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“Cyril, don’t you speak ill of the dead. It’s not right.” Mary Linden had been pushing wet laundry through a wringer. She picked up a wicker basket filled with damp bed linen and opened the back door, whereupon the dog barked again and tried to get into the kitchen. “And you can get back out there, Midget. I’ve enough to put up with, without you at my feet.” She closed the door behind her.

“May I ask why you wouldn’t want to know Rose’s family? I’m inquiring only because I am anxious to find Rosemary Linden and I think there might be some sort of connection.”

He pushed away his plate and leaned back in his chair, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before reaching for a cup of strong brown tea. “They wouldn’t be Lindens, though, would they? She took a good name, Linden, and there’s no Rosemarys on our side.”

Maisie nodded. “Do you know her maiden name?”

Cyril Linden sighed. “I can’t say as I remember, to tell you the truth. But hold on a minute.”

He pushed back his chair, opened the back door, quieted the barking dog, and shouted out to his wife. Maisie listened to the conversation as she sipped her tea.

“Mary—what was her name before she got married? Can’t for the life of me remember.”

“Rose?”

“Of course I mean Rose. Can you remember her name?”

“Lummy, I don’t know.” There was a pause. “Wasn’t she a Thurber? Thur-something?”

“No, no, that was the sister’s married name. I thought old Rose was a Gibson.”

“She might’ve been, Cyril—I can’t say as it sounds right to me, though.”

Linden closed the door behind him, and took his seat once again. “Reckon it might have been either Gibson or Thur-something.”

Maisie gathered her bag as if to leave, and asked another question. “It seems you didn’t care for Rose very much, Mr. Linden.”

He shook his head, and shrugged, “Well, what can you do? My brother was the educated one, a teacher, and he married an educated woman. Came from a funny family, she did; all books, all know-all’s they were. They never had any children of their own, my brother and Rose, and if I was to say anything for them, then it would be that it’s because of their help that our children got a good education and have managed to do well in life on the back of it. Pity the same couldn’t be said of her sister’s boy. They made sure he had a good education, too, but look what he did with his brains.”

“What did he do?”

“Him? Good-for-nothing conchie, that’s what he was. But the less said about that, the better. I don’t want talk about a yellow belly in this house.”

“What was—”

He scraped his chair back, stood up, and began walking towards the front door. “And seeing as he’s got nothing to do with your Rosemary Linden, and we don’t know her, anyway, I reckon you’d best get going—you’ll miss your train otherwise.”

Maisie bit her lip and smiled as she shook his hand at the door. “Thank you, Mr. Linden. You have been most kind.”

He nodded and closed the door.

Maisie walked down the path, unlatched the front gate, and was about to continue on towards the station when she heard a whistle from the other side of the street. A black motor car had just come to a halt, and as she looked up, MacFarlane called out to her.

“Come on, get in and we’ll give you a lift.”

Maisie crossed the road and stepped into the black Invicta motor car, where MacFarlane and Stratton were already seated.

“I might have bloody well known.” MacFarlane’s words were accompanied by a rolling of his eyes. “So, we can’t walk in there now, they’ll probably set the dogs on us.”

“There’s only one you really have to worry about, Robbie. The other’s old and gray.”

MacFarlane turned to face Maisie. “Which is what I’ll be if we don’t get the territory sorted out.”

“To be frank, I’m not sure it’s possible. I’m not saying that defense of the realm is wrapped up with Liddicote’s murder, but it might be.”

“So, what have you got for us, Maisie?” Stratton leaned forward, entering the conversation. He seemed subdued. Not for the first time, she wondered if his transfer to Special Branch had lived up to his expectations.