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A Lesson in Secrets_ A Maisie Dobbs Novel - Jacqueline Winspear [40]

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home. Instead, she waited until Sandra left the building, and watched her walk across the square. Maisie could not follow her employee—her MG was far too distinctive, and to do so would demonstrate a level of mistrust that should not exist between an employer and her staff. However, when she saw Sandra’s color rise as she said, “I’ve some shopping to do . . . ,” Maisie knew she had been told a lie. Maisie studied Sandra’s gait and, when she was out of sight, imitated the same walk for a few yards—the set of Sandra’s shoulders, her step narrower than usual. Maisie noticed that even her jaw seemed to be clenched as she walked. It had always intrigued her, how such a simple method could reveal so much. Sandra was afraid, but was forging on despite the sense of fear that enveloped her. It was as if she had set out to do something—something that challenged her—and she had resolved not to turn back. In that moment, Maisie wished she had suggested accompanying Sandra to the shops—and she wondered what shops, exactly, would be open for Sandra after the working day was done on a Friday afternoon.

The street where Billy lived was not as desperate as some, though in Shoreditch there were still families who had no running water, so that the women had to struggle along to the communal pump several times each day. Those who lived in the two-up-two-down terrace houses fought a never-ending battle against damp, soot, and rats. It was common for more than one family to live in each house, with little food on the table, and no shoes on the feet of children. A motor car was rarely seen on these streets, which, though not far from the wealth of the City of London, might as well have been a thousand miles distant. There was a poverty here that clung to the soul, as if it were the fetid ocher smog that lingered above the dark waters of the River Thames.

Though Billy’s mother had previously lived in a cottage along the same street, thanks to a bit of money put by after her husband died—money that was now gone—she had been living with the family for some time, sleeping in a room with the two boys and keeping an eye on Doreen during the day. She was a kindly woman whom Maisie had only once seen without a pinafore, and that was on the day little Lizzie Beale was laid to rest. Maisie had been glad that old Mrs. Beale was present when she called at the house, and that she remained in the kitchen—though at the sink, washing laundry—while Maisie put her idea to Billy and his wife as the three of them sat at the table. Maisie explained that she had a little money she wanted to invest in property, and had an idea that might help them all: she had seen details of a new house in Eltham that she wanted to put a down payment on; however, she would need to rent it out. She told them she’d already done her sums and the rent she would need to ask was—she believed—probably less than Billy was paying at the moment. Then she’d brought out a sheet describing the house, along with an artist’s impression, and pushed it across the table to Billy and Doreen.

“Oh, I don’t know, Miss, it’s all very nice, but—”

“Billy, it’s got an indoor lav, look at this!” Doreen’s growing excitement was evident in her voice.

“Hold on, love, what I’m trying to say is this, that—”

“And three bedrooms,” added Doreen. “A garden for the boys. And I think we’d rather pay rent to Miss Dobbs than that rotten bloke who—”

Maisie interjected. “And if—when—you want to go to Canada, you won’t be tied to the house. But if . . . if you decide not to go, for any reason, we can talk about the arrangements again, because you’ll have paid money into the house and I would like you to see a return on it. So, all things being equal, it’s a plan that works for both of us—I can invest my money, and you can move with no concerns about a higher rent, or being tied. It’s an easy ride into Charing Cross on the train, or there’s the bus, according to the man I spoke to this afternoon.”

“Miss, this is all very well, but—”

At once, and with soapsuds covering her hands and forearms, Billy’s mother turned to

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