“Ah, yes.” Stratton looked at his watch. “We’d better get cracking, I’ve an appointment at eleven.” He rose and opened the door for Maisie.
As they walked along the corridor toward the interview room, Maisie turned to Stratton. “Has Jarvis had the benefit of legal counsel yet, Inspector?”
Stratton opened a door into an anteroom and indicated for Maisie to enter before himself and Caldwell. “She refuses to speak to anyone but yourself, Miss Dobbs. A duty solicitor has been assigned”—he glanced at his watch—“who should have been here by now.”
As if on cue, a young man rushed into the room in a flustered manner, clutching a new briefcase. Maisie shook her head, though it was no surprise to her that Avril Jarvis would be assigned a raw recruit to the legal profession. The combination of no money, as far as anyone knew, and a novice solicitor with no reputation or established contacts in chambers could only mean that, during her trial, Avril Jarvis would be represented by a junior barrister rather than counsel of some standing.
“I hope I haven’t held anyone up here. I’ve been sorting out some very testy relatives fighting over a will. Sorry!” The solicitor was flushed and hurried, giving no reason for confidence. “Charles Little, duty dog assigned to Jarvis.” He held out his hand to Stratton and beamed a boyish smile. Maisie watched Caldwell sneer. Duty dog might have been an attempt at humor, but even Maisie could not avoid thinking that he was more like the duty pup.
“Right then. Let’s get on with it.” Stratton turned to enter the interview room, but Maisie placed a hand on his arm.
“Inspector, look, I know this has to be done, but may I see Miss Jarvis alone for a moment, with only Miss Chalmers in attendance? I fear that if we all enter at once, nothing will be gained except another wall of silence.”
“I must say, this is most—” Little stepped forward, grasping a possible opportunity to exert some influence.
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Caldwell’s complaint was almost drowned as the young solicitor pressed his position.
Maisie held up her hand. “This will take only a minute and may make the difference between accomplishment and failure.”
Stratton turned to the two men. “I believe Miss Dobbs should have this opportunity, and I agree with her conclusion.” Addressing Maisie he added, “Two minutes, Miss Dobbs, double the time requested.”
Maisie inclined her head and stepped into the room where Avril Jarvis stood alongside a table and chair. She was not wearing handcuffs, but bracelets of raw skin on her wrists suggested that a pair had been removed after she had been brought into the secure room. Chalmers stood beside the door. Jarvis was dressed in a plain gray dress of prison issue and plain black lace-up shoes. Her hair had been drawn back sharply in a bun and her face and hands appeared to have been scrubbed roughly. She smiled as Maisie entered, but then her eyes filled with tears. She took a step toward Maisie, but Chalmers moved quickly. The girl was, after all, detained on suspicion of murder.
“It’s all right, Chalmers.” Maisie held up a hand and turned to Avril, who collapsed into her arms. She said nothing but allowed the girl to weep.
“I’m scared, miss. I’m right scared.”
“Of course you are, of course you are. Now then.” Maisie held Avril Jarvis away from her but kept her hands on the girl’s upper arms, so she could feel the benefit of Maisie’s strength. “The Detective Inspector is waiting outside, and so is your solicitor. Avril? Avril, look at me.” Maisie lifted the girl’s chin, for she had tried to rest her head on Maisie’s shoulder. She’s exhausted. “Come on now, Avril, look at me. All you have to do is tell the same story that you told me yesterday.”
Avril Jarvis wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffed. “Yes, miss, all right.”
Maisie looked into her eyes deeply and smiled knowingly. But you didn’t tell me everything, did you, dear girl. “Take a deep breath…yes, that’s it. And another…. And again…. Shake your hands like this…. Good. Now then, stand with your hands at your sides, keep them loose, and”—Maisie walked behind the girl and pressed her fingertips into the middle of Jarvis’s slender back—“let this go.”
Avril Jarvis gasped and almost fell forward, feeling the tension in her spine escape as Maisie touched her. “That felt like burning, it did, miss. As if your hands was on fire. Like a hot poker going through me, it was.”
Maisie nodded. “Keep your feet firmly on the floor, Avril, and stand tall, but not like a lamppost!”
Stratton entered without knocking, accompanied by Caldwell and Charles Little.
“Right, Miss Jarvis, let’s get down to business. This need not be long and miserable if you cooperate and answer my questions. Then Mr. Little here will be able to speak to you alone—with only the policewoman in the room, that is.”
“What about this lady?” Avril pointed to Maisie. “Can she stay?”
Maisie stepped forward. “No, Avril, I have to leave you with your solicitor. It’s for the best, and it’s also the law.”
“But—”
Maisie turned to Stratton. “I think Miss Jarvis is ready.” She smiled at Jarvis and nodded.
The questioning of Avril Jarvis continued for a good two hours. Following the interrogation, Maisie waited to speak to Charles Little, who left the room anxious to return to his office.
“Mr. Little, may I have a word?”
“Oh, Miss Dobbs.” He looked at his watch. “I have barely a moment. I’m sorry, but I really am very busy.”
“I have only one question: Do you know whom you will brief to act as counsel for Miss Jarvis?”
Little sighed. “Well, clearly she’s on a sticky wicket. She needs a legal miracle worker to get her out of this mess, and even with the assistance available to those with no funds, she’ll not have access to the caliber of counsel I would like to brief on her behalf.”
“I see.”
“Well, then. I must be off. Cheerio, Miss Dobbs.”
Maisie watched the young solicitor leave and shook her head. A legal miracle worker. She walked slowly toward the police constable who would summon Stratton’s driver to take her back to Fitzroy Square. So be it.
FIVE
Maisie looked over the three pages of notes written in Billy’s large curved handwriting and smiled. His deliberate forming of letters, large, like those of a child in primary school, reflected an innocence she found endearing.
“My only addition to this list, Billy, would be the newspaper offices. There’s probably a local rag, so see if there are any references to the family. I know it’s a tall order—after all, she’s thirteen years old—but some newspapers have a librarian to assist with deeper research. And in a place like this, I would say there are people who have been at the newspaper since the year dot; find out who they are. Mind you, be careful. This story is about to become big news. Don’t give anything away that might end up on the front page of the Express.”
Billy made a notation in his book. “Right you are, Miss.”
Maisie handed back the pages and smiled. “Good work, Billy. Now all you have to do is follow your plan, but you must allow room to add new possibilities for inquiry. And remember, leave no stone unturned. Keep an open mind and don’t jump to conclusions. Be vigilant for coincidences. Every detail, even one that is seemingly unimportant, could be vital.”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Now.” Maisie walked to her desk, took a key from her black case, and unlocked a drawer on the right-hand side. “Here you are.” She handed Billy a brown envelope. “You should have plenty there for train, guesthouse accommodation, dining requirements, and a bit left over for yourselves.”
Billy looked at the envelope and pressed his lips together. “S’very kind of you, Miss. You know, not just this”—he flapped the envelope back and forth—“but for trustin’ me to go off on me own on a case. I won’t let you down, Miss.”
Maisie allowed silence to linger before she spoke again. “It’s not for me, Billy. It’s for a young girl w
ho is scared to death. Just one small detail in her favor may mean success or failure in defense of her case.”
Billy nodded. “And D.I. Stratton doesn’t know what I’m up to?”
“No. There’s no need to inform him at the moment. This is a private investigation, expenses paid for by the business.”
“Well, like I said, I won’t let you down—or Miss Jarvis. Mind you, I read in the Daily Sketch that they don’t fancy the killer’s chances, not when it comes to trial, what with the victim bein’ a family man and all.”
Maisie locked her desk and replaced the key in her case. “No jumping to conclusions. Leave the path open for the truth to make itself known; do not hamper the way with speculation. Questions, Billy, are at the heart of our success—the more questions you ask, the better equipped we will be to help the girl.”
Billy nodded.
“Right.” Maisie looked at the silver watch pinned to the breast pocket of her navy jacket. “I have to leave for the Inns of Court now for my appointment with Sir Cecil Lawton at his chambers. You’ll have left for the day by the time I’m back. Best of luck to you tomorrow.” Maisie held out a hand to her assistant.
“Thank you, Miss.”
She smiled, collected her hat, gloves, and bag, and quickly left the office.
MAISIE TRAVELED BY underground to Holborn and from there walked to Lincoln’s Inn Fields and the chambers of Sir Cecil Lawton, which were in a building first constructed in the fifteenth century. Maisie was deliberately a few minutes early for the appointment and used the time to walk around Lincoln’s Inn, one of the first residential London squares. Maurice Blanche had instructed her time and time again that the solution to a problem or question was rarely to be found in sitting alone and that movement of the body also moved the mind. It was a crucial part of the pilgrimage, the journey toward truth.
Though there remained reticence in her heart regarding the assignment, she was bound by her loyalty to Lady Rowan Compton and her husband, Lord Julian. And though Lord Julian would never have exacted an obligation to assist his friend, she felt compelled to take on the inquiry, given her association with the family and all that they had done for her. However, she now had another reason for accepting the case.
Maisie was ushered in by the clerk of chambers, and waited only a moment before being shown into Lawton’s private office. Cecil Lawton stood up and came from behind an ornate carved mahogany desk, the sheer heft of which seemed to underline the standing of one of the great legal orators of the day.
“Miss Dobbs, please, do sit down.” Lawton indicated two leather Queen Anne chairs, with a small carved table between them. There was a knock at the door, and an assistant entered with a tray and two cups, together with a coffee pot and cream jug. “One of my clients, some years ago, owned a coffee plantation in British East Africa. It seems that, in addition to my fee, he has felt it necessary to keep my office well stocked with coffee. Hence all juniors have to learn the art of brewing a fine cup at midmorning.”
Maisie smiled and reached for the cup that was held out to her as she settled herself in the chair. “My former employer was brought up in France and continues to enjoy a French breakfast with very strong coffee each morning, though he now lives in Kent. I have acquired the taste.”
“Ah, yes, Maurice Blanche. Always a man to have on one’s side in court.” Lawton took a sip of coffee, set his cup on the table, and turned to Maisie. “I am most grateful to you for taking on this inquiry.”
Maisie had noticed a more relaxed manner in comparison with their first meeting. The weight on his shoulders has passed to me. She set her cup next to Lawton’s on the table. “Before we begin, I would like to discuss my terms.”
“Of course. As I said on the telephone, your fee is perfectly acceptable and I also appreciate your advice regarding closure of the inquiry. All expenses will be met with immediate refund when presented to my accountant. In fact”—Lawton took an envelope from the inside pocket of his black jacket—“I felt an advance was in order.”
Maisie took the envelope and placed it on the table, next to her cup. “Thank you. However, I have another request, Sir Cecil.” She reached into her document case and took out a copy of The Times. “You have no doubt read about this case.” She handed the newspaper to Lawton, indicating a column on the front page with her right index finger.
Lawton reached into the folds of his gown, to the jacket pocket again. He took out his spectacles and read the news that Maisie had pointed to. “Oh, yes. Of course. But I can’t see—”
“I would like you to act as counsel for Miss Avril Jarvis, Sir Cecil.”
Lawton took off his spectacles. “Miss Dobbs, I don’t know. This is most unexpected.”
“I realize that, sir. I have never before made such a request a condition of my taking on an inquiry, but I have been involved in the case—I consult with Scotland Yard on occasion—and know that the girl will not otherwise have access to counsel of any stature. I must add that, in my estimation, her case merits such representation.”
“You believe her innocent?”
Maisie took care to retain eye contact with Lawton. “I believe in her innocence, Sir Cecil. My assistant leaves tomorrow for Taunton, to conduct further inquiries as to her background and the question of her appearance in London.”
Lawton sighed, tapping the newspaper. “But this seems all too familiar: a poor girl leaves home to seek her fortune in London; she falls on hard times, is taken up by a pimp and, in this case, exacts a payment for her sins.” He rose and walked toward the window that looked out across the square. “If I agree to act for the girl—and I do not need to remind you that I have to be briefed by her attending solicitor—does that mean your fee is waived?”
Maisie took a deep breath. Lawton was a wealthy man. He did not need to strike such a bargain, though she suspected the move was born of habit by a man used to the verbal jousting of the courtroom. She had been cautious with her money for years, but her pockets were not that deep; however, she had made her decision. Avril Jarvis needed a legal miracle. “The fee will be halved, though obviously not my expenses.”
Lawton leaned across his desk, took up a fountain pen and made a note. “I agree to your terms, Miss Dobbs. Now, let us continue.”
“Thank you, Sir Cecil.” Maisie smiled, pleased that an agreement had been reached. She proceeded to remove a wedge of index cards from her case as Lawton took his place again in the chair opposite.
“I would like to know what happened when you received word of Ralph’s death.”
Lawton sighed. “It was on August seventeenth, 1917. I was about to leave our home in Regent’s Park when the telegram arrived. It stated that Ralph was missing, presumed dead. A letter received later confirmed that his aeroplane had been shot down over enemy territory and he had perished.”
“How long had he been in the Flying Corps?”
“A long time, all things considered, but only a few months as a pilot.”
“Oh?”
“He enlisted fairly soon after leaving school, then transferred from the Royal Engineers to the Flying Corps, where he was a mechanic before becoming an observer.”
“A mechanic?” Maisie realized that she had taken the step she’d warned Billy about only a couple of hours earlier. She had made an assumption, in her case that Ralph Lawton had joined the Royal Flying Corps as an officer.
“Yes. Ralph went into the army straight from school.” Lawton rubbed his chin. “He was a singular sort of chap at St. Edmunds, didn’t really have close friends.” He paused again. “Anyway, my son enjoyed solitary pursuits and had something of a mathematical mind, passable at physics and so on, and liked tinkering with engines. Essentially, Miss Dobbs, it would be fair to say that Ralph preferred his own company, liked to be left alone.”
“Did he enjoy his schooldays?”
Lawton frowned. “I do not believe such a time in one’s life is there to be enjoyed as such. Sadly, my son was not a scholar, nor did he e
xcel on the sports field. In fact, I understand he was rather shunned when it came to such pursuits. He wasn’t one who was at home on the cricket field, and he was far too sensitive for rugby.”
“Sensitive?”
Lawton seemed uncomfortable. “Well, you know, didn’t care for the camaraderie or, indeed, the demands of such a sport. Look, is this really necessary, Miss Dobbs?”
“Yes—yes, it is.” Maisie was thoughtful. “Tell me, Sir Cecil, what would you say was at the heart of Ralph’s singular character?”
“If you must know, I think it was my wife’s fault. Ralph was very much his mother’s son, Miss Dobbs.”
“And you think that was detrimental to his future?”
“Miss Dobbs, I had hoped that my son would demonstrate more acceptable ambitions to a father in my position. His performance at school was average at best, except in mathematical subjects, as I have indicated. His reluctance to take a full part in the recreational aspects of scholarship at such a prestigious boys’ school, together with his insistence on joining up with the enlisted men rather than taking up a commission, all served to convince me that my son wished only to cross me.”
“I see. So there was a rift between you?”
Lawton was silent for a moment before replying. “He may have been my son, Miss Dobbs, but I did not care for his character, I’m afraid.”
“And your wife?”
“Adored him. She lost two sons in childbirth before Ralph was born, and our daughter’s death from rubella meant he was to be our only child. My wife elevated Ralph’s importance to a ridiculous level. She didn’t care what he did or who he became, as long as he was there, hence this stupidity in continuing to believe he was alive. And now I am charged with continuing the charade!”
Maisie leaned back into the chair and breathed deeply. She was taken aback by the strength of feeling revealed in Lawton’s voice, which had become quite loud. Instead of encountering a father crushed by the loss of his only son, Maisie found herself keen to temper his frustration and bitterness. As Lawton began to regain composure, Maisie stood up. “Sir Cecil, it is such a pleasant day today. I know this is somewhat unusual, but may we continue our discussion during a stroll around the square?”