“But what about the other incidents?”
“Yes, what about the other incidents? You should have informed us.”
“You knew about the motor car accident.”
“But there was the aborted shove on the underground.”
“Billy told you?”
“Of course. He felt guilty after hearing about the poisoning. Apparently he had not quite believed you.”
“I now wonder whom he’s working for.”
“Oh, don’t doubt that man of yours, he’s loyal as a sheepdog. Look, I want to have all the details. And I want to have you protected.”
“Yes to the first, no to the second, Inspector.”
Stratton walked to the window and then turned to face her. In following his movements, it was obvious to Maisie that he was about to broach a difficult subject, and she knew what it was.
“Miss Dobbs. I believe you have crossed paths with the secret service. Have you considered—and this is in absolute confidence—that you have been in danger due to some knowledge you have acquired?”
“Yes, Inspector, I have. You can rest assured that I am safe in that quarter. I can say no more, but I am safe.”
“Good.” He paused. “Because there are enemies I can protect you from, but that one is beyond my reach. As long as you are safe.”
Maisie smiled, seeing in Stratton’s eyes a concern that went beyond that of an occasional colleague but rather one who had just months ago declared his desire for a friendship beyond the confines of their shared work.
There was an awkward pause. Stratton reached for the hat he had set on a side table earlier. “Well, Miss Dobbs, please telephone immediately if you have any additional information for us. In the meantime, our investigations will continue, especially regarding procurement of the substances used in this attempt on your life.”
Maisie stood and held out her hand. “And you will let me know when I can visit Avril Jarvis at Holloway? I would like to see her as soon as possible.”
“Dr. Blanche has said—”
“Inspector, I plan to commence work again tomorrow. I can visit soon, if you will make the necessary arrangements.”
Stratton sighed. “Of course, though it may take several days.” He tipped his hat. As he approached the door that led to the hall, it burst open and Andrew Dene rushed in.
“Maisie, darling, I came as quickly as I could.”
“Oh!” She stepped back to avoid his taking her in his arms, a move that she knew would embarrass Stratton. “Andrew, let me introduce Detective Inspector Richard Stratton of Scotland Yard. Inspector Stratton, this is my friend Dr. Andrew Dene.”
Stratton offered his hand to Dene, who greeted him with his usual sunny smile. “Very good to meet you, Inspector. Off to box up a few more criminals, eh?”
Stratton looked at Maisie, then Dene. “Of course.” He smiled at Maisie. “I will be in touch about tomorrow, Miss Dobbs.”
As Stratton left, Dene pulled Maisie to him. “I have been so worried, your father even more so. Let me take you to Chelstone or to Hastings, Maisie. I know Maurice said you must rest. Come, let me take you away from London.”
“No, Andrew, not yet. I have telephoned Dad, I know he’s worried, and I have assured him I am well. I know Lady Rowan is probably ‘beside herself’ with worry too. I promise I am all right. I was simply overcome during my visit to Bailleul. It has passed and I am recovering.” Dene opened his mouth to object, but Maisie affectionately placed her finger on his lips. “I must finish my work, Andrew. Then I will rest. But my work comes first.”
Dene looked at the floor, then back at Maisie. “Yes, I know.”
MAISIE’S RECOVERY SEEMED to be taking longer than she had expected, though no one else was surprised. But each day she grew stronger, at first taking on one task, then another. She had received a letter from Priscilla with news of a wonderful meeting with Pascale Clement, of her regard for Chantal Clement, and of their joint plans for a memorial for her beloved Peter in the woodland where Maisie had found his identification discs. They knew nothing of her find, only that Peter had loved to walk there because it reminded him of his childhood home. Already the boys could not wait to see their cousin and were making plans for her to spend summers in Biarritz, though her grandmother had yet to be consulted.
She caught up with pressing errands, first carefully wrapping Peter Evernden’s journal in fine tissue paper, then brown paper with string, before placing it in a box to which she attached a label bearing Pascale Clement’s name. An accompanying letter instructed Priscilla to allow no one but the girl to receive or open the package. Having polished the Princess Mary tin so it looked almost new, Maisie returned Peter Evernden’s identity discs to their hiding place and wrapped the tin in a sheet of tissue paper before setting it alongside Pascale’s gift. She closed the box and secured the parcel, ready to send to Biarritz. The letter did not give details as to how she came upon the treasure, but explained that she thought it only right that the tin and its contents should now belong to Priscilla, though her possession of the items must remain a secret.
WORD CAME FROM Stratton that arrangements had been made for her to visit Avril Jarvis at Holloway on Tuesday, September 30, at ten o’clock, and that her request for a private meeting had been honored. The black Invicta motor car arrived at a quarter past nine, an early departure that would allow time for a meeting with the governor of the women’s prison. In preparation, Maisie had woken early for her ritual of meditation. She had taken a taxi-cab to Hampstead, to spend time in conversation with Khan, followed by silence and absolute stillness. In those hours she had seen again the pinhole of light that became larger and larger. She was moving away from the edge. She was healing.
“I thought you might like to see a copy of the pathologist’s final report—though as far as anyone at the Yard is concerned, you’ve never seen it.” Stratton reached into a leather briefcase and pulled out a sheaf of papers for Maisie to look at as the motor car made its way across London.
She leafed through the papers, then took each page and read carefully. “The killer was right-handed, and at the second lunge the blade entered here.” She touched her mackintosh at the place on her chest to the left of her breastbone. “Hmmm. And a thirteen-year-old girl is supposed to have the strength to push a knife through clothing, flesh and bone.”
“Anger gives untold strength. You know that.”
“Wouldn’t you be angry?”
“I’m not saying she deserves to hang, for God’s sake. Your friend Lawton will no doubt seek a manslaughter charge rather than life in prison. She’s fortunately too young to see the black cloth.”
Maisie remembered the judge of her dreams placing the square black cloth of death atop his long silver-haired wig. She sighed, exasperated, then handed the file to Stratton, leaned back in her seat, and closed her eyes, reliving that first meeting with Avril Jarvis. As she did so, she went back again and again, focusing on one particular movement as the girl reached out—what was it for? Water? And then the moment when she touched the girl’s back, feeling the tension that warned of a secret held. She opened her eyes.
The smoke-blackened castellated walls of Holloway Prison loomed ahead. Gates opened for the Invicta to enter, and the car drew to a halt to allow Stratton and Maisie to alight and enter the prison. Following a meeting with the governor, they were led to a small room, not unlike the room at Vine Street where Maisie had first met Avril Jarvis, though this time there was no window. A table was positioned in the center of the room, with a hard wooden chair on either side. She chose the seat facing the door by which Avril would enter.
“I’ll wait outside,” Stratton said, before leaving the room.
Moments passed. Then the heavy door opened and Avril was led in. The woman guard pushed the girl into the wooden chair and stood in a corner.
“There is no need to guard me. You may wait outside.”
“If you please, madam, I—”
“Please leave us.”
She f
lashed a glare at Maisie. “I’ll be right outside.”
“Of course.” Maisie smiled and thanked the guard, who she knew would have been duty-bound to remain in the room but had possibly been instructed to allow leeway in this case.
Maisie regarded Avril Jarvis. Despite her incarceration, she seemed to be faring better than when they first met. The hell she was enduring now was clearly not as dark as the one before.
“How are you, Avril?”
“All right, miss.”
Maisie stood up and walked around the table, keeping her eyes on Avril, so that eventually the girl had to look up at her.
“What are you doing, miss?”
“Causing the walls to crumble, Avril.”
The girl was unnerved and frowned.
“Stand up.” Maisie’s voice was soft yet strong.
Avril pushed back her chair and stood, her hands at her sides. Maisie noticed the slightly shorter right arm. It was when she reached for the arm to wash it gently at their first meeting that Avril had flinched.
“Did you kill your uncle?”
“I reckon I must’ve.”
“You don’t remember?”
“That’s what I said, what I’ve said all along.”
“Could you have killed him?”
“Could I, miss?”
“Yes, could you?”
“Well, he wasn’t no saint, so I reckon I could.”
“Avril, you are lying.”
“No, miss, I ain’t lying.”
“Avril, I will concede that you may have passed out. I will concede that you may have felt like killing such a brutal man, but I know you could not have done it.”
Avril looked down. Maisie moved to a place directly in front of her.
“Avril.”
“Yes, miss?”
“Look at me.”
Avril looked up.
“I want you to lift your right hand and hit me as hard as you can.”
The girl’s eyes opened so wide that Maisie almost smiled.
“I can’t do that, miss.”
“No one’s here to see. Just you and me. Now then, do as I say. Hit me as hard as you can.”
Avril swallowed and lifted her left hand.
“No, Avril. You are not left-handed, you are right-handed. Your right hand.”
Avril Jarvis lifted her right hand and then, with her face reddening, she pulled down her fist with all her might and lunged at Maisie, who closed her eyes as the fist connected with her chest. She did not fall back, did not lose her footing. Instead, as she opened her eyes; she saw the girl standing there with tears flowing.
“You couldn’t have killed that man, Avril. You could barely move me.” Maisie stepped around to the girl’s back and pressed at the very point where she held her secret. “This is the muscle that does the work in your back, isn’t it, Avril? The one that compensates for your arm. Roll up your sleeve—all the way to your shoulder.”
Avril Jarvis rolled up the sleeve of her rough uniform dress to reveal an arm that was bent above the elbow.
“What happened to you, Avril?” Maisie reached into her black bag and pulled out a handkerchief, which she passed to the girl.
“I was ten when me stepdad first talked about me going away to London. I was scared, miss, right scared. I tried to run away, but he found me and dragged me back again. He beat me, said I was good for nothing and it wasn’t worth spending good money on food for me. I was working out in the fields then, even though the school board man came round, but he didn’t do nothing when he saw me stepdad, he was that scared of him. I ran away again, and he came after me—drunk, you know.” She sniffed and rubbed her eyes and nose with the handkerchief. “So I thought that if I killed myself, it would be all right. He wouldn’t be able to touch me then, would he? And I would be out of it, out of the way, if I was dead.”
Maisie nodded. “Go on.”
“So one day he said he was sending me away to work in London and Mum was crying and saying ‘No, no, no,’ so I ran off and hid in a tree and when he came up to drag me down I just let meself go. Right far up in the branches, I was. I broke me arm. Hurt me back as well. That’s why I’ve no strength. ’Course, we didn’t have the money for a doctor, so my stepdad just put a bit of wood along my arm and put a bandage around it and said that by the time I went to London, I wouldn’t even notice. I was twelve when I came up here. And my arm still hurts.” She began to weep, and as the tears flowed, Maisie held Avril Jarvis to her. “I want to go back to my mum, miss.”
“You will, Avril. Don’t worry, you will.”
IT WAS ALMOST dusk by the time Maisie returned to Ebury Place, Stratton’s driver having brought her back alone while the Inspector remained at Holloway. She went directly to her rooms, stopping only to accept Sandra’s offer to bring her supper on a tray later, perhaps a nice piece of steamed cod for strength.
A fire was already alight in the grate. Maisie slipped off her coat, draped it across the back of the chair, and slumped down, rubbing her temples as she did so. Images of the day flashed into her mind as she allowed the tension of the past few hours to seep away. She had summoned both Stratton and the guard, and as they entered the barren room where Maisie stood alongside the girl, Maisie placed a hand between the girl’s shoulder blades to encourage her to stand tall. She could not afford to bend. Avril Jarvis needed to be upright and firm, and Maisie ensured that she was nothing less than strong at this time, even if she crumbled when taken back to her cell.
“Inspector Stratton, I would like to draw your attention to a physical disability suffered by Miss Jarvis.”
Stratton frowned but knew that Maisie was not one to waste time. “What is it, Miss Dobbs?”
Maisie turned to Avril. “Please roll up your sleeve again.” The girl obeyed, her thin damaged limb revealed to Stratton. “As you can see, Miss Jarvis sustained an injury some time ago that has rendered her weak and deformed, though the disadvantage is not immediately noticeable. She has compensated well.”
Stratton leaned closer to look at the girl’s arm. She began to tremble quite visibly but regained composure when Maisie smiled and touched her shoulder.
“The fact is that Miss Jarvis has little strength in that arm. Of course, you must have a doctor test her ability and physical dexterity, though I feel it should have been noticed at her preliminary medical.”
“What are you saying, Miss Dobbs?” Stratton looked directly at Maisie. He knew very well what she was saying.
“Miss Jarvis could hardly push me away with that arm, and she certainly does not have the might to drive a knife into the heart of a man.”
Stratton turned to the guard. “Please return Miss Jarvis to her cell.”
The guard took Avril Jarvis by her left arm. “Come along, Jarvis. Now then, don’t dawdle, get along.”
The door closed behind them.
“We have already discussed this, Miss Dobbs. What about rage, anger?”
Maisie shook her head. “As you know, I have medical training, so I can make a preliminary assessment—and again, I am surprised that her disability was not noted earlier.” Maisie glanced at Stratton as she began to pace. “Another assessment, possibly by an orthopedic surgeon, along with further consultation with the pathologist, will confirm that Avril Jarvis did not—could not—have killed the man referred to as her uncle.”
“If she didn’t, then who did?” Stratton shook his head.
“Ah, that I cannot tell you. Clearly the girl was first on the scene. She removed the knife from the body, an act that caused her to collapse and have no memory of subsequent events.” She paused, then played her next card. “You might entertain the possibility, Inspector, that the girl has absolutely no knowledge whatsoever regarding the identity of the killer. Her ‘uncle’ was a Soho ne’er-do-well with dubious associations. If a thirteen-year-old girl did not kill him, I am sure you could compile a list of undesirable characters and known felons who would have been only too glad to bring an end to his li
fe.”
Stratton sighed, shook his head, and turned to the door, gesturing for Maisie to go before him. “I have work to do here, Miss Dobbs. I will have to call upon you again. However, I think we can assume that, if your suspicions are corroborated, Avril Jarvis will be released to her family in due course.”
As she gazed into the fire, Maisie smiled. Home with her mother.
Maisie left her room only once before supper was brought on a tray. In the library she placed a telephone call to Sir Cecil Lawton’s chambers and, though she did not speak to him directly, she instructed a pupil to inform him that she would visit him at his estate in Cambridgeshire on Friday, with a request to let her know if the arrangement was not convenient. Maisie planned to make the journey by train, though she had received word from Eric that the MG was “Ready when you are, miss!” But she was not quite ready.
Of course, she could have seen Sir Cecil in his offices; however, her client, the father who had asked her to prove his son dead so his conscience could rest, was not the only man she wished to visit at the Lawton estate.
TWENTY-SEVEN
In the two days between the meeting at Holloway and her journey to Cambridgeshire on Friday, Maisie spent time at her office in Fitzroy Square, though she did not arrive until midmorning each day and left before four o’clock in the afternoon, a good three hours before her customary time of departure. There was another interview with Stratton regarding the Jarvis case, along with commencement of work for the new clients who required the services of Maisie Dobbs, Psychologist and Investigator, and who had seen Billy while she was in France. France: It seemed many weeks ago now, yet she must bring her pilgrimage back into the present for Lawton. She had still to compose both her verbal and written reports.
Maurice had remained in town for several days to monitor Maisie’s progress; although he was not in agreement with her insistence upon working, he could see that with her return to routine she had begun to step away from the chaos of her memories. Dene had returned to Hastings, but not before extracting a promise from Maisie that she would spend the weekend at Chelstone with her father, possibly remaining there until Monday.