To Die but Once (Maisie Dobbs #14)(77)
“Yes, we are,” interjected Priscilla. “It stands to reason my son and his friend will end up somewhere between here and Ramsgate, so we’re on our very own personal patrol to find them.”
The man smiled, as if to mollify Priscilla, then turned back to Maisie. “Drop into the constabulary at every town, madam—tell them you’ve already spoken to me, Constable Sheering, from Rye. We’re all doing what we can for the boys coming in and the boats that bring them, so my colleagues along the way will give you a hand, and if they can, they’ll let you know if he’s come in.” His eyes met Priscilla’s once again. “Your son and young Gordon are courageous boys, madam. They’re made of the best of us all.”
“Yes, quite,” said Priscilla, who turned and walked away.
“Her other son is in the RAF, so she’s not herself,” explained Maisie, as she watched Priscilla light another cigarette.
“Didn’t think so,” said the constable. “I wouldn’t want to be in her shoes. I’ll let you know if I find out anything.”
Maisie nodded, thanked the man, and walked back to Priscilla.
“Sorry about that,” said Priscilla. “I could just see us tearing along the barbed-wire-wrapped coast—Dymchurch, Hythe, Folkestone, Ramsgate—having these little chats with policemen and old salts along the way and getting nowhere fast. Finding out absolutely nothing while my son could be dead somewhere!”
“I just told that man a terrible lie, Pris—I told him you weren’t being yourself, but really I should have said you are being exactly yourself! The first fisherman had just returned from Dunkirk, having saved heaven knows how many lives, and that constable is going to look out for Tim. We will find him, but we won’t find him in an instant!”
“I should have let you do this alone, but I could not sit still. Just could not sit still a minute longer.” She folded her arms.
“Then let’s get on our way.”
They were silent along the route, stopping in Dymchurch and then Hythe.
“Never mind water and a bottle of ginger beer each, why didn’t I think of bringing a flask of something to soothe my nerves? That was a huge error on my part,” said Priscilla, lighting up another cigarette, then extinguishing the lighted end with her thumb and finger, and throwing it out of the open window. “I should probably slow down with these things—luckily I’ve got a stash, but they’ll go on ration, and—”
“Oh dear, I wonder what he wants?” Maisie looked into the rearview mirror, at the police motor car gaining on her, bell ringing. The driver had opened his window and was waving at Maisie to pull over.
“I’m not surprised—your foot turned into lead as we left Hythe,” said Priscilla.
Maisie maneuvered the motor car to the side of the road. Both women once again took out their identity cards. The police vehicle stopped in front of them, and the policeman in the passenger seat left the motor car and walked toward Maisie.
“At a rough guess, I would say you’re about to go to Holloway Prison,” said Priscilla.
“Oh, Pris, give it the elbow!” said Maisie. She opened the door and stepped out, ready to meet the policeman at her full height.
“Miss Dobbs?” said the policeman, as he approached. He bent down to look at Priscilla through the open window. “And Mrs. Partridge?”
“Yes?” Maisie and Priscilla responded at once.
“Not many motors on the road, and certainly not one like this. We had an urgent telephone call from our colleagues along in Sussex, and we thought we should intercept you. You’re looking for a vessel named the Cassandra? Shortly after you left Rye, a fishing boat came in and the skipper raised the alarm that another boat had found her drifting without power and is towing her back to Rye. It’s a distance and slow going from the Channel, but she should be home before dark—and of course, there’s the tide to consider.”
Priscilla had already leaped out of the Alvis to join Maisie. “My son. Is my son all right? Timothy Partridge. Is Timothy Partridge on the boat?”
“I understand there are two boys, and some soldiers. There are some wounded, but both are on board.”
Priscilla ran back around the motor car to take her seat once again. “Come on, Maisie. Hurry up. Hurry!”
The policeman addressed Maisie. “Best if you follow me, miss. Best all-around.”
“Yes, thank you, Sergeant,” said Maisie. She placed a hand on his arm, and felt her eyes fill with tears. “Really—I can’t thank you enough.”
“All part of the job. Much prefer being the bearer of good news—and it’s not me to thank, but Constable Sheering down at Rye. He’s the one who put out the call. Now then, before your friend becomes a casualty, let’s be on our way. You follow—I’m the one with the bell.”
Two ambulances were standing by at Rye Harbor, and members of the local Women’s Voluntary Service, with their distinctive green uniforms, had set up a table with sandwiches and flasks of tea. Another woman was folding a pile of blankets. As soon as Maisie had parked the motor car, Priscilla ran across the road toward Constable Sheering. He held out a hand as if to steady her. In the meantime, Maisie stopped to speak to the coastguard.
“According to Mick Tate over there—in the fishing boat—he saw the Cassandra being towed back toward Rye by the Mistress Mollie, another of the fishing boats. They’d found her out there, making her way back from France, but she had almost run out of fuel. She had been attacked by them bloody Germans.” He looked up at Priscilla. “She one of the mums?”