“Come on, Rissy, let me put you down—you’re a heavy girl now.” Freddie looked up at Maisie. “There’s two chairs in the kitchen.”
A kettle was boiling hard on the gas ring. As Freddie grabbed a cloth from the line above the stove, folded it around his hand, and removed the kettle, Maisie fought the urge to move Iris clear of her brother—she was clinging onto the frayed edge of his pullover.
“Iris was crying because she’s hungry, so I was making her some toast and a cup of tea. She has it milky, but not too hot because it makes her cry.”
“Here, let me do that,” said Maisie. “You sit down with Iris and Mr. Beale will get the cups for us. I know where your mum keeps the milk.”
Soon Maisie had tea on the small kitchen table. She watched as Freddie placed his sister’s hands on either side of the cup filled with milky, lukewarm tea Maisie had prepared and watched her drink. Both children were seated on wooden crates, which Freddie had pushed close together. Billy sat down opposite them after toasting a slice of bread on the gas ring and cutting it into small squares for Iris. There was no margarine or jam in the kitchen.
“There you are, lovey,” said Billy.
“What happens to Iris when your mum is at work?” asked Maisie.
“The school won’t have her, so she goes down to Mrs. Dunley, but Mum’s worried because she thinks the old girl puts something in her tea to make her sleep. Sometimes she goes to another neighbor who has a girl a bit younger, so she’s not at school yet. Mum pays her—and what I earn on the side helps. The doctor said Iris should go into a special home. He called it an ‘institution,’ but Mum said she didn’t want her little girl ending up with a load of old lunatics. I don’t like that word—institution.” He looked down at his tea, stirring it idly with his spoon, before putting an arm around his sister’s shoulder and pulling her to him. “She might be a . . . a mongol, but she’s lovely. And people don’t realize it, but she’s very bright. Mum says it’s just a different sort of bright, and it shines better than most because Iris has a good heart.”
“She looks very bright to me, Freddie—and you can tell she loves her big brother.” Maisie paused, ready to change the subject to what had happened at the school, and more to the point, how he had bruised his cheek, but Freddie began talking again.
“I reckon I saw a bloke at the school today—he reminded me of that man, Miss Dobbs. The bloke who killed that other one. The bell had gone, so I ran out of the classroom toward the door, but then I looked through the window and saw him talking to one of them bomb-squad soldiers, who was pointing toward Mr. Chambers, the caretaker. I wasn’t going to let him see me, so I legged it to the other door at the back of the school, then I went through where the army keeps tools in the yard, and ran home that way. I knew I had to get here to see Mum and Iris before going off to the Albert Embankment, but I was scared he’d catch up with me. And now I can’t leave Iris on her own because Mum’s late. I hope I don’t lose my job. My dad’ll kill me and then take it out on Mum.”
“What about Iris?”
The boy shook his head. “Oh, he don’t see her if he can help it—we have to keep her out of the way. He says he wants her in an asylum, but Mum says no. If he’s in a really bad temper, he takes that out on Mum too, that we’ve got Iris.”
“Where’s your father now, Freddie?”
The boy shrugged. “Probably waiting for the pubs to open—there’s a few he goes to. Sometimes he comes home after closing, but other times, well, I don’t know where he goes.”
Maisie was about to ask another question when they heard a voice outside calling out. “Freddie—Fred! Let me in love. I’m late enough as it is.”
“That’s Mum,” said Freddie, extricating himself from his sister and running down the stairs.
Mrs. Hackett’s voice carried up from the courtyard. “Whatever have you locked the door for, or was it her downstairs again? Batty old thing, isn’t she? They kept me on at work—big pile of ironing was put in front of me just as I was about to leave and no extra money for my trouble either. Now come on, help me with this bag. I managed to scrounge a pound of scrap vegetable ends from a coster for a penny, and bless him, he gave me some extra because he was finishing his round. I’ve got to get some soup going before your father gets home. Not that he’ll be here soon, but I don’t want him to come in and find there’s nothing on the table. That’s it, love—you’re a good boy.”
Iris squealed with joy when she saw her mother and ran into her arms, though Grace Hackett’s smile faded upon seeing Maisie and Billy waiting to greet her.
“Hello, Mrs. Hackett—sorry to give you a bit of a shock. This is Mr. Beale, who works with me.”
“Is Freddie in trouble?” She looked sideways at her son, drawing him to her while still holding on to Iris.
“Not at all. We’d heard he was late getting to his job, so we were coming out this way and thought we’d make sure he was all right. And here we are.”
“You look worried, Miss Dobbs—is my boy in any danger?”
Maisie placed her hand on Grace Hackett’s arm. “Usually, I would like more time to consider different . . . different solutions to what I believe is not a danger as such, but an intimidation; a deliberate presence designed to unsettle not only Freddie here, but you as well.” She removed her hand, folded her arms and looked out of the dusty window as she continued, giving herself time to frame the right words; words that would inform and strike a tone of vigilance without terror. “I believe there’s someone who ultimately wants to talk to Freddie to find out how much he saw when he witnessed what we believe to be a murder—which means we have to act with some haste.” Iris had slipped from her mother’s grasp and was sucking her thumb while leaning against Grace’s knees. Grace kept her gaze on Maisie, as if bracing herself for what might come next.
“Right,” said Maisie, taking care to offer a positive tone. “Here’s what we will do. I have a flat in Pimlico, across the water, and I think it would be best if you all go there. It’s empty at the moment—my secretary was living there for a while, but she’s moved to the country with her husband and son. It’s furnished and there are some sheets and so on in the linen cupboard, which means you won’t need anything except a few personal bits and pieces. There’s a cellar underneath the building, so you’ve somewhere to go when there’s an air raid, and there’s a shelter down the street. Now then, quickly gather whatever you’d like to take with you, and leave a note for your husband. Tell him you’ve gone to stay with relatives—make up something.”
“He’ll kill me for leaving him,” said Grace, tears filling her eyes.
“Not on my watch, Mrs. Hackett,” said Billy
“Billy’s right—we’ll make sure your safety isn’t compromised. If you prefer, you can leave a note here with my name, our office address and telephone number for Mr. Hackett to get in touch. The fact is that I want Freddie away from here and I want to feel confident that you and Iris are out of harm’s way—and I will be honest with you, as things stand with Freddie not working this evening, he won’t be bringing home money, which means none of you are safe if you remain at home. We both know why.”
“But—”
“Please, Mrs. Hackett—Grace—please do as I say.”
“Come on, Mum,” said Freddie. “Miss Dobbs is right—I’ve seen that man, and I’m scared. I saw him kill his mate. And I don’t want another right-hander from Dad either.”
“Oh, Fred, you shouldn’t talk like that about your father, not in company,” said Grace Hackett.
“This is a really good plan, Mrs. Hackett,” said Billy. “And you’re like Doreen, my wife—you’re a lovely mum to your children, so you know what’s the best thing to do for them. Look how you’ve kept little Iris from being put away.”
At once Grace Hackett stood up and took a deep breath, as if drawing in strength. “Yes—we’ll come. Freddie—you gather a few bits for yourself while I put what I can in a bag. It’s not as if we have much, so it’ll only take a few min
utes. And I’ll scribble a note for your father.”
Ten minutes later three members of the Hackett family were safely ensconced in the taxicab, with Billy and Freddie sitting on the fold-down seats opposite Maisie, Grace and Iris. Maisie gave an address in Pimlico, then added that there would be another stop afterward.
“Billy, I want you to go to number sixty-four Baker Street and ask for MacFarlane—if he’s there, tell him what we’re doing and why. See the porter and let him know that Freddie is not at work because . . . because . . . well, make up something—he’ll then get onto the other porter at Albert Embankment. Oh, and ask MacFarlane what to do about briefing Caldwell at the Yard. I don’t want Caldwell to think we’re going around him to MacFarlane about a murder investigation—that won’t help us in the future, so do what’s necessary, even if you have to go back down to see Caldwell. He seems to be in his office at all hours now, so he’s hardly likely to be going home early.”
“Right you are, miss.”
As the taxicab drew up outside the flat, Maisie realized she had not seen it for over two years. When she had first applied to purchase the property, unbeknownst to her, Priscilla had arranged to be a guarantor on the loan so she could proceed with ownership—otherwise there would have been no means by which a woman of Maisie’s background and standing could secure a loan. Maisie knew nothing about the gesture for a long time. Now she was using the home where she had always felt so sheltered to secure the safety of a boy she believed needed protection of his own.
“Here we are,” said Maisie, reaching for the light switch—the Hackett family would soon get used to the advantages of electric lighting instead of gas lamps.
“Oh my, this is big,” said Grace Hackett as Maisie ushered the family past the bedrooms and into the sitting room. “You could have a room to yourself, Freddie—and you deserve it, my boy.”
Freddie blushed as he put down the two paper bags he was carrying, one holding half a loaf of bread and a few vegetables, the second a book and a clean pair of socks.
“The blinds can be a bit tricky, and the flat could do with a little dusting as no one’s lived here for a while, but there’s everything you need in the kitchen, and there’s a linen cupboard through there in the hall where you’ll find sheets, pillowcases, blankets and towels. There’s not a lot of furniture, as you can see, but there’s a settee and armchair here in the sitting room, and Freddie, that desk over there will be perfect for you to do your homework. We’ll have to arrange for you to continue your education here—there’s a school down the road, so not far to go once we’ve got you enrolled. And there are a few shops not very far away, so you can take your ration books down there, Grace. I’ll vouch for you, and I can get in touch with the school to help you register Freddie. And I’ll think of something for Iris, Mrs. Hackett, so you don’t lose your job. You can catch a bus on the corner that will take you almost all the way to your work.”
Maisie went on to show the new residents the kitchen and pantry, and demonstrated how to open the door to the fire escape, which was accessed via the kitchen.
Grace Hackett nodded. She seemed close to tears.
“Let me put the kettle on, and you can make a nice cup of tea while I see the caretaker so he knows you’re here.” Maisie turned on the kitchen tap, which spluttered and ran brown water for a few seconds, before it was clear enough for Maisie to fill the kettle. “You know, before the war, his wife used to take in children to look after while their mums were at work,” she continued. “I’ll ask if she can keep an eye on Iris—would that be all right?”
Hackett nodded, the faraway look in her eyes reminding Maisie of soldiers she’d treated in the last war, and later in the secure hospital where her patients were men who had experienced a fear so debilitating in the face of battle, it had left them shocked to the point of paralysis. Yet by the time Maisie departed the ground-floor flat in Pimlico, though Grace Hackett was still trembling, she was busying herself in her temporary home, setting to work and settling her demons with tasks to be completed before she and her children spent their first night in quarters they considered the height of luxury.
As Maisie walked along toward the Embankment to hail a taxicab, she reflected that luck had been on her side when she visited the caretaker; not only did he offer to call on the family to ensure that all was well, but his wife was delighted to be asked to care for Iris if needed, and seemed not at all fazed by her disability. “Oh, my niece has got one of them,” she said. “Lovely little thing she is—no, that doesn’t worry me at all. In fact, I think I’d rather have one—always smiling they are, though they do have tummy aches that the other children don’t get, and my niece’s little girl has a dicky heart too.”
By the time she reached the office, her thoughts had drifted to reach a certain level of hope that one day another word would be found to describe children such as Iris Hackett, because being named after a tribe of people in far-flung Asia wasn’t good enough. But as she searched her bag for her key, those thoughts were interrupted.
“Oi, you—you! Dobbs, or whatever you call yourself!”
Maisie looked around, drawing upon years of training and experience to remain calm, focused and direct.
“May I help you, sir?”
“You’ve taken my wife, so you’d better look lively and tell me where she is, or I’ll—”
“You’ll what, mate? What exactly will you do?” said Billy, emerging from the downstairs flat and joining Maisie on the step.
Hackett moved back a couple of paces. “Where have you taken them?”
“Your family are in a very safe place, so you’ve nothing to worry about, Mr. Hackett.”
“They were safe enough where they were.”
Maisie stepped toward Hackett, who had been slurring his words and was now swaying. Any patience she might have felt toward the drunken man began to slip away. “Were they, Mr. Hackett? Were they really safe? Funny, isn’t it, that with them being so safe, both your son and wife have been bruised black and blue, and your son is not well—which means he doesn’t have a penny to give you because he hasn’t earned anything today.”
“Well, that’s bleedin’ marvelous,” said Hackett. “Lazy little . . . wait until I get my hands on him.”
“And that’s just it, Mr. Hackett—you won’t be getting your hands on him, either today or any other day.”
Hackett drew back his fist. “I’m telling you—”
“You want to tell someone something?” said Billy, standing in front of Freddie Hackett’s father. “Then tell someone of your own size, mate. You tell me.”
“I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” Hackett staggered again, and began to stumble away.
“Mr. Hackett!” Maisie ran to the man’s side and caught him by the arm. “Mr. Hackett, you are in no fit state to go anywhere like that. We’ll get you a taxicab home.”
“Who said I was going home? Can’t stand the place. Never could.” He flapped his hand as if dismissing all connection to his wife and children. “Only one home for a bloke like me. Now leave me alone.”
Billy joined Maisie, and they watched Hackett weave from left to right toward the corner.
“He seemed to get worse as he came for you, didn’t he, miss?” said Billy.
“Yes, he did.” Maisie was thoughtful, watching the man as he wavered before turning right onto Warren Street.
“Probably had a few in the pub along the street, then came round here and before he knew it the drink hit him.”
“Hmmm,” said Maisie, then drew her attention to Billy. “Did you see MacFarlane?”
Billy nodded. “Gave him your message—he didn’t say much, just thanked me. The porter got on to the other two to let them know they wouldn’t be seeing Freddie tonight; made up a story about him being not well. And I telephoned Caldwell—told him you’d taken the family to your old flat for their safety, just in case.” He studied Maisie, who was looking along the road into the distance again. “What’re you thinking, miss?”
“Just thinking. Just thinking that it’s all very sad, isn’t it?”
“Bloke beating his wife and son all very sad? I dunno, miss—I think he’s a you-know-what, and I hope he never goes near them again.”
“Me too, Billy.” She turned toward the door. “It’s just that people don’t become violent like that in a vacuum, do they? It all starts somewhere—that’s the sad thing, that it has to start in the first place.”
“It did with him, and yet look at Freddie—he’s not going to turn out to be a brutal piece of work, mark my words. He’s a lovely lad. Mind you, he gets it from his mum.” Billy stopped speaking and looked at Maisie. “What is it, miss?”
Maisie sighed. “It’s that scar, Billy. That scar on the side of his face.” She shook her head. “It’s just too much of a coincidence—and perhaps not a clue, or an indication of anything, except . . .” She closed her eyes as if to shut out all other images.
“Except what?”
“The imagination, Billy—the sort of imagination that arises like a plague from constant terror.”
Chapter 10
Maisie was late leaving her flat on Tuesday morning. Following supper with Priscilla the night before, she had walked home and then stayed up at her desk working on case notes and indexing paperwork to take back to Sandra at her cottage in the village of Chelstone on Thursday. She sometimes felt as if she had gathered everyone she loved around her in rural Kent, ensuring their safety when the bombings began. First a cottage was found for Priscilla and Douglas and their boys, and later another was found in the area for Sandra, her husband, and their toddler son Martin. Sandra had expressed a wish to continue keeping invoices and accounts up-to-date, which was a godsend, as neither Maisie nor Billy relished getting to grips with administrative matters, and she also found work with Douglas, for whom she had once typed manuscripts. Then Billy decided that, with his sons both in the services, his wife and daughter would be much safer in the country, so it was not long before Maisie’s father and stepmother were giving up their bungalow for the Beales to live in, while they moved full-time into the Dower House, becoming a constant in the life of their new granddaughter.
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