CHAPTER NINE

Maisie returned to her flat along the street, tired from the highs and lows of a day not yet finished. As she walked, she cast her gaze across the road to the new poster that had attracted Billy's attention. Diphtheria. A new vaccine to save the life of a child who would have died only years before from the killer disease. Lizzie Beale had been the apple of her father's eye, cherished by her mother and beloved by her older brothers. She had cherub-red cheeks and the same fair hair as her father, though war and worry had taken the blonde from Billy and replaced it with grey. Maisie remembered watching Billy and Doreen carrying the small white coffin between them, burying their daughter after she succumbed to the sickness that claimed not only her life, but the spirit of her family for years to come. Yet they had endured, and as Maisie walked on, she held her hand to her heart, hoping the family could navigate Will's recovery, a return to health that would demand Billy and his son put their wounds aside. 166

Unlocking the door, she slipped her keys into a bowl on the tallboy, and looked in the mirror as she unpinned and removed her hat, setting it on a hook. She unbuttoned her jacket, and stepped into the kitchen to put the kettle on. A cup of tea would set her up before she left to collect the four homeless youngsters from the flat in Pimlico. She changed her mind, turned off the gas ring under the kettle and instead went into the sitting room, pulled a cushion from an armchair and sat down on the floor, arranging her skirt so she could sit cross-legged for just a few moments.

Whilst Maisie was still in her teen years, Maurice Blanche had introduced her to Khan, an elderly Ceylonese man who had been blind from birth. He had also been Maurice's own revered teacher. Khan had taught Maisie how to still her mind, how to maintain focus on the invisible eye at the centre of her forehead, a practise that would allow her to return to conscious thought with renewed energy and insight, supporting her as she made decisions that could – and often did – involve life and death. In recent years, as her world became busier with family and professional commitments, she had all but abandoned the practise, though she had taught her daughter to find peace in silence during those days when Anna struggled at school due to bullying on account of her olive complexion. Though the child was not of Italian heritage, some classmates assumed she was allied to the wartime enemy, and treated her as such.

Now Maisie wanted to reclaim the peace stripped away by war, though she had only just settled into the deep breathing that would calm body, mind and spirit, when the telephone began ringing.

‘If you're up there, Khan and Maurice, I hope there is good reason for the interruption,' said Maisie, looking towards the ceiling as she came to her feet and answered the telephone. 167

She had just lifted the receiver when the caller began.

‘Miss Dobbs! Caldwell here. Good – I've found you. Got a minute of your time for me?'

‘For you, Detective Chief Superintendent? Of course.'

‘There's some funny business going on.'

‘Isn't there always? What's happened?'

‘Miss Dobbs, I'm like one of them dogs who, when they're told to put down the bone, they can't resist sneaking back and picking it up again.'

‘Tell me about the bone you don't want to put down.'

‘I had the coroner from Tunbridge Wells on the blower. Let's just say we've crossed paths before on some big cases and we've a good – what do they call it these days? Working relationship? One of them new-fangled phrases – you know, like Churchill said in '44, about us and the Yanks. Special relationship and all that.' He chuckled. ‘Bit like you and that Yank of yours.'

‘Caldwell—'

‘It turns out my special friend received a word in his shell from on high, that there was not to be a public inquest on the body of an Honourable man from Hallarden, and—'

‘Jonathan Hawkin-Price?'

‘The very one. As you know, when a death isn't straightforward – natural causes, old age and so on – the coroner asks for a post-mortem and then there's an inquest based upon the examiner's findings and the coroner's conclusions.'

‘No need for the lesson in procedure – I know that.'

‘Well, of course you do. Anyway, it transpires the death was far from ordinary and "death by misadventure" has been recorded without a mention in the press or an inquest. And as we both know, 168this wasn't an accident or something unintentional. A bullet to the heart and another to the head isn't an accident or any kind of adventure. It's—'

‘An assassination.' Maisie took a breath. ‘But you're not involved in any way, because there's nothing to investigate.'

‘That's about the long and the short of it.'

‘Yet you're curious.'

‘Wouldn't be in my line of work if I wasn't.'

‘Why are you telling me this?'

‘Because you're curious too, Miss Dobbs, and you've already been stomping around the outskirts of the case. And while I can't do anything because I'd be tripping over red tape – smoke and mirrors as far up the line as I can stumble – you don't have to be chained to protocols.' Caldwell cleared his throat. ‘Plus, I think you've got another reason for wanting to find out what happened – which I am sure you'll let me in on in time.'

‘Thank you. I appreciate your letting me know about this. But did your coroner contact indicate where on high the instruction to drop the inquest came from?'

‘He did indeed.'

‘And?'

‘Your friend and my sort-of-friend, Robert MacFarlane. It wasn't done by telephone either. Car draws up outside, ATS driver in the front – wonder how he kept her on, what with all the demobilisations – and out steps MacFarlane with a government order to relinquish the examiner's report and any other records. Got a finger in a lot of pies, old MacFarlane.'

Maisie wondered if she should tot up how many times she'd heard about fingers being in so many pies in recent weeks. 169

‘I'll keep you informed – how does that sound?' she offered.

‘Satisfactory to my ears. I'm up to my eyes in all sorts of cases at the moment, what with bombsite clearance going on, and bodies and parts of same turning up all over the place, and like I said before, not all of them from the actual bomb. But this business in Hallarden interests me.'

‘I should have something soon.'

‘Getting warmer, are you?'

Maisie hesitated. ‘Yes. Yes, I believe so.'

‘Cagey as always, Miss Dobbs. Right, I'm off. I expect to hear from you in a day or two.'

Maisie settled the receiver on the black Bakelite telephone, and stood for a moment staring out of the window. MacFarlane was standing in the way of an inquest on a man no one admitted was dead. She sighed, turned and went to the bedroom to pack her bag again. With not a moment to spare she left the house to collect Mary, Archie, Jim and Grace – and it was Grace she would take aside for a little conversation when they arrived at Priscilla's house. Priscilla was not the only one who could be a Border Collie. Maisie planned to remove the quiet one from the herd, and with luck and the right questions, she would garner more information than the others seemed willing to divulge. She also felt that while Grace was not the black sheep of the group, she could be something of a dark horse.

‘So, what's this friend of your'n like then, Miss Dobbs – I suppose that's what I should call you, seeing as you're sort of working so you're not Mrs Scott,' said Mary, seated next to her in the passenger seat. Jim, Archie and Grace were in the back, quiet, though with the 170odd nudge and an ‘Ouch!' if they thought one was trying to take up more room than the others.

Maisie smiled. Your'n.Pure London talk, she thought as she answered.

‘You'll like her, and though she gives the impression of being terribly posh and perhaps a bit haughty, she has a heart of gold and a wicked sense of humour.' Maisie paused and gave a sideways glance at Mary, who was staring at her, as if already weighing up how to get around the woman in whose house she would be ensconced for a few days. ‘She drove an ambulance on the Western Front during the Great War, and again during the Blitz – in fact, we were both volunteer ambulance drivers, but stopped after Mrs Partridge was injured while saving children from a burning house.' Maisie ran her fingers from her right temple to her cheekbone, close to the hairline. ‘You'll see some scarring from the severe burns here, but please don't stare at her. She's had several operations already.'

‘Blimey,' said Mary, pulling a face.

‘Anyway, we're almost there.'

‘Big houses, ain't they?' said Archie, winding down a window to look out.

‘You watch him,' said Jim. ‘The little cat burglar here will be in and out of these gaffs, knocking off their jewels.'

Maisie looked in the mirror to stare at Archie. ‘I wouldn't if I were you or you will have me to reckon with, and thus far you've only seen my good side.'

‘That's you told,' said Mary, turning to Archie.

Priscilla was once more at the steps, waiting for her visitors to arrive, along with Mrs R, who was scowling in anticipation of 171having to knock young heads together for any misbehaviour.

‘See what I mean?' said Maisie. ‘One wrong step and I don't fancy your chances, any of you.'

When the new guests were left to settle in, boys in one bedroom and girls in the other, Maisie and Priscilla were once again seated on the small sofa in the sitting room overlooking the garden.

‘Priscilla, I cannot thank you enough – I think they are still wandering around with mouths open and eyes wide at the shock of a warm, welcoming house and bedrooms made up and waiting. And leaving a pile of fresh clothing on each bed – you've gone above and beyond the call of duty.'

Priscilla shrugged. ‘Still got a debt to pay off, haven't I?'

‘What debt?'

Priscilla came to her feet and walked to the drinks trolley.

‘Pris?'

‘Just a small one.'

‘But—'

‘Maisie, you saved my life.' Priscilla turned to face Maisie. ‘I would do anything to help you now, because it's clear you want to aid the four tykes upstairs, plus we all wanted to see Will and his family reunited.'

‘Priscilla, this is not the way to do it, but—' Maisie stood up, took the glass from her friend's hand, walked to the French doors, opened one and threw the liquid out. Closing the door, she placed the empty glass on a side table and stared at her dearest friend. ‘The dragon's back, isn't he?'

Priscilla patted a few strands of her dark hair to cover the mottled burn scar along the side of her face. ‘I see them all the time 172now. The dead. I have nightmares, and if it isn't about the last war, it's this one.'

‘I know. I know and so does Douglas – I can see it on his face.'

‘He saved me the first time, didn't he?' Priscilla shook her head as she sat down again and folded her arms, as if to protect her heart. ‘But I was lucky, wasn't I?' She paused as Maisie took a seat close to her. ‘After the war, with my brothers all dead and then losing my parents to that bloody influenza, I went off to Biarritz to drink myself to death – you know that. Then I met my wonderful Douglas, fell in love, and before I knew it, I was a married woman bringing up my three toads, and while I liked a nice light G and T at the end of the day, and not any old time or even every day, I had so much to do I never actually craved a drink. I loved being a mother. Every minute of it, even when they were screaming and yelling at each other. Now they've grown up. Tom will be across an ocean, Tim probably remaining in Oxford, and Tarquin is now talking about farming in bloody Australia! It's all falling apart, and the dragon rose up through the cracks in the road ahead of me.'

Maisie opened her arms and embraced Priscilla.

‘Help me, Maisie. Help me slay that dragon.'

Maisie felt her eyes well with tears and the beast of her own nightmares stir.

‘Pris, I have an idea,' said Maisie, now holding her friend by the shoulders. ‘A good idea, I think. But give me time – do your best to drink more tea instead, and just give me time.'

Priscilla pulled back, pressing her fingertips to her eyes. ‘I'm sorry. Not good enough, is it? Whining away when there are four orphans upstairs.'

‘I've never heard you whine, Pris, so don't whip yourself – that 173won't do any good. Keep an eye on those boys and girls; occupy them and help me get through this, then we'll make plans.'

‘I'll throw the gin bottle away. Douglas will be happy about that.'

‘He will indeed.'

‘I suppose we'd both better get on, eh? Things to do – keep my good self occupied!'

‘And on that note, Pris – may I use your study again? I must have a little chat with one of the young ladies.'

‘Be my guest – my home is your home.'

‘One thing first – I want to watch you throw away all the gin.'

‘Please sit down, Grace,' said Maisie, noting the way the girl had entered the study, keeping close to the wall as if she were afraid of space. Maisie suspected it might be a habit learnt at the children's home. If Grace rendered herself invisible, she would not be picked on by teachers or other children.

Grace opened and closed her fingers as Maisie invited her to be seated, and stepped across the floor as if in fear it might open up and swallow her. She sat down in one of the armchairs situated alongside a bookcase. Maisie took the chair next to her and leant back, her demeanour calm to settle the adolescent. Adolescent, thought Maisie. She realised there was no adequate word for the young people she had gathered together in her charge. Mark might have called them ‘kids,' but they were not children, nothing about them was akin to the offspring of goats gamboling in the pasture. They were not adults, and the word ‘youngsters' only seemed to verge on accuracy. Adolescere. The time when a child was growing into maturity. While Maisie had only a 174passing knowledge of Latin, self-taught when she herself was a youngster, a kid, a person little more than a child, but one with an adult job of work, adolescere was a word she remembered. At the age of thirteen, in the early hours of the morning, she had crept from the servants' quarters high up on the fourth floor of the house, down to the Compton library, anxious to continue her education. Yes, the word would have suited her. Adolescere: the process of growing into maturity. Yet as Grace began to relax, running her hands across the brand-new skirt so it covered her knees, and rocking forward as if ready to run a race, Maisie could see only the child.

‘Grace, thank you for coming down to have a word with me – I understand you're reading a good book.'

Grace blushed.

‘Grace?'

‘I like books. I like being on my own, reading. So when I saw that library with lots of books at that big house, I read anything that interested me.' The girl's eyes widened. ‘And I put them back – well, almost all of them.'

‘I was just the same when I was your age,' said Maisie. ‘Always had my head in a book. Which one did you keep?'

Grace pressed her lips together, rolling them as if to make ready to express her thoughts about the book. ‘It's called The Great Gatsby. By an American.'

‘Are you enjoying it?'

Grace nodded. ‘It's different. Not like Charles Dickens. Or Jane Austen. It's modern. And I like it because America's different, but it's a sad story too.'

‘Sad?' 175

Grace nodded. ‘Sad rich people.'

‘I'll have to read it. I've not had time to dip into a good book for a while. And don't worry about the fact that you kept hold of the book – when you've finished, you can give it back to me.'

Maisie regarded the girl for a second or two before continuing, understanding that this particular adolescent might be further along on the path to adulthood than she might have imagined. But wasn't that true of all children who had seen war?

‘Grace, I want to ask you a few questions about the night you went to the big house in Hallarden, when you witnessed a man being shot.'

Grace was quick with her response. ‘Are you asking all of us these questions?'

‘I'll get to the others in time, but I wanted to start with you.'

‘Why?'

‘Because I think you are more observant.' Maisie watched as Grace seemed to inhale the meaning of her words. ‘I think you see more than you let on.'

‘The matron at the children's home always told me to keep my thoughts to myself.'

‘Perhaps not forever – sometimes there's the opportune moment to let someone else in on what you're thinking.' Maisie paused, allowing her words to gain weight. ‘But I was once told by a very wise man to do pretty much the same, because keeping the thought close gives you an opportunity to consider it a bit more, like looking at all the different facets of a diamond. When you've done that, turned the stone around a few times, you have more to offer by way of an observation.'

Maisie watched as Grace gave the slightest grin, extending to a broad smile. The youngest member of the quartet was indeed something of a dark horse. 176

‘Grace, you and your friends have described what you witnessed that night, though you spoke mainly through one person – Mary. Could you tell me in your own words what you saw?'

Grace stared at Maisie for a moment. ‘Mary does the talking, so the boys saw what she says they saw.'

‘And I take it you believe you observed something different.'

‘I read a book once and all the people – the characters – witnessed the same thing, but every one of them told it differently. It's been on my mind a lot, 'specially when we were in that big house where you found us. I was on my own for hours in that library room, and I sort of thought about it, and I reckon it's to do with sound.'

Maisie inclined her head by way of encouraging the girl. ‘Sound?'

Grace fidgeted in the chair. ‘You know – sound can make a difference to how we see things, like when a motor goes by and there's a big pop from the engine, and some people run because they think it's a gun. That sort of making a difference.'

‘Ah, I see,' said Maisie. ‘So, what did you see and hear?'

‘Like Mary told you, I was supposed to stay near the gate, but I didn't. It was a bit creepy there, with the trees and the wind coming up, so I thought I'd just walk up to where the others were standing. I didn't run, because that gravelly stuff makes a noise, and we were supposed to be really quiet.' The girl frowned, and closed her eyes, as if watching a moving picture in her mind. She opened them, staring at Maisie. ‘I was right next to Archie when I saw the tall man wearing black clothes and a balaclava on his head – only about, well, twenty feet away. But I'm not very good with distances. He was standing, watching that door to the right 177of the house. It looked as if he was waiting. Then the man in the suit came out, and the man all in black – he just shot him and he dropped down. That was what the others saw too. Well, Jim and Archie turned around, and Mary waited another second and did the same, but I was sort of stuck, staring at that man with his gun.' She stopped speaking and looked away.

‘What happened next?' asked Maisie, leaning forward. She could see tension in the girl's shoulders and neck.

Grace began to pick at a hangnail. ‘I was trying to think of how to explain the sound and the time to you – you see, it all happened really fast, but in my head it was happening slowly. I saw another man – a third – standing next to the man with the gun. I reckon he must have been there all the time. Then the man with the gun passed it to him, and he pointed downwards and shot the man who had come from the house. I reckon he was already dead from the first bullet. From what I saw, he copped one in his chest, right where his heart is, and then one in his head – his brain. Where he did his thinking. Heart and head. I thought about that.'

‘That's a very detailed memory, Grace.'

‘I reckon what happened to Mary was that she heard the gun go off, and because she had seen the man with the gun, she didn't actually watch the second shot, only heard it. But – but I don't think she deliberately lied or anything like that. She just thought she saw something she didn't.' She took a deep breath, and at once seemed fearful. ‘Please don't tell her I told you a different story – I don't want to get into trouble with her.'

‘Not to worry – I won't say a word about our conversation to Mary,' Maisie assured her. ‘I think you've done very well, Grace. But I do believe there's more.' 178

‘I remember things, Miss Dobbs. I remember what happened because it was strange, as if the man did the first one, the first bullet, and then handed it over so the other one could have a go, you know, as if they both had to do away with the first man.' The girl shrugged. ‘If it was in a book, it would probably have been one of those old Westerns, you know, where the cowboys always have to settle up with someone – I read a few by a bloke called Zane Grey because the boys said girls don't like Westerns.'

‘Hmmm.' Maisie let the sound hang in the air, an expression that registered neither a belief in truth nor a lie. She waited until the girl fidgeted – brushing down her skirt again – and continued with another question. ‘Grace, what else did you see? Or thought you might have seen?'

‘The others were already running, so I went after them sharpish. I didn't want to be left behind and caught by the bloke with his gun. I looked back and I really thought he'd be coming after us to shoot us, but he wasn't. He was just standing there.' She gave a long sigh. ‘I never said anything before, because there were a lot of shadows, what with the shrubs and trees, and it was dusk – that sort of fuzzy light outside, when it's not pitch black either.'

‘Would you say the second man you think you saw shoot the man was taller or shorter than the … the first killer?'

‘He was shorter.' She paused, thoughtful. ‘And bent a bit.'

‘Bent a bit?'

‘You know, like someone when they've just lifted something heavy and they stand up, but not straight, as if they've got a bad back.'

‘Of course, yes, I see.' Maisie was silent, taking time to look out 179of the window before turning back to Grace. ‘Grace, do you think you were really in any danger?'

Grace shrugged again. Adolescere, thought Maisie, as she watched Grace's expression change.

‘At first I was sort of scared – I mean, that man had just been shot, and the one with the gun could have come after us. Then I wasn't scared.' Grace paused, staring at Maisie. ‘And later I started thinking about all the things we had been taught, you know, when we were trained to set about the Germans after they invaded – which never happened, did it? Fat lot of good that did us! Anyway, I thought about all the secrets people we knew were keeping, and about the government, and it crossed my mind that the bloke with the gun didn't have to come after us, because someone else would do it for him.'

‘That was pretty clever thinking, Grace.'

‘We were told, in training, that we had to use our brains differently. That we had to always consider the enemy and take the path the enemy doesn't think we'll take, and that goes for what we do with our minds as well as our feet.'

Maisie allowed another hiatus in the conversation.

‘If you had read about the murder in a book, a story with four people of your age witnessing a crime in the way you've described, how do you think the story would proceed?'

Grace smiled again. Maisie was struck by the juxtaposition of innocence and worldly understanding in the face of the young woman before her.

‘I'd say it was to do with spies.' She leant forward. ‘I've read spy books, and what happens is that someone comes looking for the witnesses, and then knocks them off one by one, but in the end 180there's a hero who puts a stop to it, and finds out that the killer wasn't who we thought it was all along, that it was someone … someone close to the crime. They always do that, crime books – you get to see the … the perpetrator right at the beginning.' She giggled. ‘Unless of course you don't.'

‘I think I know your calling, Grace.'

Grace gave a wry smile. ‘I think I know your'n too.'

‘You do?'

‘I went off on my own and had a good look around that big house in Belgravia, and I found the room where I reckon you used to live. The one with the big roses on the curtains, and that nice bathroom right there next to the bedroom. And I went into the drawers and the wardrobe and I found a card.' She reached into the small pocket at the front of her cardigan and passed Maisie her calling card. ‘I didn't tell the others who you are, but I know you're an investigator. And a psychologist.'

‘Do you know what a psychologist is?'

‘You get inside people's minds.'

Maisie smiled. ‘Well, I try to, Grace.'

‘You don't do a bad job.'

‘Much obliged, I'm sure.'

‘Do you have any more questions to ask me?'

‘No. But I do have a request.'

‘What's that?'

‘Remember I told you about that very wise man I knew? He was my teacher – he taught me how to do my job. Anyway, he once told me that the power of a question is not in the answer given, but in the question itself. It asks us to think, to ponder, to recollect and to reconsider our thoughts and observations. If any of the questions 181I've asked begin to nag at you – and you'll know if they do – think about it, and if there's more you believe would be helpful to me, just tell Mrs Partridge you'd like to speak to me.'

‘Why do you want to know all this?'

‘Because I want to rule out anyone being after you and your pals.'

Grace came to her feet at the same time as Maisie.

‘There was one thing,' said Grace. ‘I've been thinking about it, and it wasn't something I actually saw. But it was just a feeling, so it's probably not important.'

‘Feelings should never be dismissed, Grace. Go on.'

‘I sort of thought they all knew each other, you know, the man in the suit and the one who shot him first – because I reckon he knew before he even came out of that house that there would be someone waiting for him. It was as if there was some sort of electricity going between them. I mean, I could almost see it – this thin line buzzing away from one to the other – but p'raps that always happens when one person wants to kill the other. Do you think it does? That there's a second when they're sort of together in their minds because they know what's going to happen? I didn't say anything to the others because they'd laugh at me. Because they're always telling me I'm different.'

‘You are who you are, Grace. Everyone's different – I daresay they would laugh because they've underestimated you. So thank you – that's information I believe in. And that's an interesting point, about the connection between a victim and his or her killer. I've thought the same thing myself. Now then, I've to be on my way. You've given me a lot to go on, Grace, and I'm much obliged to you.'

Grace lingered. ‘You really mustn't think the others weren't being 182honest with you, Miss Dobbs. I mean, I might be wrong and they're right. But I know what I thought I saw and it's just a bit different from what they thought they'd seen. Please, please don't tell them.'

‘Grace, I made my promise. And as I said, you are a very observant young woman. I think in a few years I might tell my partner to take you on as an assistant.' Maisie reached for the door handle and opened the door. ‘But before you go, Grace, what did you like best about the book – The Great Gatsby?'

‘The ending.' Grace smiled, as if pleased to be asked a question about a book. ‘I finished it just before I came down, because I was that close when you asked if I had a moment. Yes, I liked the ending best because it struck me as a message. I like books like that, what have a message. But I think it was the wrong one.'

‘Why?'

‘Because it was all about looking back, and only a right twit does that.'

Maisie watched as the adolescent Grace ran up the stairs two at a time, doubtless to squirrel herself away with another book.

‘Everything alright, Maisie?'

Maisie closed the study door, and walked towards Priscilla. ‘Thanks so much, Pris. Your new guests have settled in very well, I think. Grace seems to be quite the reader.'

‘She's already asked me about the library. In my opinion, she should continue her education as soon as possible – and that Mary, well, she has a future.'

‘Oh dear, I've missed something important, haven't I?'

‘I don't think it's something you of all people would have noticed, Maisie, my dear,' said Priscilla. ‘But if I'm not mistaken – and I'm 183not in these matters – if she were dressed in different clothing and learnt to present herself with a little more care, she has it in her to become a top mannequin for a famous couturier. They say that hemlines will come down as soon as clothing rationing ends, and given her height and frame she could definitely carry it off. I think I'll put a book on her head and sort out her deportment.'

‘She'll run away – I know I would.'

‘No, she won't – not when I tell her how much she could earn! I bet she'll be following me around like a puppy, wanting to know more. Her nails need some attention though, and her hair and … well, everything else if she's to have a successful audition. Yes, we need to work on personal presentation.'

‘Granted, doing something physical might take her mind off things – she's wound up like a clock. In fact they all are, and I can't say I blame them.'

‘Don't worry, I will soon calm them down, and they will be loath to leave my house – you just wait and see. I'm a winner with children of that age.'

‘Priscilla, they've seen too much to be children.'

Maisie watched as her friend looked away for a moment, then returned to the subject, ready to skim over the surface of their conversation.

‘I know. That's the problem, isn't it? They're going to have to think up another word for young people approaching the age of consent, aren't they?'

‘Well, until then, dear friend, I must be on my way. Thank you very much for … for everything. I believe this will only be for a few days.'

‘Plenty of time for me to make a start at bringing a little innocence 184back into their lives. I think they could do with it.'

‘Couldn't we all, Pris. Couldn't we all.'

Maisie turned towards the door, but was stopped by Grace running down the stairs towards her, holding up a book.

‘Here's the book, Miss Dobbs. I didn't want to pinch it – just borrow it.'

Maisie took the copy of The Great Gatsby. ‘I'll put it back in the library for you – though I think I'll read it first.'

‘It's a good book, but I thought that Daisy was a bit, you know, soft.'

‘Can't wait to find out.' Maisie smiled, and turned to the door, Priscilla's voice echoing as she closed it behind her.

‘Young lady, I know you're confined to quarters, so to speak, but I think I might ask my hairdresser to come to the house – I do believe it's about time you and Mary had something more … more up to the minute for young women of your generation.'