CHAPTER TWELVE

Maisie closed the folder and placed it on the desk in front of her, then reached for the small glass of malt whisky MacFarlane had poured. He was already on his second glass, and though she was tempted to follow him, she sipped, feeling a welcome sensation that was at once fiery yet soothing. She sipped again and set the glass down.

‘Pushes you off kilter, doesn't it, lass? This sort of thing coming to light and it doesn't quite fit an existing template. Or when you know you were right about one thing, but whatever it was you thought you had in your investigative bag of tricks doesn't work very well when you have the whole picture in front of you.'

Maisie leant forward. ‘I want to be clear, Robbie. Let's take it from the beginning.'

‘1919.'

‘Yes. Hawkin-Price was – understandably – devastated by what 228came to pass during the war. His world had come crashing down. He was the second son of a wealthy family, with all the advantages of money, yet because he was not the heir he had been able to relinquish any familial responsibility, which landed on the shoulders of an older brother.'

‘That bit's not written in the report.'

‘It's implied – and I've been trying to get inside his head, what he might have been thinking. Or feeling.'

Robbie rolled his eyes and poured himself another measure of the whisky. ‘Feeling? Here we go – Maisie Dobbs at her sensitive best. And there was me hoping we'd manage to get to the end of this without that word floating around.' He held the bottle up as if to query Maisie.

‘No more for me. Let's go on.' She reached for the folder again. ‘Hawkin-Price came home from the Western Front with a few war wounds and had to face the fact that his brother was dead, a hero killed in action. Add to that his parents' grief, to say nothing of the responsibilities he was required to assume and with little prior experience – it appears that before the war, Jonathan Hawkin-Price had been something of a dilettante second son.' She turned the page. ‘Yes, he was wounded – some gas damage to his lungs, shrapnel in his legs and perhaps some neurasthenia – so not too terribly, it has to be said, but his whole life had changed. Then the parents died – was it the influenza, by the way?' She turned back to the earlier page. ‘As I thought, influenza, same as my friend Priscilla's parents. Anyway, as a result of death duties and other financial pressures, Hawkin-Price had to sell off land and start to think about how he could earn a living. Disposing of the land made him pretty angry – he was something of a snob, because he didn't like what he called the "middle classes" 230moving in.' She looked up at MacFarlane. ‘I mean, poor man, having to live next to a local bank manager.'

‘Sarcasm, sarcasm, the devil's weapon, Maisie. Must be my presence rubbing off on you.'

Maisie conceded a smile. ‘To continue, I can see he cut back on expenses, staffing and so on, and as time went on, became increasingly annoyed with his government.' She looked up. ‘I heard as much from a local shopkeeper.'

‘We are aware that he allowed a few of his hard feelings to fly in company, letting everyone know what he thought of the PM or whomever he had in his sights,' said MacFarlane.

‘He could indeed – and from this report, he became part of a group of very entitled aristocrats who were disenchanted with this country and admiring of Germany – they felt as if they had been the losers, not the victorious. Mind you, there was a lot of trouble in Germany too, as time went on – unemployment as bad as it was here. Hitler made hay with the discontent to press his agenda – that was the key to his power. Then he capitalised on it when he found the ideal scapegoat for all German ills.' She shook her head. ‘Anyway, Hawkin-Price took up with a German princess – I understand there are a lot of them over there.'

‘Good few here too.'

‘Be that as it may – she was a Bavarian noblewoman, a widow, and she was a friend of Adolf Hitler. As we know, Hitler liked to forge friendships with the aristocracy on both sides of the English Channel. It was a way of seeking more power by proxy – and he knew his targets very well. The wealthy British with whom Hawkin-Price associated were concerned that the revolution in Russia would extend further, inspiring the working classes at home to rise up, which 231would threaten their very precious way of life.'

‘Careful, you sound like you're about to start your own revolution – tricky, considering you were once married to gentry.'

Maisie was quick to interrupt. ‘I'll ignore the implication, Robbie. Let's get on with this clarification, and then I'll leave you to continue drawing a line under these loose ends before you retire.'

‘Sorry – and yes, you're right – they were rich people afraid of anything that might knock them off their station in life and send them down the road to wait at the bus stop with the ordinary people.'

‘Right, so they had these get-togethers, parties where they fawned over photos of themselves with the Führer and saluted the Nazi flag, and before the war some of them travelled to Munich or wherever he was in Germany to meet the man himself. But—'

‘Yes, the "but".'

‘It seems from the report that, given his contacts, Hawkin-Price soon discovered some highly questionable, indeed evil, things were going on in Germany – but of course until the war ended, no one knew the true extent of the terror. So he turned and became an agent for the British, time and again coming back with valuable information from his contacts in Germany as well as informing on his aristocratic friends here.'

‘We now know exactly who they are, to a man and woman.'

‘But according to this, Hawkin-Price was ashamed,' said Maisie, tapping the page. ‘Deeply, deeply ashamed and full of remorse over his earlier loyalty to Germany. He could not live with himself – to the point where he wanted to end his life.'

Maisie paused, reached for her glass and sipped the remaining single malt whisky. ‘He knew his employees Mr Chalmers and Mr King were involved in a local resistance network, and more than 232anything, he had seen their sons go off to war – they were young men who had grown up on the family estate. He had watched them as children playing in the fields, climbing trees, helping their fathers with their work. King's son polished his motor car every time he wanted to go out.' She felt her breath become short as she imagined the scenario described in MacFarlane's report. ‘So he gave two bereaved fathers the task of taking his life – an opportunity, if you will. He did not want to live a second longer, so he asked them to shoot him, to have their revenge and be done with it, making it look like suicide. MacFarlane, I … I still don't understand—'

‘Hawkin-Price told Chalmers and King that he was dying, that he wanted to end it all – and that he was aware they knew of his earlier support of Hitler's Fascism. His desire to be done with life accelerated after news started coming through about the concentration camps, and about the fate of our POWs. And our bloody agents too.' MacFarlane shook his head. ‘Sure you don't want a top-up?'

‘If I had any more now, I probably wouldn't stop.'

‘And who knows what might happen then, eh? I will, if you don't mind.'

‘Robbie, did you question Chalmers and King after the death of Hawkin-Price was reported?'

‘Kirby did it for me. He had an idea something like that would happen – he'd had his eye on Hawkin-Price for quite a while, from long before the man turned.' He poured one more glass of whisky for himself and placed the bottle back in the filing cabinet.

‘Ah, yes, the mysterious Kirby – mind if I take a detour?'

‘Go on.'

‘I'm amazed our four agents didn't recognise him at some point.'

‘Don't be, Maisie. You know as well as I do that his office was 233tucked away and he wasn't exactly known in the town unless someone needed a solicitor, and it's usually only the better-offs who can afford legal assistance. But here's the key – you know how it is when you see someone outside their usual place. Say you always see the woman working behind the counter at the post office and then you're walking along in a different town and she comes towards you – you can't place her straightaway because she's out of her usual context in your life. Those youngsters only ever saw Kirby in uniform and with a completely different guise. They weren't allowed into town much, so even if they saw him, I doubt if they could place him, not with him wearing a suit and with a hat on his noddle. They'd pass him by. Ordinary life can be a perfect disguise.'

‘True enough, Robbie. But talking about normal life, what will happen to Chalmers and King?'

MacFarlane swirled the liquor around in his glass, staring at the amber liquid before looking up at Maisie. ‘You know very well that my people stepped in so the death of Hawkin-Price was reported as suicide, because it was in our interests to get the whole thing mopped up as quickly as possible. For his part, before he went to his maker, Hallarden's country squire settled a nice not-so-little retirement trust to look after Chalmers and King, whether the next owner of the house wants to keep them on or not. Kirby wrote up the Hawkin-Price last will and testament according to his wishes, so we know employees will be well supported until the day they die. And if you've heard that the local children's home is likely to purchase the house for the older ones, I would say it's definitely on the cards. It might upset the locals on that avenue though.' He sighed. ‘The middle classes could get uppity when the working classes move in, eh? Mind you, the problem is what to do with your four squatters next.' 234

‘Speaking of those "squatters" – am I correct in thinking that Chalmers was in touch with George, the Comptons' chauffeur, and that's how Lord Julian arranged for them to use the Ebury Place house?'

‘Julian was a very important man in Kent, a key link in the War Office during the Great War. Even in his final weeks, he knew what was going on, so yes, he was fully aware of units ready to be operational across the county in the case of an invasion. And George was involved, so you've no need to talk to him. I've met the man and I know he will be quite happy to leave it all behind and like a lot of others, he won't want to talk about it, and I don't need anything else from him in the way of a statement. Like most of us, he wants nothing more than to put it all in the past. We'll all be happy to leave the war and get on with the peace, such as it is, but it'll be a good long time before it lets go of us, won't it?'

The two old friends ceased to speak for some time. It was Maisie who broke the silence.

‘Robbie, it's so hard to reconcile. On one hand, I'm disgusted with these people – the privileged imbeciles who fawned over Hitler, who would do anything to be at a party with him, or to have their photograph taken with that monster. Yet on the other, I'm surprised I feel a little compassion for Hawkin-Price, a man who walked from his study, down his staircase, across his tiled entrance hall and then through the kitchen, knowing that when he opened the door and stepped out, he would be assassinated, and at his own instruction. It seems that once he discovered the depth of the evil unleashed by Adolf Hitler, instead of making excuses – as many had before him – he acted upon what he had learnt. But the self-loathing remained to eat away at his soul, and he knew he could not live with himself.' 235

‘As it says in the report, he made the identity of every single one of his home grown Fascist friends known to us, and details of how far in with Hitler they were. Needless to say, some we knew and some we didn't. Turns out almost all were followers of that other nasty piece of work, Oswald Mosley – though they call him Tom, don't they? And you know what he's like, because you crossed paths with him some years ago, if my memory serves me well.' MacFarlane shrugged. ‘I'm grateful for Hawkin-Price's service and relieved that he turned to helping his country instead of selling it down the river, but as for feeling sorry for him walking to a death that came quickly? I've neither a shred of sympathy nor an ounce of compassion. After what I witnessed over there when I visited Germany and Poland, at least he didn't stumble starving into a gas chamber and wasn't forced to climb naked into his own grave with a bayonet in his back before being shot. I daresay he'll have all the locals out for his funeral – though being a reported suicide, it won't be a church do and he won't be buried in consecrated ground either. Which is just as well, because no god would have him.'

Maisie left Robert MacFarlane's office, but instead of making her way towards Fitzroy Square to see Billy, or to Charing Cross for a train back to Chelstone, she began walking in the direction of Regent's Park. Then she stopped. No, she didn't want to see the park. Instead she wanted to focus on the memory of how it was before the war. Over three hundred enemy explosives had ripped through the park between 1940 and 1945 – from incendiary devices and heavy bombs, to the V-1 rockets, weapons designed to undermine the resilience of even the most stoic of souls. A distinct buzzing would herald their arrival in the sky above, followed by silence, the 236sudden lack of sound when the bomb was about to drop. Maisie remembered people looking up, waiting, trying to work out where the bomb would fall and then running back and forth to escape death as if they were ants caught in fire. The V-2 rockets were faster, made no sound and fell to the ground at three times the speed of sound to kill and maim thousands. Maisie harnessed her thoughts, because in trying to decide whether to walk in Regent's Park, she could see the dead again, bodies torn limb from limb; spirits rising to the heavens while blood seeped into the soil. Thus there was no reason to believe she would find solace in a place she once loved. But she wanted a moment to herself, to consider all she had learnt in the meeting with MacFarlane, so she decided to go to her Holland Park flat and just sit for a few moments of quiet before walking along the street to see Priscilla and her four guests. She might even close her eyes for a while, because a deep fatigue seemed to be enveloping her, a feeling she had not experienced since she was brought home from France following her wounding in the Great War.

‘We are all on wonderful form,' said Priscilla, opening the front door to greet Maisie. ‘Oh dear, you do look worn out. A nice cup of tea and something inside you will be just the ticket.' She took Maisie by the arm and steered her inside. ‘And do note I did not say "a nice G and T".'

‘I've already had a drink with Robbie MacFarlane – just a small one though, and it was warranted.'

‘To do with my four guests?'

‘Yes, and that's all I can say, Pris. But they're safe now, so I must consider what to do for them next. I assumed responsibility for them, so it's up to me.'237

‘Let's sit down and I'll ask Mrs R to rustle up some tea for us.'

Soon Maisie and Priscilla were seated one at each end of the sofa in the sitting room in front of a slow-burning coal fire – coal was rationed, thus only a few embers warmed the room, so the women drew warmth from cups of tea held with both hands.

‘I often think we look like a pair of china fire dogs when we're sitting together like this,' said Priscilla. ‘It was the same at Girton, wasn't it? One of us at either end of the sofa in our rooms, putting the world to rights. Little did we know how much right was needed, and within the year.'

‘I know,' said Maisie. She placed her cup and saucer on a side table. ‘Where are our charges, by the way?'

‘The girls are upstairs. Grace most likely has her nose in a book and Mary leafing through copies of Vogue – though I now think she wants to be a photographer after reading all about Lee Miller. She's the one who used to be a model, then had a leg up from Vogue with her vivid accounts of war and her photographs, so now Mary thinks that line of work is more exciting than stalking back and forth wearing the latest in fashion. She may be right, but I know which one she could land a job in pretty quickly, and it's not messing around with a camera. For their part, the young men have been set to work clearing out the attics in this house. Heaven knows what they will find. Jim told me they had a look round the loft at Ebury Place, but it was full of old furniture and a couple of trunks. Anyway, I've asked that my attic be tidied up, swept and dusted. They don't have to sort out anything – just make sure it looks shipshape and Bristol fashion.'

‘I think I have a solution for a longer-term place to accommodate them – but I might need your help.'

‘I think I'd rather like to keep them, because I do quite like them 238all – and you know me, any chance to be a bossy boots around young people, and I jump at it. Can't do that with my toads any more, can I? Anyway, what sort of help do you have in mind?'

Maisie regarded her friend, and for a moment felt her fragility. Without doubt Priscilla missed the anchor of motherhood to three sons who were now men. Her husband was attentive and loving, but at the same time he was rooted to a working timetable that contributed to his success as a political writer. She knew she might not have the best solution for Priscilla, but it would give her a purpose for now.

‘You remember you told me you kept on the cottage at Chelstone after V-E Day because you loved spending time there?'

Priscilla nodded as she, too, put down her cup and saucer. She picked up a silver cigarette case and lighter. ‘We were incredibly grateful to you for finding the cottage for us when the bombing became really quite dreadful. We both love it, and Douglas maintains the country atmosphere is good for his work.' She took out a cigarette and tapped it on the case before lighting it. ‘Only three bedrooms though, so it won't fit the four lodgers.'

‘But Chelstone Manor will.'

‘What about Lady Rowan?'

‘It's a very big house – I think there are about fourteen bedrooms all told. In his will Lord Julian made specific arrangements for the house and immediate grounds – they are to be transferred to the National Trust.'

‘Clever move, that one.'

‘It was, but I've already asked Mr Klein to discuss delaying the transfer to allow us to take in a small number of orphaned refugees from one of the German camps – they're in the Lake District at present, but homes are currently being sought.' Maisie reached for her cup of tea. 239

‘Go on, out with it, what's the idea?' said Priscilla, taking a draw from her cigarette, then pressing it into the ashtray. ‘By the way, I'm making progress in my quest to knock gin on the head. It's a question of keeping on moving. But I can't give up everything at once, though I must confess, smoking doesn't seem to be for me any more.' Priscilla fidgeted, as if not quite sure what to do with her hands. ‘I just hope that when sugar comes off ration, it won't go straight to my hips. Anyway, go on – what are you thinking, Maisie?'

‘Let's transfer your four lodgers to Chelstone. The Canadian officers billeted there have returned home now, and Lady Rowan is moving into the older part of the house, so our youngsters could be accommodated in the Georgian wing. Easy to sort out beds and those rooms are quite large anyway. Then later they will be joined by the other orphans – all young people who must make their way forward, and I think they could help one another.'

Priscilla raised an eyebrow. ‘Ah, yes, and you think I would be a good housemother to "our four". Like a no-nonsense patrol leader in the Girl Guides.'

‘I think you would be excellent at the job.'

Maisie watched as Priscilla considered the solution put to her.

‘Good thinking on your part, Maisie. I could make sure they continue their education, one way or another. That older lad has quite a technical mind on him – he solved a few problems I've been having with the electricity here. And the younger boy …' She laughed. ‘I'll get him sorted out or he'll end up in a reform home somewhere, though he, too, is quite good with the more mechanical tasks. I think he would do well as an actor too, but that's a tricky path. Douglas has been speaking to a couple of men "in the know" and apparently even though soldiers are slowly being demobilised, the government 240is looking at bringing in compulsory peacetime conscription in a few years – calling it "National Service," or something like that.' She shook her head, as if in disbelief. ‘So both boys will be called up before they know it and they'll be square-bashing with other unfortunates.' She looked down as she wiped a single tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. ‘If there's one thing I know I can be very good at, Maisie, it's how to make a home for these youngsters, and they deserve to feel the comfort of people who care around them. They are entitled to some tenderness now, and a secure home to bring out the best in every single one of them.'

Maisie smiled. ‘Yes, that's exactly what I was thinking.'

‘Alright, I'm sold. When do I start?'

‘Let me talk to Lady Rowan first – but I think she would like a purpose too, though not in the immediate future.'

‘By the way – I've had a word with a few people I know in couture, and I've made an appointment to take young Mary to meet one of them. I quickly ran a few of my dresses over to that wonderful seamstress – you know, the one with an atelier behind Harrods. She's altering them to fit, so Mary will look the part when we go. As I said, she'll likely be more interested in what the photographer does, but let's see – the money's attractive and I do believe she will impress people. And if she doesn't, I am sure that girl could talk her way into being a photographer's assistant.'

‘Good. And what do you think of Grace?'

‘Bookish. Can't get her out of Douglas's library, and he said he enjoyed hearing what she's had to say about whatever it is she's reading. Continue her education, that's what I think. In fact, I'd like to see them all catch up.'

‘That's what I thought. I'll have a word with them, and then I 241should have it all organised fairly quickly.' Maisie looked at her watch. ‘In fact, I'd like to speak to the four of them together – you can be present; after all, you're going to be keeping an eye on this little pack.'

‘Priscilla Partridge, the she-wolf!'

‘We both know you couldn't be that much of a disciplinarian if you tried!' Maisie became serious. ‘But there's something I have to ask each of them – something I must collect before I leave – and it's very much in confidence.'

Priscilla nodded. ‘I'll round them up for you.'

The four former squatters sat in front of Maisie and Priscilla – the two girls on armchairs and the boys on chairs brought from the dining room. Maisie could not help but smile. It had taken only a day for Priscilla to bring some order, not only to their appearance, but their demeanour. With fresh haircuts, clean clothes and a few good meals inside them, they all seemed to be sitting up a little straighter, with shoulders back and a certain emerging confidence – and without the bluster of fearful adolescents who ached to be more grown up. Looking up at the housekeeper, who entered holding a tray with four mugs of tea and a plate of biscuits, Maisie thought the outwardly stern Mrs R might have had a hand in the swift transformation.

Having given her audience a moment to sip their tea and munch on a biscuit, Maisie began.

‘First things first – I'm glad to see you all looking so well.' She smiled at each one in turn. ‘Mrs Partridge tells me you've been very good guests, and I know you've had to endure a difficult time, not least because I had to insist you remain indoors for your own safety.'

‘Can we go out now, miss?' asked Jim. 242

‘Yes, you can, but Mrs Partridge has some house rules – and not just for you. When her sons were your age, they had to adhere to the same boundaries. Anyway, before we get to that, let me tell you what we're planning – and it's to give you the very best opportunity to catch up, because you've all been through quite a lot and lost time at school too.'

‘Are we safe now – will the police or anyone else be coming after us?' asked Mary.

‘Sorry, I should have made that clear from the start – yes, you're safe. The situation regarding the event you witnessed has been brought to a satisfactory close, however, there is one thing I must make very, very clear to you.' Once more Maisie was struck by their youth, by faces on almost-adults who had borne the weight of childhood wartime responsibility. ‘You must never, ever speak of what you witnessed to anyone else at any time. If you want to get it out of your system, talk to one another, or talk to me or Mrs Partridge. The role you were trained for was not a game – it was a very serious plan to undermine the enemy in the event of an invasion.'

‘But what's going to happen to us?' asked Archie, placing his mug on the side table next to him.

Maisie noticed that the one she had pegged as the Artful Dodger of the quartet was in all likelihood the most vulnerable. Tears filled his eyes, and he looked down at his hands, which he folded in front of his chest as if to prevent anyone seeing the shaking.

‘I'm going to look after you, Archie. All of you. And Mrs Partridge is going to be helping too. We know you each have things you're good at, and we're going to make sure you have the opportunity to get better – for the future. And you'll be moving, but to a lovely house in Kent. In a month or two you'll be meeting some young people there 243who are about your age, but who have been through much worse than you, and that's an understatement. I've to leave in a minute, but Mrs Partridge will talk to you about the opportunities we have in mind, and – whether you like it or not – how to make up for some of the schooling you've missed.'

‘It's alright for Mary, she's going to be a famous model,' said Grace.

‘And there's plenty of room for you to become a famous something else,' said Priscilla.

There was some nudging among the four and a couple of comments back and forth, but Maisie had more to accomplish.

‘There's one more thing – and it's a very important one more thing.' She sighed, still not quite believing she had to make such a request. ‘At the end of your training, you were each given a small pill. It was to be kept about your person in case you were taken prisoner by the German army, yet even though the invasion never happened, I know you were never asked to give up the pills. I want you to give me those pills. Now. I cannot leave this house without having destroyed those four pills – and I know what they look like because I've seen them before.'

Archie was first to reach into his pocket. He took out a tiny folded piece of paper, and handed it to Maisie. Opening the paper, she nodded. Grace pulled an identical folded paper from her sleeve, and passed it to Maisie, followed by Jim, who leant down to slip off his shoe to remove the paper and pill.

‘Mary?' said Maisie.

‘Just a minute.' The older girl stood up, walked to the corner with her back to the room and appeared to reach into the front of her dress. She turned and approached Maisie with her hand outstretched. 244Leaning towards Maisie, she whispered, ‘It was pinned inside my liberty bodice.'

Maisie checked that each wrapper contained an identical pill, and nodded. Moving to the fireplace, she threw the paper wrappers and four cyanide pills onto the glowing embers and watched while small blue flames licked up, destroying the pellets that could have ended four young lives in an instant, and with it all they could have been before they had even had a chance to live.

With her charges dismissed – each of them appearing even lighter after relinquishing the pills they had taken care to keep hidden and intact for several years – Priscilla walked with Maisie to the door. Both women were quiet until they reached the threshold.

‘We've been through some dreadful things together, haven't we?' said Priscilla.

Maisie looked at her friend, and without thinking rested her hand against the side of her face, covering her scars. Priscilla closed her eyes, and Maisie felt her lean into her palm.

‘Does it still hurt, Pris?'

‘Sometimes, and I get headaches.' She opened her eyes and smiled. ‘But if I keep occupied, I can get through it, often with the help of an aspirin powder, or a dratted G and T, though I'm doing my best not to think about the latter. And I reprimand myself for letting it darken my day – instead I think of the wounded RAF boys in the burn wards at the hospital in East Grinstead. So many of them are still there, fully members of Mr McIndoe's Guinea Pig Club. I would never have guessed an esteemed surgeon could be so wonderful.'

Maisie removed her hand. ‘Did he say the pain would subside?'

Priscilla nodded. ‘In time. I've a check-up just before Christmas – 245early December. I thought I'd take a well-stocked hamper and something to imbibe, and have a little party with my new young pals, a few of whom are going home.' She touched Maisie on the arm. ‘Do come with me, Maisie. They're good boys, all of them. Some were only eighteen or nineteen when they were shot down.'

‘Of course I'll come,' said Maisie. She had seen hundreds of facial wounds during the previous war. Priscilla's surgeon, Mr McIndoe, was a pioneer in facial restoration and skin grafting. His innovative approach included allowing his patients – chiefly young RAF pilots who had suffered burns – to go out into town. For their part, the townsfolk of East Grinstead welcomed their wounded heroes into shops and pubs, and rarely did they have to put down money for a drink. ‘Those boys are our heroes, Pris – I'll help you give them a party.'

Priscilla nodded. ‘Be grateful for our reasons to celebrate, eh? Right! I'm galvanising myself for the next thing on my list, and in the meantime, you'd better get on your way. Are you staying at the flat tonight, or going home to Chelstone?'

‘Back to Chelstone.'

The women embraced, but as Maisie turned to walk down the front steps, she heard Mary calling after her.

‘Miss Dobbs, Miss Dobbs. Just a minute. Wait!'

‘It's alright, she can hear you, Mary,' said Priscilla, putting out her hand to slow Mary's progress. ‘And please do be careful. The last thing we want is you to fall and end up with a nasty graze on your face, not when you're on the cusp of fame!'

‘It's alright, Mrs P – I'm quick on my pins.'

‘What is it, Mary?' asked Maisie, who had walked back to the top of the steps. 246

Mary put her hand on her chest. ‘I thought I'd missed you. I should have given you this ages ago, when you first came to the house.' She had been keeping one hand behind her back, but now held out a brown paper parcel, tied with red ribbon.

‘Is this a gift?'

‘Oh no, miss,' said Mary. ‘But I would have bought you one, if I'd had some money. No, this is something I found, and I kept hold of it.'

Maisie took the parcel. ‘What is it? And where did you find it?'

‘Upstairs in that big house, the one where we were living when you first came to see us. Ebury Place. Me and Grace were sleeping in one of them rooms—'

‘The rooms,' corrected Priscilla. She looked at Maisie. ‘Just sorting out the diction.'

‘We were sleeping in one of the rooms,' repeated Mary, ‘where the servants probably slept once. There were two beds in there, so Grace and I made them up with blankets and pillows, but every night when we walked back over the floorboards, there was one that squeaked something rotten.'

‘Oh dear – I can't begin to suggest different words for that sentence.'

Maisie felt colour drain from her face as she struggled to retain her composure. ‘Priscilla, do let her speak. Go on, Mary. I know exactly which room you're talking about.'

‘Anyway, we got right fed up with it, and one day I thought, I'm going to mend that thing. I had a scout around and found a few tools and a jar of nails in the scullery, so I went and pulled up the floorboard. I thought I could get it up at one end and bash it back down again hard.' She grinned. ‘And I was also hoping to find a bag of diamonds! Didn't find anything valuable, but I found the parcel.' 247

‘Did you open it?'

The girl nodded. ‘Couldn't help myself – but I tied it up again the same way. I know – I shouldn't have been nosy. It's letters, but I didn't read them because it dawned on me that the person what wrote them—' She stole a glance at Priscilla. ‘Sorry, I mean the person who wrote them – well, he might be dead.'

‘What makes you think that?' said Maisie.

She shrugged. ‘I suppose because a lot of people died in that war and, well, people die, don't they? I reckon they were sent to a girl who was a servant, living up there in the house.'

‘I knew all the servants then,' said Maisie. ‘Who were the letters addressed to?'

‘Enid someone or other – and they were sent a long time ago. The writing wasn't very good. And what's really funny – not that I'm a detective – but they weren't sent to the house either.'

‘I don't understand.'

‘They were all sent "c/o" a post office. It's in French. Poste Restante – or something like that. Then at the bottom, To Be Collected.'

Maisie looked at the parcel.

‘Go on, you'd better take it, miss. You might be able to find that Enid woman.'

Priscilla put her hand on Maisie's shoulder as she grasped the parcel.

‘No, I won't be able to find her, Mary.'

‘Oh, I thought that with you being an investigator, you could—'

Maisie shook her head. ‘No, no, it's not that.' She looked at Mary. ‘You see, you're right, she's dead. She was killed in an explosion at the Woolwich Arsenal. She worked in munitions, making bombs and 248there was an … an accident, and she was killed.' Maisie turned to Priscilla. ‘I really must go, Pris. And thank you, Mary.'

As she ran down the steps, she heard Mary say to Priscilla, ‘I didn't mean to upset her, Mrs P, I would have burnt them if I'd known. I'm really sorry.'

‘Not to worry, my dear. I'll speak to her later. Now, come on, let's go and look at some lipstick, and I think you could do with a little rouge.'

‘I know who those letters were from. Do you think I should have told her?'

‘I believe she already knows, Mary.'