"That was a lovely cup of tea, Doreen. It's a treat to see you looking so well."
"Thank you, Miss Dobbs."
"Let Billy know when you're up to taking on more work. I'm fed up with the blinds in my flat and would like some curtains. I don't think I'd trust anyone else to make them for me, so when you're ready-"
"I've got a few things to finish, but in about a fortnight I reckon I could take them on."
The two women exchanged pleasantries at the door, and soon Maisie was on a bus traveling away from Shoreditch. Throughout the journey, which took her along the narrow streets of the City and then in the direction of Fitzroy Square, her deliberations were firmly on the Beales and their future. Doreen's behavior had revealed a tendency towards obsession, which was not unusual in a case such as hers. It gave her a sense of control over her environment and what happened in her life. Maisie wondered if she should say something, or whether certain fixations might diminish as Doreen grew stronger. Billy's fierce pride had recently been put aside so many times to accept help from Maisie, and there was only so much more she could do. She had not the resources to offer more money, but she felt it incumbent upon herself to provide support where she could, so that at the very least, Billy knew that someone cared enough to help them find a way through their barren desert of despair to something approaching a better way of life.
The shank of the afternoon was giving way to dusk as Maisie ran from the bus stop on Tottenham Court Road, and when she entered the square from Fitzroy Street, she could see a light on in the first-floor office. The business week extended until Saturday afternoon, and in their line of endeavor, it was not unusual to work on a Sunday, but she was still surprised to see that Billy had not left for home at this time on a Friday. It was as she walked closer to the front door that she saw the reason-a chauffeured motor car was parked outside, indicating that visitors had arrived and were waiting for her.
As she reached the top of the staircase, the door to the office opened, and Billy stepped out onto the landing.
"I heard the front door go, Miss."
"Who do we have the pleasure of seeing so late in the day?"
"It's Mr. Clifton-the son, that is. And his friend, Dr. Charles Hayden."
"Oh, Charles-" She opened the door and entered the room.
Billy had offered the men chairs in front of Maisie's desk, and as she walked in, her cheeks flushed, they came to their feet.
"Charles, how lovely to see you again."
"Maisie!" He took her hands in his own and kissed her on the cheek in greeting.
Charles Hayden was tall, with broad shoulders, and if he carried any extra weight, it served only to make him seem more of a contented man, happy in his family and a success in his profession. His ready smile made Maisie feel as if she were part of an inner circle. While still holding her hands, he turned to Teddy Clifton.
"Teddy, I met this young lady when she was just-what was it, Maisie? Eighteen years of age?"
Maisie smiled and gently pulled her hands away so that she could welcome her guest.
"Mr. Clifton, it is such a pleasure to meet you, though I wish with all my heart that the circumstances were less tragic."
"Thank you, ma'am. Charles has told me a lot about you."
"What news of your parents?"
"My father is much better. Charles examined him today and went through some tests-the doctors accommodated us-so we are pleased with his progress. My mother has regained consciousness, but it will be a few more days before we know what sort of lasting damage there might be."
"I'm optimistic, though," added Hayden.
"And I feel better knowing Charles is over here now-not that there's anything wrong with your doctors."
"I understand, Mr. Clifton." Maisie pulled her chair from behind her desk so that the coming conversation might be more open, less businesslike. Maurice had often cautioned her that the desk could be seen as barrier to honest dialogue, and if she had control of the situation, and if the circumstances warranted it, she should never let the desk come between herself and her clients, or anyone she was interviewing. It was one of many nuggets of advice she had taken to heart.
"Have you had tea?"
"Mr. Beale has filled us with tea and-what do you call those things? Biscuits?" Charles Hayden laughed as he asked the question.
"'No better than hardtack.' That's what you said once, when we were all in France." She took her seat and invited Billy to bring his chair over to join them. "My assistant has been actively helping me with this case," she explained to the men.
Maisie did not know how much Charles Hayden had brought Teddy Clifton into his confidence regarding his suspicions upon reading the postmortem report on Michael Clifton's remains. She looked at Hayden and nodded, a signal that she wanted him to begin their meeting.
"Maisie, I have talked to Teddy about my thoughts on the postmortem report. I didn't say much in my letter but I suspect you might have come to a few conclusions yourself-Edward intended to show you the report."
"Yes, he brought it to my attention." She looked at Clifton, then Hayden. "And though you did not color my assessment of what was indicated there, I believe we can set our cards on the table and see a match."
"Go on, Maisie." Charles Hayden nodded to her to continue.
She concentrated her attention on Clifton. "It is my belief that your brother's life was taken deliberately prior to the shelling that killed other members of the cartography unit and led to further wounds to his body. They were in a former German dugout, and it was quite sophisticated, with separate rooms, if you will; there were bunks and so on. This was no ordinary tunnel or hole in the ground-the Germans were excellent engineers. The men could all have been at rest when Michael's life was taken, and it would not be a stretch to suggest that they might not have discovered his body prior to the shelling. It is a question that cannot be readily answered."
Maisie could see that Teddy was familiar with the story, for he showed no shock at the news, but brought his hand to his mouth for a few seconds.
"Do you think the killer perished in the shelling?" The weariness brought on by travel across the Atlantic and arrival in Southampton, along with the shock of seeing his parents in hospital, was evident in Clifton's demeanor; his shoulders were rounded, and his voice cracked with tiredness.
Maisie shook her head. "I couldn't say, Mr. Clifton, but if I were to hazard a guess, I would say no. No, I don't believe he was killed. I can think of several circumstances wherein the killer could have taken your brother's life and then been on his way. Of course, he may himself have lost his life to war at a later date-but no, I don't think so." She paused. "There's the distinct possibility of a connection between Michael's death and the attack on your parents. I do not think they are isolated events."
Clifton blew out his cheeks as he nodded. "I know what Charles here thinks, but how do you think Michael was killed?" He put the question to Maisie.
"I believe his life was taken by a single blow to the back of his head. The weapon was likely one of his own pieces of equipment-a theodolite, for example. And I think your parents were attacked in the same way. They had your brother's tools with them in their room-I can imagine your mother, for example, putting certain items out, to remind her of your brother."
"Yes. Yes, that's just the sort of thing she would do. How do you know?"
Maisie shrugged. "She struck me as the sort of woman who decorates her home with pictures of family, with the trophies of childhood accomplishment, and probably went as far as to frame a school tie, or whatever would have the same significance in America."
Clifton's eyes widened, and he looked at Hayden again. "Can you believe this, Charles?" He turned back to Maisie. "Mother actually had our football jerseys put into frames. We laughed like crazy, but she said we'd appreciate it one day." He paused, then became serious once more. "So you think the killer is on the loose. Are my folks still at risk? We've seen Detective Inspector Caldwell and he is keeping a guard on their rooms."