“I suspect that fear was at the heart of your daughter’s departure from your house.”
Waite moved forward in his chair. “Fear? What’s she got to be—”
Maisie cut him off.
“I’m not sure at this stage, though my assistant and I are pursuing several lines of inquiry. Our first priority is to make contact with Charlotte.”
“Well if you know where she is, just go and get her; that’s what I’m paying you for.”
“Mr. Waite. Your daughter may be secure within the walls of a convent. If that is the case, without attention to certain protocols of communication I will not even be able to speak to Charlotte.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a load of nonsense in my life.” Waite stood up and leaned on the table, resting his weight on his knuckles. “If you know where my daughter is, Miss Dobbs, then I want you to bring her back to this this house at once. Is that understood?”
“Perfectly, Mr. Waite.” Maisie made no move, except to lean back just slightly. Her hands remained folded in her lap in a relaxed manner. Billy followed her lead.
“Is there something more, Miss Dobbs?”
Maisie consulted her watch. “We have almost five minutes left, Mr. Waite, and I’d like to ask you some questions.”
Waite stared at Maisie for a second, as if gauging how much power he would relinquish by reclaiming his seat. He reseated himself and folded his arms again.
“Can you tell me if you have ever met Philippa Sedgewick or Lydia Fisher?”
“Aye, I can. They were both acquaintances of my daughter, years ago. I think she’s still in touch with Mrs. Fisher but doesn’t see her that often. I doubt if she’s seen the other woman in years.”
“What about other friends, Mr. Waite? Surely your daughter had more than just two?”
Waite hesitated, frowning. He leaned forward and turned the ring on his little finger. “Aye, there was another friend.” He sighed, continuing to twist the sparkling ring. “She’s dead now. Killed herself a couple of months ago.”
Maisie showed no surprise at Waite’s revelation. “And what was her name?”
“Rosamund. Thorpe was her married name. She lived down on the coast somewhere. They were all at school together, years ago in Switzerland.”
Maisie leaned forward. “Was Charlotte upset at the news of her friend’s death?”
“Well, like I said, they hadn’t spoken in years. Charlotte only found out when she saw Mrs. Thorpe’s name in the obituary columns, far as I know.”
“Mr. Waite, it would seem that Charlotte’s engagement to Gerald Bartrup ended at approximately the same time as she learned of her friend’s death.”
“Oh, Bartrup. So you’ve seen him, have you?”
“Of course. And according to Bartrup, your daughter broke off their engagement. I have no reason to doubt his word.”
Waite closed his eyes for a second and shook his head.
“Mr. Waite. Why did you not tell me that Charlotte was your second child?”
Waite was visibly startled. He pursed his lips, then took a deep breath as if to compose himself before responding curtly to Maisie’s question.
“Because it has nothing to do with Charlotte’s behavior, that’s why. It has nothing to do with her running off. I’ve taken you on to investigate my daughter’s disappearance, Miss Dobbs, not my life. Oh, I know, I know, you’re thinking of some explanation based on her grief, or something like that. Well, they weren’t close, though Joe was as soft as they come and looked after his sister, but she had all the false airs and graces of her mother.”
Waite leaned forward but Maisie remained calm while Billy scribbled notes on an index card.
“He was one of the best, Miss Dobbs, the apple of my eye. Always there to help. I started him off in the shops, at the bottom so he’d earn the respect he’d need as he moved up in the company. Took to it like a duck to water, he did. Never complained that a job was beneath him. But to answer your question, I didn’t tell you because she was no’ but a girl when her brother died, and she’s a woman now. This nonsense of hers has nothing to do with my Joe!”
Maisie checked her watch. She had one minute. “And when did your son die, Mr. Waite?”
Joseph Waite stared down at the table, and when he looked up, his eyes were filled with tears. “Joe was killed in 1916. In July, Miss Dobbs, during the Battle of the Somme.”
Maisie nodded in understanding. There was no need to acknowledge his loss with words: Grief from the war cast a shadow that at times was dense and at others seemed as pale as a length of gauze. But it was never gone.
Joseph Waite looked at his watch and shook hands with Maisie and Billy; then, as he turned to leave, asked, “Miss Dobbs, why the interest in Charlotte’s three old friends?”
Maisie picked up her document case. “Because they are all dead, Mr. Waite. I thought you might have seen news of the deaths of Mrs. Sedgewick and Mrs. Fisher in the newspapers. Something of a coincidence, isn’t it?”
“I must have read straight past those items. I tend to be more interested in overseas commerce and the business of the country, aspects of current affairs that directly affect Waite’s International Stores. Which is what details of my daughter’s disappearance will do if she is not brought back to this house soon. That’s up to you, Miss Dobbs.”
“I hope to communicate with her directly very soon. Of course you realize, Mr. Waite, that while Charlotte might be persuaded to return to your home, she cannot be forced.”
Waite said nothing but gave a loud hmmph! before opening the door. He turned to claim the last word. “I want her back in this house, Miss Dobbs. If she won’t find a suitable husband to share a house with, then she’ll live under my roof!” Glaring at Maisie, he gave an ultimatum: “I’m off to visit some of my shops for a few days, back next Tuesday. I expect to see you with my daughter upon my return. Tuesday, Miss Dobbs. You’ve got until Tuesday.”
The door slammed, to be quickly opened by Harris, who escorted Maisie and Billy out. Billy was holding the driver’s door of the MG open for Maisie when they were both startled by the sound of furiously flapping wings overhead as a flight of doves rose from an old-fashioned dove-cote in the corner of the gardens.
“Lawd, would you look at that!” said Billy.
“Oh, my, they are beautiful!” said Maisie.
Billy shuddered.“Can’t see it meself. Rather look at a mangy old dog.”
The doves returned in ones and twos, landing on the dove-cote and entering it through tiny doorways.
“Look at that, ‘noses out,’ Miss!” said Billy, joking again.
“Come on, we’d better be off.”
Neither of them said a word as they drove steadily toward the main gate, which was opened by the young man who had let them in on their first visit. Each breathed a sigh of relief upon leaving the Waite residence behind.
“I tell you, Miss, that Joseph Waite really is a study, i’n’t ’e?”
“No doubt about that.”
“ ’ere, do you think ’e was tellin’ the truth, y’know, when ’e said that ’e never knew about them two women bein’ murdered?”
Maisie accelerated the car confidently and replied, “Not in a million years, Billy. Not in a million years.”
As soon as they returned to the office, Maisie and Billy set to work, adding new information to the Charlotte Waite case map as well as reviewing other cases in hand. While Maisie was away from London, Billy would complete reports for two clients, in addition to his other duties. Issuance of a final report also meant submission of an invoice, and with clients tending not to pay “on the button,” as Billy observed, timely presentation of a final account was vital.
They worked together until six o’clock, when Maisie sent Billy home. For her part, Maisie would return to Ebury Place to prepare for the short visit to Kent. She had planned to leave early Saturday morning for the drive down to Chelstone. The next few days would be busy indeed: A letter had arrived from Dame Constance in the afternoon post, informing Maisie that, despite nursing a heavy cold, she would be delighted to see her again, and there was time to be spent with Maurice and with Lady Rowan before leaving for Camden Abbey. As she made her way back to Belgravia, Maisie added another task to her trip: Chelstone was only an hour or so from Hastings on the Sussex coast, and she had ascertained that Rosamund Thorpe had lived in Hastings.