Birds of a Feather

“Good. You’re right, mustn’t forget that welcome! Anyway, after we’ve made a start, you can set to work on Charlotte’s address book, just checking on who’s where, and that it’s all current.”

“Yes, Miss. Just put some flesh on the bones, no need to knock on any doors yet. Where will you be going, Miss?”

“I am going to a branch of Waite’s International Stores. I thought I’d go to the one on Oxford Street, close to Tottenham Court Road. It was his first shop in London, and it’s his most important branch, next to the one in Harrogate, of course. The main offices of Waite’s are above the premises. With a bit of luck, I’ll see the man in his element.”

“Why do you think it’s called Waite’s International Stores, Miss?”

“I looked up a file of Maurice’s, which expanded on the information noted on the index card. I was actually looking for anything that would add to the comment about the severing of contact, but there was nothing there, so I’ll have to speak to Maurice about it. Anyway, when he added fruits and vegetables, other dry goods, and more from abroad to his butchery business, he slipped ‘International’ in between ‘Waite’s’ and ‘Stores’ and never looked back.”

“It must’ve been ’ard work for ’im, eh?”

“Most certainly, and of course life wasn’t easy at home, either. You heard his little monologue yesterday.”

“And who’s ’is wife?”

“According to Maurice’s file, Charlotte’s mother was a music-hall singer and small-time actress from Bradford. He met her there at the opening of his shop. Apparently Waite’s shop openings were always big events. Charlotte was born just”—Maisie raised an eyebrow—“seven months after the marriage.”

“Miss Arthur said that Mrs. Waite spends most of ’er time up in Leeds, at the ’ouse up there. And I made a note to check on ’er information that Charlotte is not with the mother, even though Miss Arthur said she’d already made sure of that.” Billy tapped at the points with his pencil.

“Good. I got the impression that Charlotte and her mother weren’t close. What do you think, Billy?”

Billy scratched the top of his ear where his hair was in need of a trim. “Well, what I thought was that Charlotte didn’t really fit in anywhere. There she was, living with that dad of ’ers, ‘Mr. Lord High and Mighty’ running ’er life, and at thirty-two, mind you. Most of ’er friends are married by now, so they ain’t got time to go out with the other girls like they used to. She’s sort of been left be’ind, ain’t she, Miss? Like so many, really. I mean, men they might’ve married are gone, killed in the war. What’s she supposed to do with ’erself all day? That father of ’er’s don’t think much of ’er, not by the sound of it. She’s really a spinster, all on her own.”

Maisie winced at Billy’s assessment of the situation. She was, after all, a spinster herself in those terms. “Good. Yes, good point,” she replied, thought for a moment, then opened her document case and removed the books and pamphlets found in Charlotte Waite’s room. She laid them out on the table.

“What do you make of it all, Miss?”

Maisie picked up the seal, then the scrap of paper. “Well, the ‘Ch. X’ is Charing Cross.”

“And ‘Ash’ could be Ashford, couldn’t it, Miss?”

Maisie nodded. “It’s all fitting together now, Billy. Let’s say this is in connection with the trains that go from Charing Cross to Ashford, where one has to change for the trains to—”

“Gawd, I don’t know. Apples?” Billy grinned.

“Appledore!”

“Appledore?”

“Yes, I used to go there with my father sometimes. We’d go fishing on the canal near Iden Lock.” Maisie reached for the seal. “And that makes sense of this.”

“What’s that?”

“The seal from an envelope. Charlotte had probably received a letter from Camden Abbey, perhaps sent to her with the books and pamphlets, and as she began to read, she tore the seal from the envelope to mark her place.”

“So what do you think, Miss? Can you tell from this little lot where she’s gone off to?”

“It tells us that Charlotte was curious about the contemplative life. There’s something I need to look into. I may know someone who can help us.” Maisie gathered the items together and looked at her watch. “Let’s move on. We can’t allow one possibility to cloud our vision. Charlotte could have left these things to dupe her father. Or she could have left with such urgency as to forget them.” She stood up. “Right then. Charlotte’s run away before, but she’s always let her father know where she is, in one way or another. He’s assumed that she’s hiding from him this time. We have to question that assumption and consider other possibilities. Even if we take his account of her departure as truth, she may now be being held against her will, or she may have met with an accident. And of course we cannot rule out the possibility that she may have taken her own life. But let us begin by assuming that she has disappeared voluntarily, has been gone for several days and has deliberately covered her tracks. Why did she leave this time? Where is she? Has she run from something or to something—or someone? I want us to try to have a better feeling for what went on last Saturday, and how far we can believe Waite’s version of events. No need to move anything on the table, but just help me shift it over there a bit, so it’s in the middle of the room.”

Billy took one end of the table, while Maisie took the other, and they placed it where Maisie indicated.

“You can be Waite, so sit at this end.” Maisie pointed out the place where Billy should set his chair.

“I’ll need to shove me jacket up inside me cardigan, Miss, seeing as I ain’t got quite the middle that ’e ’as.”

“Pretend, Billy. Seriously, I want you to close your eyes, sit at the table, and truly imagine that you are Joseph Waite. I’ll go outside the door, give you a couple of minutes, then I’ll come in and sit down as if I’m Charlotte. For the purposes of this experiment, I am Charlotte.”

“Awright.” Billy frowned. “I’ll give it a go.”