To Die but Once (Maisie Dobbs #14)(78)

Maisie nodded. “Yes, her son is a very good friend of the owner’s son—they sail together a lot.”

“I heard. Those lads took out the Cassandra without anyone knowing; went off and joined the flotilla of boats going to Dunkirk to help bring our boys off the Mole there. Bloody little fools—but you’ve got to hand it to them, haven’t you?” He paused, but before Maisie could reply, he continued. “Young Gordon’s mother is in Ramsgate, and as soon as we’ve found her, we’ll get her here—she’s looking out for her husband as well as her son.”

“Poor woman—to have that worry.”

The coastguard nodded toward Priscilla again. She had begun walking along the embankment as if to follow the River Rother out to sea, her hand to her forehead looking toward the point where the estuary met the sea, though it was far in the distance and not visible.

“You’re going to have to keep an eye on your friend. Mick said they’d had a good number of soldiers on board, but some went onto the other boat towing them. One of the boys was down, so the other lad was working himself silly to keep her going, and he’s been injured himself, quite badly.”

“What do you mean—one of the boys is down?” asked Maisie.

The coastguard shook his head and half turned away. “I mean he’s gone. He’s dead.”

Maisie brought her hands to her mouth. She had become light-headed, yet her feet felt as if they were indeed made of lead, as if it would take every ounce of her resolve to move.

“You all right, madam?” said the coastguard.

“Tim is my godson. Oh heavens—this is terrible. I must go to Priscilla, to stand with her.”

“P’rhaps I shouldn’t’ve said anything,” said the coastguard.

“No—no, you did the right thing. I’m prepared now. I’ve got to be Priscilla’s strength. And I must telephone her husband, to get him down here. I know where to contact him—I can get him here soon.”

The coastguard directed her from the harbor to a telephone kiosk. Maisie ran along the road, rummaging in her pockets for change. As the door closed, the odor from every human being who had ever stood in the kiosk seemed to be leaching up from the floor and enveloping her. Struggling for breath, she opened the door, keeping it ajar with her foot as she asked the operator to connect her call.

“Chelstone Manor.” The butler answered the call.

“Simmonds! Simmonds, is Lord Julian at home?”

“Yes, indeed, Your Ladyship. Just one moment please, hold the line.”

One minute. Two minutes. Maisie made a small cylindrical pile with her coins on top of the telephone box, ready for use if the pips sounded. She adjusted the pile, counting the coins once more. Then a click on the line.

“Hello, Maisie—how are you?”

“Lord Julian—thank you, yes, I’m all right. Well, no, not quite. You are the only one I can trust to keep calm. Douglas Partridge should have just arrived at the Dower House with Tarquin. I would like George to collect him and bring him to Rye Harbor as soon as possible. But not with Tarquin. You must find a means of drawing Douglas away from his son to tell him the reason.” She recounted the news she had been given by the coastguard.

“Right you are. It will be done exactly as you’ve asked. Leave it with me, Maisie. I will also let your father know what’s happened—I am sure Mr. Dobbs will find an enjoyable means of distracting the boy.” There was a second of silence, and the pips sounded. With shaking hands Maisie pushed more coins in the slot, cursing when a coin dropped to the floor.

“Lord Julian, are you still there?” she asked.

“Yes, still here.” She heard a catch in his voice. “I imagine George could get him there in about forty minutes, at a fair clip. And Maisie—do keep us informed.”

“Yes, of course. I must go now.”

She replaced the receiver, and stepped out into the fresh air. Priscilla had walked back and was standing on the harbor wall, binoculars to her eyes. Constable Sheering gently placed his hand to one side of her, not touching her clothing, but close. Maisie saw Priscilla nod, and move back to a safer point from which to keep her vigil.

“See anything yet?” said Maisie as she approached her friend.

“You can’t see anything much from here, but when I walked alongside the river, I saw a little speck in the distance. But it’s difficult—the marshes can give you an optical illusion, so what you think is a boat, is probably a farmer crossing his field with a horse and plough.” She tapped the binoculars. “The coastguard kindly loaned these to me.”

At that point the coastguard called out. “I can see them. They’re coming in.”

Priscilla drew the binoculars up to her eyes again. “Where? Where? I can’t see them. Where are they?”

“Let me look, Pris.”

Priscilla passed the binoculars to Maisie, and stepped closer to the water again. And again the policeman drew her back. “You don’t want your son to see you in the drink when he brings that boat in, do you?”

Maisie trained the binoculars into the distance. At first she could see nothing, not even a farmer with his team of horses drawing the plough. Then a speck appeared, glistening mirrorlike in the mid-afternoon sunshine. Yet instead of anticipation, she felt dread—for until the boat docked, until the lines had been drawn in and the vessel tethered, the wheel of fate would continue spinning. Only when those on board were home would it stop—and for one mother the terror would not end.