To Die but Once (Maisie Dobbs #14)(71)

“Morning, miss,” said Billy, entering the office.

“Oh, hello Billy. Everything all right?”

“Our Billy is still spending most of the day in bed, but that’s to be expected. He’s received orders to be back at barracks on Monday for a medical exam, so the doctor can look at that wound and tell him whether he’s well enough for service, or if he gets signed off for a bit longer. And Monday isn’t many days to go, so I said to Doreen that he should try to be up and about today. Get Margaret Rose to nag him a bit to take her to the park when she comes home from school. He thinks the world of his little sister, and I know it’s probably a bit odd, a man of his age having a young sister, but it would do him the power of good, I think, to go out to the park for a bit of a play.”

Maisie looked over toward Billy.

“What? What did I just say?” asked Billy.

“You just referred to Billy as a man. Not a boy, and not a lad—you called him a man. And I think you’re quite right—playing with a child will do him the power of good. You don’t have much time to lighten the load on his shoulders.”

“I’d like to see mine lightened, miss.” Billy shook his head. “I signed the papers for Bobby last night. That’s one thing his brother said to me, he said, ‘Dad, if our Bobby is in the RAF as a mechanic, the chances are they can’t send him anywhere they can send me.’ And he reckoned his brother would be a lot safer on the ground, working on aircraft engines, so I signed it, and even his mother said I should. Bobby is now as happy as a sand boy, which is a mercy, as that face was getting as long as a week, and there’s only so many miserable faces you can bear at the dinner table. Thank our lucky stars for Margaret Rose—she’s our gem, truly she is.” He exhaled, and continued relating family business. “So, you could say I’ve got two men now.” He nodded toward the window. “And what’s Farmer Miles up to out there? Put in a row of potatoes yet?”

Maisie laughed. “No, but he’s certainly trying to better Kew Gardens. I’m amazed he has managed to do so much—remember how that used to look? Then the last tenant tried to make an improvement, but it took Mr. Miles to really change that yard into a very small smallholding!”

“He had some operations on his legs, but he’s got his strength back, I would imagine.”

“How come you and Sandra know so much about Walter Miles, and I didn’t even know he lived there until a week ago? Who is he?”

“I was told by the woman at the dairy shop across the square, that she’d seen him quite a few times before he moved into the flat. He’d come in for some odds and ends—and then one day he told her he wanted to live in the square. She said he had been looking for a certain sort of rooms, with both a front and back entrance and a small yard, like the one he’s got, so it all came right for him. He’d just come back from living in the south of France, apparently—he returned to see his doctor. The stairs at the front aren’t too bad for him, and of course he can just let himself out the back, if he wants to. I’ve heard he’s a lecturer at the university, over on Malet Street.”

“Really? Then he’s probably Dr. Miles. What does he teach?”

“Oh, I think you’d have to ask Sandra that one.”

“I just don’t know how I missed all this.”

“You weren’t paying attention—you rush in and rush off, and he’s not exactly out there all the time waiting, is he? He keeps to himself, though he’s been out the front a few times when I’ve come in, and he’s always friendly. Interested in people who live around the square, passes the time of day and then goes on his way, or back downstairs.”

Maisie shook her head. “Well I never. Anyway, I want to talk to you about the Coombes case.”

“We’re close, aren’t we?”

Maisie nodded. “Yes, in a way, we are. I know the people, and I think I know the why—but bringing them to justice will be difficult, not least because the solid evidence is proving hard to nail down. I have lots of pieces, but making them fit is quite another thing.”

“What do you think we should do next?”

“I’m leaving for Kent later today—taking Mrs. Partridge down to Chelstone, and then tomorrow we’re driving along the coast from Rye to Ramsgate, stopping at every possible place where Tim and his friend might come in with the boat, which will be tricky, considering all the barbed wire laid across the beaches. But my money is still on Rye. Admittedly there’s that long journey along the River Rother estuary to the Channel, but it’s home for the boys, where they’ve always sailed from together.”

“And the case?”

“I think it should stew in its own juices for a few days, but with a little help—I’m going along to see Phil and Sally Coombes in a minute, try to get them before opening time. I’m sure that somewhere, there’s a connection with those Robertsons.”

“There is, but not probably what you’re looking for,” said Billy.

“What do you mean?” said Maisie.

“I made a note of it so I’d remember to tell you before you went out today, and I only reminded myself yesterday evening.”

“Go on, Billy.” Maisie moved to the large table and sat down, pulling back another chair for her assistant to be seated alongside her. She unfurled the case map, and brought the tin filled with colored crayons closer.