A Lesson in Secrets_ A Maisie Dobbs Novel - Jacqueline Winspear [52]
It was too late to return to Cyril Linden’s home, so Maisie decided to wait until the following morning. It was to be an early call, so she would have to take the chance that her visit might be met with some degree of reticence. She also wanted to return to the records office before leaving Ipswich. If all went to plan she would arrive back at the college in the nick of time—not exactly the way in which a new member of staff should conduct herself during a period of probationary service; however, she was not behind in her work, as she would use the evening in the guesthouse to mark her students’ essays and prepare for the following day’s classes.
Though she had read Greville Liddicote’s book, she took out her copy once more before going to bed.
Some of the children missed their mothers, but the leaders, Adam and Alice, marched on. “We’re going to find our fathers!” they exclaimed. Then the children set off two by two, little soldiers on their way to stop a war.
“Where are you going?” asked the mayor, with a rope of shining gold coins around his neck, and a red cloak with an ermine collar drawn around his very big middle with a black leather belt.
“We’re marching to find our fathers,” said Peter.
A cheer went up and when the mayor turned around to see what had caused such a cacophony of noise, his cheeks became as red as his cloak. From another street a thousand more little children came running.
“We want to find our fathers!” shouted a French boy named Jean. “We want to march with you!”
“And we’re coming too!” said Inge, the little German girl.
At exactly half past eight in the morning, Maisie knocked on the door of Cyril and Mary Linden’s house on Saltwater Lane. It was early to call but she suspected the Lindens rose with the sun. Again she heard the barking dog admonished and the heavy clump of footsteps coming towards the door. Cyril Linden did not look pleased to find a visitor on his doorstep.
“Oh, you again.”
Maisie smiled. “I am so sorry to bother you this early in the morning, but I have to catch a train in an hour and I really wanted to ask you another question or two more, if that’s all right.”
The man sighed and shook his head. “I’ve just come home for my breakfast, so you’d better come in. I don’t want it to spoil.” He turned and led the way down a dark passageway towards the kitchen at the back of the house, which emitted an odor of fried bacon and eggs, and the musty dander of dog.
“Mary, this is Miss Dobbs—it was ‘Dobbs,’ wasn’t it?”
Maisie nodded and held out her hand. Mary Linden wiped her damp fingers on her apron and took the proferred hand, smiling, and adding, “Pleased, I’m sure. Would you like a cup of tea, Miss Dobbs?”
“Oh, that would be lovely, thank you, Mrs. Linden.”
Linden pulled out a chair for Maisie, then sat down to finish his breakfast. A fox terrier banished to the garden outside barked and pawed at the door, while another, older, dog with a gray muzzle and glassy eyes lay on a clump of blankets in the corner, only raising her head once to acknowledge Maisie’s entrance. She returned to her snoring.
“That dog can send them home when she likes,” said Linden, scraping up egg with a wedge of fried bread. “Now then, what can we do for you?”
“I wanted to ask you about your sister-in-law, Rose Linden. You said she passed away about a month ago.”
“Yes, as far as we know.”
“As far as you know? Were you not close?”
“I was close enough to my brother, as a boy. But not to her.”
“I take it your brother was older than you.”
Linden nodded. “Ten years. And she was older than him, though you would never have known it. He passed years ago: his heart.”
“Do you know her family?” asked Maisie.
“Don’t really want to know them.