At ten o’clock on the dot, just as they were about to leave for the appointment with Joseph Waite, the telephone rang.
“Always the way, innit?”
“You can say that again.” Maisie reached for the receiver and gave the number.
“May I speak to Miss Maisie Dobbs?”
“Speaking.”
“Ah, Miss Dobbs. My name is Reverend Sneath, from the village of Lower Camden. I have an important message for you from Dame Constance at Camden Abbey. I visited her earlier today, and she asked me to telephone you as a matter of some urgency as soon as I returned to the vicarage.”
“What is the message, Reverend Sneath?” Maisie was filled with dread. Seeing her complexion change, Billy moved closer to the desk.
“I’ll read it out to you, so I don’t miss a thing.”
Maisie bit her lip as she listened to the rustle of paper, the message being unfolded. The reverend cleared his throat. “Dear Maisie. Miss Waite has left Camden Abbey. She went to her cell immediately after your meeting with her yesterday, and did not join us for our meals or for our devotions, as is her practice. I gave instructions for a food tray to be left for her, and when it was discovered untouched this morning we searched the abbey to no avail. I fear that yesterday’s distressing events have weighed heavily on her. I have not informed the authorities as Miss Waite is not a member of the community. However, I am concerned for her well-being. Do all that you can to find her, Maisie. I need not remind you that her safety is your responsibility. We will hold you and Miss Waite in our prayers.”
“Oh God.” Maisie slumped into her chair.
“Yes, quite.”
“Thank you. Reverend Sneath. Please destroy the message. And would you be so kind as to get word to Dame Constance that I will be in touch as soon as I have located Miss Waite.”
“Of course. Good day to you, Miss Dobbs.” The line clicked.
“She’s run away again, Billy.” Maisie’s hand was still on the receiver, as if willing the telephone to ring with news of Charlotte.
“Oh blimey! Now what’re we goin’ t’ tell ol’ Waite?”
“Nothing. I don’t want to alarm Waite until we’ve made inquiries. For now we’ll carry on as if we know where she is. But we have to find her—and pretty sharpish. Come on, let’s get going. We can talk about it in the car.”
Maisie and Billy exchanged ideas throughout the journey to Dulwich, until Maisie put a stop to their speculation. “Let’s give this problem some air. Now we’ve speculated back and forth, let’s allow some room for inspiration.”
“Awright, Miss. Let the ideas come to us instead of chasing them.”
“Exactly.” Maisie spoke as forcefully as she could but was unable to escape the dread that pulled at her stomach. Where was Charlotte Waite now?
Once again, Maisie was required to park “nose out” at the Waite mansion and, once again, after being most cordially greeted by Harris, the calm was broken by the entrance of Miss Arthur, Joseph Waite’s secretary, clutching her files.
“Oh, Miss Dobbs, Miss Dobbs, Miss Dobbs. I tried to telephone you, but your line was engaged, and then when I telephoned a second time, there was no answer. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Miss Arthur reminded Maisie of a startled hen, with her arms flapping. Maisie raised her hand, as if to smooth the other woman’s ruffled feathers.
“What is wrong, Miss Arthur?”
“It’s Mr. Waite.” Miss Arthur ushered Maisie and Billy into her wood-paneled office neighboring the entrance hall. “Of course, he sends apologies, many apologies, but he has been . . . called away urgently . . . on a business matter.”
Miss Arthur was not a practiced liar, Maisie noted. She frowned. “I see.”
“I tried to reach you, but I expect you had already left,” the flustered secretary continued.
“Not to worry, Miss Arthur. Of course I have much to report to him.”
“Yes, yes, he expected that. He asked me to attend immediately to any interim bills you may wish to submit. For your services.”
“That is very kind.” Maisie turned to Billy, who handed her a brown envelope, which she in turn handed to Miss Arthur. “Perhaps I can make an appointment for next week?”
“Indeed, Miss Dobbs.” Miss Arthur stepped quickly to the other side of her desk, reached into a drawer and pulled out a checkbook and ledger. She glanced briefly at the bill, and commenced writing a check while still speaking to Maisie. “In fact Mr. Waite said to let you know that he’s reviewed your previous conversations and he’s satisfied with your progress. He trusts that you will be bringing Miss Waite back to the house in the fullness of time.”
“A bit of an about-turn, Miss Arthur?” Maisie was suspicious of the fact that both Charlotte and her father were eluding further confrontation by her. A coincidence? Or by design?
Miss Arthur did not respond as she continued to sign the check in her small, rounded hand. She slipped the check into an envelope that she passed to Maisie; then she looked down to complete the ledger entry before reaching for a substantial desk diary. “Let me look at his diary. How about next Wednesday? At noon?”
Maisie nodded at Billy, who noted the time on an index card.
“Perhaps you would be so kind as to inform Mr. Waite that I expect to be in a position to make arrangements for Miss Waite’s return very soon.”
“I understand, Miss Dobbs. We are all very anxious to see her back home.”
“Yes.” Maisie looked sharply at Miss Arthur, who seemed intent on shuffling the papers on her desk. She had always thought that Miss Arthur, along with the other members of Joseph Waite’s household, dreaded Charlotte’s return. What was the secretary keeping from her? Was Charlotte already in the house? Had Waite located his daughter and dragged her home? But, if so, why conceal her whereabouts from Maisie?
“I’ll summon Harris to show you out.”
“Thank you, Miss Arthur.”
Maisie and Billy were almost at the door when Maisie turned to the butler. “Is Mrs. Willis available? I just want to see her for a moment.”
“She’s taken an afternoon off, Miss. Mind you, she may still be in her quarters. Shall I summon her?”
“Oh no, I’ll quickly knock on her door, if that’s all right. I saw her at the bus stop in Richmond recently, and wanted to offer her the occasional lift.” Maisie began to move as she spoke, which she knew would subtly pressure the butler into acquiescing.
“Of course, M’um. Follow me.”
“Billy, wait for me in the car, won’t you?”
Billy hid his surprise. “Right you are, Miss.”
Maisie was escorted along a corridor that led first to a staircase giving access to the lower floor, then, once downstairs, continued to the side of the house. The property’s design, though intended to give the impression of an older architectural style, was actually modern. The staircase leading to the kitchens was wide and airy, the apartments for senior staff spacious. This house had been designed to give owner and servants alike a measure of comfort unknown in times past.
Harris knocked on an eggshell-gloss-painted door. “Mrs. Willis? Visitor for you.”
Maisie could hear movement inside; then the door opened to reveal the housekeeper, who was patting the sides of her head to calm any stray locks of hair. She wore a light amethyst woolen day dress, with a narrow white collar and cuffs, and was still kneading the leather of one of her black shoes with her heel in an attempt to get it on her foot without having to stoop in front of her visitor.
“Oh, this is a surprise.”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Willis.” Maisie turned to Harris. “Thank you for showing me the way.” He bowed and left, as Maisie turned again to Mrs. Willis.