She removed the towel from her head and consulted the clock: half past eight. It would take fifteen minutes walking at a brisk clip to reach Victoria, so she had only a quarter of an hour to dry her hair. Grabbing her jacket, hat, gloves and document case, she took six hairpins from a glass bowl on her dressing table and rushed out of her room, along the landing, then through a small disguised door to the left that led to the back stairs of the house.
As Maisie entered the kitchen, the three housemaids, who were talking, seemed to jump as she spoke.“Oh dear, I wonder if you can help, I need to dry my hair ever so quickly!”
Sandra was the first to step forward, followed by Teresa.
“Tess, take Miss Dobbs’s things. Come over here, Miss. we won’t be able to get it bone dry, but enough so’s you can pin it up. Quick, Val, open the fire door.”
Maisie noticed that now she was on downstairs territory, the staff called her “Miss” rather than the more formal upstairs “M’um.” She toweled her head once more, and was instructed to lean over in front of the fire door of the stove, so that the heat would begin to dry her hair.
“Now then, don’t get too close, Miss. You don’t want to singe that lovely hair, now, do you?”
“Singe it? I feel like burning the lot off, Sandra.”
“I suppose we could always go and get Her Ladyship’s new Hawkins Supreme, you know, that green hair-drying machine thing of hers. She only used it the once. Said it was like having a vacuum cleaner going over her head.”
As Valerie flapped the morning newspaper so that heat would move around Maisie’s black tresses, she began to giggle. Then Sandra lost the battle to hold back her own laughter, as did Teresa. Maisie looked up through a veil of ringlets of still-damp hair and, for the first time in a long time, she began to laugh, too.
“Oh, don’t, don’t make me laugh like that!” As tears began to fall from her eyes, Maisie rubbed them away.
“Miss, Miss, I’m sorry, it’s just that, well, we suddenly saw the funny side of it, I mean, we’ve all ’ad to do it, you know, I s’pose we never thought you’d ever rush in ’ere all of a fluster.”
Maisie leaned back, took up her brush, and began to sweep her hair into a manageable twist. “I’m only human! You know, Mrs. Crawford would have boxed my ears for brushing my hair in the kitchen, and that’s a fact!”
Valerie moved to close the stove door, as Sandra wiped down the long kitchen table with a cloth. “Well, Miss, it’s nice to see you laugh, it really is. It’s good for a body, laughing. Puts a spring in your step, it does.”
Maisie smiled. “I appreciate the help, and the company.” Maisie looked at the silver watch pinned to her dress, “I had better get moving or I’ll be late for my appointment.”
Sandra put down the cloth she was holding. “I’ll go to the door with you, Miss.”
Maisie was about to insist that she need not be escorted, when it occurred to her that Sandra, the longest- serving housemaid and the oldest at twenty-six, might want to speak with her in confidence. At the top of the stone steps at the side of the mansion Maisie turned to Sandra in silence and smiled, encouraging her to speak.
“Miss, I hope this doesn’t sound, you know, out of place.” Sandra stood with her hands clasped behind her back and looked at her polished black shoes for a second, as if searching for the best way to deliver her words. She hesitated, and Maisie said nothing but moved just slightly closer. “Well, you work very hard, Miss, anyone can see that. Even late into the night. So, what I wanted to say was, that you’re always welcome to come down for a chat if you want. You see—” she picked at loose thread on her pinafore “—we know you can’t do that when everyone’s in residence, because it’s not done, is it? But when you’re alone at the house, we just want you to know that you don’t have to be.” Sandra looked at Maisie as if she had finished, then quickly added, “Mind you, we’re probably all a bit boring for you, Miss.”
Maisie smiled at Sandra, and said, “Not at all, Sandra. You are most kind. Some of my happiest times were spent downstairs in that kitchen. I’ll take you up on the offer.” Maisie looked at her watch. “Oh heavens, I must dash now. But Sandra . . .”
“Yes, Miss?”
“Thank you. Thank you for your understanding.”
“Yes, Miss.” Sandra bobbed a curtsey, nodded, and waved good-bye to Maisie.
Detective Inspector Stratton climbed out of the police car as soon as it came to a halt, and opened the rear passenger door for Maisie. He took the seat next to her and, without any niceties of greeting, began immediately to speak of “the Fisher Case.”
“I’ll get straight to the point, Miss Dobbs: What was your assistant doing at Lydia Fisher’s house on the day she was murdered?”
“Inspector Stratton, you have not yet informed me as to whether, in fact, my assistant visited on the actual day of her death, as she was not found until eleven yesterday morning.”
“Please do not be obstructive, Miss Dobbs. I am allowing you to revisit the victim’s home this morning in the hope that you might be able to assist us.”
“Indeed, Inspector, I appreciate your trust, though I am only trying to point out that we do not know yet exactly when the deceased met her fate. Or do we?” Maisie smiled at Stratton with a warmth that remained from the laughter that had embraced her less than an hour before.
Stratton looked mildly put out. “Spilsbury has reported the time of death to have been at about six o’clock in the evening on the day
“Mr. Beale did indeed see Mrs. Fisher at her home. However, he left Cheyne Mews before four o’clock to return to the office to meet with me, and I can vouch for him.”
“When did he leave you again?”
“Oh, Inspector—”
“Miss Dobbs.”
“It was approximately six o’clock. No doubt his wife would be able to confirm his arrival at home by, say, half
