the farm visited by Joe Coombes. The publican gave her plenty of coins for her telephone calls, and she discovered that the farm neighbored the Keeps’ land, and was leased from the same owner. She would visit tomorrow, before making her way back to London. But there was more she must do before she returned to her room at the farm for the night.

Brenda picked up the telephone after the first ring. “Anna’s been asking for you—and for young Tim. She’s in a bit of a state about it, poor little love.”

Since the evacuee came to live at the Dower House, Maisie was aware that the child had a sensitivity shared with her grandmother.

“What is she saying? What has she been told about Tim?”

“Nothing—but she already knew he wasn’t here without us even telling her. She said she watched him hiking out over the fields on the morning he left. She said she knew he was going to leave, because she could see it in his head. I tell you, that child makes me wonder at times, Maisie. Your father says it’s nothing to worry about, that children on their own see all sorts—little friends who aren’t there, and other strange things. He said your mother always told him they had to just accept anything you said that was like that without comment, when you were a child.”

“Yes, Dad’s right. And she is still not completely well, is she?” Maisie knew her stepmother meant well but worried she might say something that would make Anna feel different from other children. “Did Anna say anything specific—about Tim?”

“She said she had a big dream, that he had a bad arm and that he was on a boat.”

“She knows he likes to sail—he’s told her enough stories about his trips to see his friend Gordon.”

“And what do you say to the bad arm?”

Maisie was quick to answer. “Oh, you know—she’s seen his father many times now and understands that Douglas lost an arm, so in her dreams it all becomes mixed up. That’s how dreams are.”

“Well, when the woman from the Ministry of Health came, I had to whisper to Anna not to say anything about her dreams and what she imagines. Last thing we want is for the woman to write something critical about it in the report.”

“She came today? I thought she wasn’t coming until I was present. Oh my goodness.”

“Don’t you worry, Maisie. Your father and I made a good account of ourselves, and so did Anna—we’d brought her downstairs to lie on the bed you’d made up for Tim in the conservatory, so she could look out over the fields. She wanted to watch Lady in the paddock, and Emma when your father took the dogs for a walk. And she keeps saying she wants to see Tim when he comes home.”

“So, what happened? Tell me—this is so important, and the woman will have thought the wrong thing because I wasn’t there.”

“I told you, it’s all right—don’t worry. Your father explained that you were involved in war work, that you could not discuss it. He told her that you had to go to London a couple of times a week, but that Anna was in our good hands when you went—just like any other woman might leave her child with relatives.”

“Oh dear—”

“She asked questions and wrote on a form that I couldn’t see. She said ‘Right you are’ a lot, and asked about your marital status—again. They asked that the last time. I reminded her that you were widowed, and I pointed out that your in-laws are over at the manor. Then she checked her notes and said, ‘Oh yes, your daughter is Margaret, Lady Compton, isn’t she?’ So I reckon it will be all right. What does Mr. Klein say?”