To Die but Once (Maisie Dobbs #14)(76)

“Yes, that’s right.” Maisie stood up and set the mug on the side table. She had answered the question as if it were the most ordinary inquiry. “Now then, snuggle down and close your eyes ready for the sandman.”

“I know your husband died,” whispered Anna.

“Yes, you probably heard someone mention it,” said Maisie. “It’s not a secret, but I don’t talk about it much.”

“Lady Rowan came over to read to me when I first had measles. I heard her talking to Auntie Brenda downstairs. She said it doesn’t help that you’re a widow.”

“Probably because sometimes being a widow makes other people sad,” said Maisie.

“Who’s Mr. Klein?” asked Anna, resting her head on the pillow.

“He’s what they call a solicitor. A man who draws up papers to do with the law.”

“Did he draw up papers for you because you’re a widow?”

“Yes, he helped me with all sort of things,” said Maisie

“Is he drawing up papers so you can keep me?”

Maisie knelt down at the side of the bed and held Anna’s hand. Emma, who had been lying close to the door, raised her nose.

“What made you say that, Anna?”

The child looked into Maisie’s eyes. “Because you want me. That’s what nanny said, before she went to heaven. She told me that everything would be all right, because the lady wanted me.”



Upon reaching Hastings at ten o’clock the following morning, Maisie parked the motor car close to the Stade, the shingle beach that was home to the town’s fishing fleet. Most had returned home with the morning’s catch several hours earlier, though one of the heavy clinker-built boats had just been winched ashore.

“Wait a moment, Pris—I won’t be long,” said Maisie as she took one of several bottles of water she had packed in the motor car, and walked across the shingle to speak to a fisherman. He was standing to one side, his waxed overalls and jacket sodden and stained, his face and hands black with oil and sweat. She uncorked the bottle and passed it to him. He nodded his appreciation.

“You’ve come back from Dunkirk, haven’t you?”

The man drank several mouthfuls and nodded again.

“I wonder if you could help me. My friend’s son and another boy went out in a launch—a forty-five-footer. They’ve not come in, and I wondered if—as you were making your way back—you saw a vessel returning in this direction. She’s usually moored at the harbor in Rye. So not far.”

He shook his head, took one more long draw from the bottle, and wiped his mouth against his sleeve, spreading another line of oil across his cheek. “Can’t say as I have, love.” The man leaned back against the boat behind him, and sank down to sit on a mound of nets. “Sorry. We only just came in.” He raised the bottle as if in a toast. “Much obliged to you. Much obliged.”

“Thank you, sir. Thank you—for going over there.”

“It was terrible. Never get the pictures out of my head. Never. Once seen, never forgotten.” He closed his eyes.

Maisie moved to walk away, then heard the fisherman speak again. “Just because I never saw the boat, don’t mean it weren’t there.” He sipped more water and nodded toward the boat that had just been winched in. “It was all I could do to get us back here, what with her taking on water. Didn’t like to leave, because there’s still more to bring home. Brave boys. All brave boys. And your lads might’ve been out there. I just never saw ’em. ’Twas all I could do to see my way home.”

“Thank you, sir,” she called out, raising her hand to bid him farewell again.

“Now Rye,” said Maisie as she reached the motor car and opened the driver’s door.

Priscilla took one final draw on her cigarette—this time without the holder—threw it down and ground it into the dirt with the toe of her shoe.



At Rye there was no sign of the Cassandra, but as Maisie and Priscilla left the motor car to walk across to the harbor, a member of the local constabulary approached to query Maisie’s authority for running a motor car, and also asked to see her motor spirit coupons and both their identity cards. They complied with the request.

“All looks in order, madam. But I wouldn’t chance another run in that motor car—and I hope you’ve got a full tank there because there’s not much to be had at the petrol stations.”

“Yes, fortunately—and my vehicle is going into storage tomorrow. We just had to make this last journey along the coast, looking for my friend’s son.” She explained what had happened with Tim and his friend Gordon.

“Oh yes, know the Cassandra—and now I come to think of it, I’ve seen those boys before, taking out one of the father’s boats. Got a veritable fleet, the Sandersons. Sailing family through and through.”

Maisie was aware of Priscilla’s mounting frustration, as her friend tapped her foot and folded her arms.

“Here’s my telephone number, Constable,” said Maisie, handing the man a calling card onto which she had written the Dower House number. “I know you’re a very busy man, but perhaps someone could place a call to me should this particular member of the fleet return.”

He nodded and placed the card in his breast pocket. “Right you are, madam. I’ll keep an eye out. So, you said you’re making your way along the coast.”