A Lesson in Secrets_ A Maisie Dobbs Novel - Jacqueline Winspear [11]
Maisie also extended an invitation for Sandra to live at her flat, moving her belongings back into the small bedroom that Maisie referred to as the “box room,” which had been Sandra’s room for some weeks before she was married.
Sandra began weeping again. “I hope you don’t think I came here for you to do this for me, Miss Dobbs. I just thought, well, you know so many people, and you might hear of something.”
“Don’t worry, Sandra, it’s all right, really it is. I am so very sad that your terrible misfortune brought you to me; however, I think I can help. I need some assistance in the office, and though I am sure you will get us sorted out very quickly, I also want to render our filing system easier to use. The files and notes go back many years, with a wealth of information that I draw upon to this day, so it is no small task. And fortunately, we have had more work coming in of late—just as Mr. Beale is about to leave for Kent and the hop-picking.”
“I’m sure I’ll do my best, Miss Dobbs.”
Maisie refilled Sandra’s soup bowl, and when she returned from the kitchen, she looked at Sandra directly. “And there’s one more thing, Sandra. Your confidence extends to my visitors here at the flat, and to any aspect of my life to which you are privy.” She paused. “Though, having said that, I will be away for some weeks, starting at the end of the month. I’ll be back on occasion, and I’ll keep in touch. You will have a means to contact me; we’ll talk about all that when you begin work. Now, perhaps you’d like to move your belongings in on Saturday or Sunday—I’ll be in Kent and you’ll have some time to yourself. Come to the office on Monday at twelve—I don’t generally arrive until later on Mondays—and we’ll begin work. I should have more information on the other job by then.”
Sandra swallowed, as if to digest everything Maisie had said. Her flushed cheeks and rounded, tired shoulders revealed a profound sense of relief at having found work and a roof over her head.
Oh, Miss, that poor girl. I remember him—Eric. Nice bloke, wasn’t he? Didn’t he work at Ebury Place?”
“Yes, he was a good lad. And if you remember, he came and mended the locks on the doors here, when we were broken into.”
“Gaw, and you say the engine fell on him? Now, that’s what I call a freak accident, something like that. Not that you don’t hear about these things—look at that bloke who copped it when that horse bolted on Tottenham Court Road last week, frightened by one of those noisy lorries coming up alongside it. Mind you, this town’s not made for horses anymore, is it? And that’s why you’ve got people like that Eric working in what used to be stables, and poor Sandra now being thrown out of her only home.”
Maisie nodded. She was used to Billy railing against the slightest injustice, and using those events to underline how much better life would be if he could only get his family away from the British Isles. Just a month previously, Maisie had commented on the surge in house building, in what people were increasingly referring to as “suburbs,” streets of mock-Tudor houses boasting indoor bathrooms and “fitted” kitchens, with enough room to raise a family and close enough to both city and country to enjoy fresh air and town life. The spirit of Metro-land had spread from the north and west of London to the south and east,