A Lesson in Secrets_ A Maisie Dobbs Novel - Jacqueline Winspear [94]
Maisie agreed, and was soon enjoying a companionable meal with the two policemen, though their conversation was focused on the matter of Greville Liddicote’s death.
Maisie was on the road to Ipswich early the following morning, with the intention of being at the door of the county offices as soon as they opened. The letter she had received on Monday had been written by a Mr. Smart, and within a short time of the door’s being unlocked, she had found his office and was speaking to him about the contents of his letter, and what he had discovered about Rose Linden’s family. The documents he had gathered indicated that a family living in a small hamlet some two miles outside the town were related by marriage to Linden’s nephew. The man shook his head and gave a deep sigh.
“What is it?” asked Maisie.
“The older nephew, David Thurlow, died in Wandsworth Prison.”
Maisie leaned forward, to look at the register in front of Smart. “Have you any idea what he’d done to warrant incarceration?”
“Doesn’t say here, but I can guess. During the war Wandsworth was used as a military prison. I reckon your man here was a conscientious objector. Some of them were given hard labor, but a lot ended up in Wandsworth, or Wormwood Scrubs; it all depended upon your tribunal, and how they felt about you and what you had to say for yourself. People look upon it a bit differently now, seeing as we know a lot more about what went on over there, and of course, all them peace organizations that have popped up in the last ten years. But during the war, you had to be brave to even say you were a pacifist—nigh on got yourself stoned in the street for not wanting to do your bit.”
“Do you have an address for the family?”
“I poked around and found this.” He handed a piece of paper to Maisie. “It’s out in Knowsley, a bit off the beaten track—I looked it up for you, the directions are on the back. I think those cottages are tied to the farm, so one of the family must be a worker there. There’s no Rosemary Linden listed, but they may know something, or I might be sending you on a wild-goose chase.”
“I’ll soon find out. Thank you very much for your help.”
A light but warm rain that had dampened the drive to Ipswich had now lifted, leaving wisps of mist across flat fields of crops newly harvested. The road was narrow, and soon woodland on either side diminished the view, but offered shade from the bright sunshine breaking through. Once out of the canopy of trees, Maisie entered a hamlet of a few cottages, some thatched and all built in the mid-fifteenth century, with oak beams and roofs that were bowed in the middle. She slowed the car so that she barely rumbled through Knowsley, looking again at her directions. Soon she came to a cottage on the right and pulled up alongside a hedge that in May would be blooming with bright white syringa. She stepped out of the motor car and looked across the front garden. Someone had tied off the last of the summer flowers, though canes were still wrapped with multicolored late sweet peas. The hedge was high, so when the door opened and laughter could be heard, Maisie stepped back to watch without being seen. A young man—possibly in his early twenties and with the bearing of a farm laborer, carried an older woman outside. She laughed as he accidentally knocked her head against the doorjamb.
“Leave me with a mind, Adam, whatever you do!”
“Oh, sorry, Mum. Are you all right?”
“I’m well enough. But watch where you’re going, would you? Now, If Alice and Amber just put the chair over there, then I’ll tell you where to put my things.”
Two girls struggled to bring out a wheelchair and another, younger, lad carried a tray with books and writing paper; he had draped a blanket around his shoulder like a cape. When the mother was seated in her chair, the older girl took the blanket from the boy and wrapped it around the woman’s knees, then placed the tray on her lap. The son who had carried her out returned to the house, and the second daughter, whom Maisie judged to be about nineteen or twenty, said she would bring a cup of tea