A Lesson in Secrets_ A Maisie Dobbs Novel - Jacqueline Winspear [121]
“We should leave now, James,” said Maisie.
“Don’t worry, I’ll ensure Sandra remains under our roof until you return,” said Priscilla. “And I am sure that, if she gets bored, Douglas will have plenty of work for her to catch up on. Should we expect a visit from your friends at Scotland Yard?”
“I’ll telephone Caldwell; he won’t have you bothered unduly, though Sandra will have to make another statement.”
Priscilla kissed Maisie on both cheeks, then turned to James.
“For my sake, James—make an honest woman out of her. Her exploits are turning me gray.”
James laughed and shook hands with Douglas, then turned to Maisie and led the way to the MG—he had followed the taxi in Maisie’s motor car.
“Still leaving me, are you?”
“I can be in Ipswich by half past four if I leave now. It’s terribly important that I go now; sooner rather than later. And I have a memorial service to attend tomorrow. Don’t worry, James. I promise I will be back soon.”
It was four by the time Maisie reached Ipswich, and half past the hour when she parked the MG alongside the cottage where Alice Thurlow lived with her family in the village of Knowsley. She leaned her head forward and rubbed her neck. “A little soft would be awfully welcome right about now,” she said aloud to herself.
Hearing voices coming from the back of the cottage, she followed a path leading around the side of the property to the back garden. The family was outside—the sky was overcast, though it had not started to rain. It seemed as if they had all spent Saturday afternoon tending vegetables and clearing leaves. Cups of tea had been passed around, and Ursula Thurlow was teasing her eldest son, who then pointed to his sister Amber and professed to know who she was in love with.
Ursula was the first to notice the visitor.
“Miss Dobbs. So lovely to see you again. Alice! Alice, your friend from Cambridge is here.”
Alice stood up; her cheeks reddened when she saw Maisie, but she approached as if she were indeed the friend her mother believed her to be.
“Miss Dobbs—Maisie—we’ve just had tea, but I can make another pot. And my sister made some quite delicious fruit cake today—mother dried the fruit last year so it’s very rich, and Amber added a little brandy.”
Maisie accepted the offering, and after properly greeting the family, she followed Alice into the kitchen.
“May I ask you some more questions, Alice?”
Alice rinsed out the brown teapot and took it to the stove, where she poured in a little of the water that had been kept at a simmer. She did not answer Maisie immediately, but instead used an iron handle to lift the hot-plate cover, then drew the kettle across so that it could be brought to a rolling boil. Maisie watched the young woman’s deliberate movements, as if with each element of the task at hand she were slowing down time, buying herself a moment here, a moment there, while she anticipated the questions that had brought Maisie back to the cottage.
“Yes, of course. Would you like to sit down?” Alice glanced at Maisie, then fixed her attention back to the kettle while she waited for it to boil. A series of cloths were hanging on a line above the stove; she pulled at one, and was wiping her hands when she sat down opposite Maisie.
“Alice, did you see Dunstan or Robson Headley on the day Greville Liddicote was murdered?”
She nodded.
“Which one?”
“Both.”
“Did you speak to either one of them?”
Alice sighed. “Mr. Dunstan Headley.”
“Would you tell me what you spoke to him about?”
Alice looked back at the stove, and stood up. She grasped the kettle handle with the cloth, and poured boiling water into the pot. Setting the kettle back down again, she put the lid on the teapot, then placed it on the old pine table, which was almost white from years of scrubbing. She placed clean cups and saucers in front of herself and Maisie, stirred the tea once, and left it to brew for a few minutes. She sighed.
“I told him about my father, Miss Dobbs. I told him that he was a conscientious objector,