that, then?”
“Well, that’s interesting.” Maisie understood how the serene image of a nun might appeal to a bored, unhappy young woman. She recalled wartime nurses being photographed in such a way as to evoke the purity and dedication of those in religious orders. Such romantic images subsequently encouraged more young women to enlist.“I wonder what Waite will have to say about that?” she added. “He didn’t seem to be a religious man, and there’s no references to either his beliefs or Catholicism in Maurice’s notes.”
“Do you think Charlotte is trying to annoy ’er father?”
“Well, she’s not a child, but she’s clearly capable of such behavior.” Maisie was thoughtful. “You know, we could be awfully lucky here. I didn’t say anything about it this morning because I didn’t want to jump to conclusions and close our minds in the process, but I used to know an enclosed nun, Dame Constance Charteris. She was abbess of a community of Benedictines living close to Girton. She met with several students for tutorials on religious philosophy. Because they’re an enclosed order, communication with outsiders takes place with a sort of barrier in between. I remember it was rather strange at first, being in tutorial with someone who sat behind a grille. “
“And ’ow’s that lucky, Miss?”
“I can’t remember all the details, but shortly after I left Girton to become a VAD nurse, the nuns had to find a new place to live. I think their abbey in Cambridgeshire was requisitioned for military use, and I could swear they went to Kent. I just need to make a couple of telephone calls to find out, and if that’s so, I’ll send word to Dame Constance, asking to see her as soon as possible.”
“Can’t we just go down there, see if Miss Waite is there, and put a tin lid on this case?”
Maisie shook her head. “No, Billy. If Charlotte Waite has sought her out, Dame Constance will be very protective of her
“I bet old Waite would just march in, find out if Charlotte was there and—if she was—drag her out.”
“He could try.” Maisie smiled at her assistant. “But I wouldn’t bet on his chances against Dame Constance. No, let’s do this with an eye to protocol; it’ll serve us well.”
Billy nodded, and Maisie reached for her own notes.
She described Joseph Waite, the way in which his forceful personality filled the shop, drawing customers to him with his easy camaraderie while at the same time intimidating his staff. Maisie explained to Billy how such intimidation seemed at odds with the regard the assistants appeared to have for Waite, especially for the way he looked after the families of those fallen in the Great War.
Billy chimed in, “Y’know what my ol’ father used to say, don’t you? ’e used to say that if you ’ad workers, it wasn’t so important to be liked as it was to be respected, and it was possible to respect someone without actually likin’ them. P’r’aps Waite doesn’t need to be liked.”
“I think that’s a fairly accurate assessment of the situation.” Maisie nodded, and continued, “The other thing, and the most important: Joseph Waite lost a son in the war, a son who worked for him at the shop. He was probably being groomed to inherit the business.”
Billy was surprised.“P’r’aps that’s why ’es so, y’know, miserable. After all, ’e would be, especially if that girl of ’is is a bit of a drooping flower.”
“I think ‘wilting lily’ was the phrase he used. And yes, it could account for a lot, but might have nothing at all to do with Charlotte’s disappearance, which must obviously be our focus.”
“What ’appened to ’im, the son?”
“It appears that young Waite was killed along with many men employed by Waite’s. They joined up together. Joseph was a product of Waite’s first marriage. Waite married, quite literally, the girl next door, when he was twenty-four and she was twenty. Sadly, she died in childbirth a year later. By then Waite was doing quite well, but it must have been yet another heavy loss to add to his list.”
“It’s a wonder ’e didn’t mention it the other day. Y’know, when ’e was going on about despair.”
“Yes and no. Extreme emotions are strange forces, Billy. The loss of his son might be kept separate from his other griefs, his alone, shared with no one.” Maisie stopped for a moment, then continued speaking: “One of Waite’s sisters, who was unmarried at the time, came to live at his house to care for the child. As you can imagine, Waite kept his family employed, so they were well looked after, except the brother he spoke of yesterday, who had gone to work at the pit. The son would have been about six when Waite remarried in haste and, as you know, Charlotte was born seven months later. So Joseph, the son, was seven when his sister was born. By the way, you’ll notice young Joseph’s middle name was Charles, and the daughter was christened Charlotte. Joseph Waite’s father was Charles. Thus he effectively named both children after their late grandfather.”
Maisie reached for the colored pencils and drew them toward Billy and herself. “Now then, let’s map this out and see what we might have missed.” They began working together, and after a few minutes Maisie continued. “I’ll visit Lydia Fisher this week, Billy. Tomorrow morning, I think, so don’t expect me in until lunchtime-ish. It’s going to be a very busy week, I may not be able to keep my Friday luncheon appointment with Inspector Stratton.”
“Oh, Miss—” Billy suddenly laid a red pencil down on the desk and hit his forehead smartly, as if to reprimand himself for his forgetfulness. “That reminds me, you mentionin’ D. I. Stratton. I spoke to ol’ Jack Barker—y’know, who sells the
“What has that got to do with Inspector Stratton?”
“Remember we was talkin’ about ’im bein’ on that case of the woman who’d been murdered, in Coulsden?”
“Yes.”
“I said I’d find out what Charlotte Waite was readin’, y’know, when she did a runner out of the room where they ’ad breakfast.”
Maisie drew breath sharply.
“Anyway, it turns out that the
