Birds of a Feather

“I thought that might be the case, but we must leave no stone unturned.”

“Too right, Miss. Did the hairdresser say anything interesting?”

“No, not really. Only that Charlotte’d changed in recent weeks. Apparently she used to have her hair set once a week, sometimes more often if she had parties to go to. But she’s only been in for one cut in the past six weeks, and she wanted it very plain, so she could draw it back in a bun.” Maisie reached for a folder on the desk. “And the seamstress hadn’t seen her for some weeks, which was unusual, because apparently she was always having alterations made to her very expensive clothing.”

“Well then, as we’ve got to see Mr. Waite this afternoon, p’r’aps we can get some more information from ’im. Bet you’re glad it’s the weekend, ain’t you?”

“My weekend is going to be taken up with the Waite case, and with driving down to Kent. And your weekend is a long way off, Billy; I hate to tell you this, but you’ve to be at Scotland Yard at ten sharp.”

Billy’s countenance changed immediately. “Scotland Yard, Miss?”

“Don’t worry, Billy, it’s in connection with the Fisher case.” Maisie looked up from her desk, where she was removing papers from her document case and setting them on the blotting pad in front of her. “Why? You haven’t done anything else they’d be interested in, have you?” She smiled but looked at him intently.

Billy turned toward the tea tray and replied with his back to Maisie, “Nah, not me, Miss. Tea?”

“Yes, that would be lovely, Billy. We both have a busy day, especially as I’ll be away early next week and we’ve to leave at two for our three o’clock appointment with Joseph Waite. I don’t want to be late for him.”

“Right you are, Miss.”

“And before you ask, my lunch has been canceled, so I won’t be seeing the Detective Inspector today, which isn’t surprising seeing as you will be with him for a couple of hours. We need to make faster progress in our work on the Waite case. Charlotte has absconded before, though we both think she’s old enough to be off on her own anyway. But the fact is that our opinions don’t count, and what goes on in the relationship between Joseph Waite and his daughter is for them to worry about—at this stage anyway.” She held her hand up to silence Billy, who seemed about to comment. “Yes, I know we’ve gone as quickly as we could, but I’m concerned that Lydia Fisher might have been inadvertently or deliberately misleading you about Charlotte’s desire to become a nun. We have to ensure that our client is satisfied, and satisfied as quickly as possible, but there are now more pressing reasons to locate Charlotte Waite quickly. We may be compelled to bring in the police.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“We cannot get away from the fact that we have identified a possible— and I must emphasize possible—link between the murders of two women and Charlotte Waite’s disappearance.”

Billy blew out his cheeks.“Gawd, Miss, when you put it like that . . .”

“Quite.”

“Mind you,” said Billy, changing position in the chair to stretch out his leg. “Mind you, I looked at the address book again, and that first woman, you know, the murder victim in Coulsden, well, she ain’t in there. I checked under the P’s for Philippa, and under the S’s for Sedgewick. So if Miss Waite knew ’er, she’s in the other address book.”

“Good point. We need to find out more about Mrs. Sedgewick. Look, if you’ve got time when you get out of the interview with Stratton and Caldwell, see what else you can dig up on the Sedgewick murder, go through the newspapers again. Oh, that reminds me— don’t let Sergeant Caldwell annoy you, Billy. Rise above it, and remember it’s his job to goad you a bit.” Maisie was thoughtful, “I wish there was a way you could get chatty with Inspector Stratton while you’re there.”

Billy laughed. “I don’t think it’s me ’e wants to get chatty wiv, Miss.”

Maisie blushed, and stood up to view the case map.

“So you ’aven’t ’eard from your Dame Constance yet, Miss?”

“No, not yet. One cannot expect to hear from a cloistered nun by telephone. But I’m keeping my fingers crossed that I’ll hear by this afternoon’s post. Dame Constance will have replied immediately—if she’s half as precise as she used to be. My letter to her would have arrived by yesterday morning, so assuming her reply went by the afternoon post, it should arrive today.”

“And you’ll be off to Kent on Monday, then?”

“Perhaps earlier. I’ve spoken to Dr. Blanche and will see him first about Waite.”

“You’ll remember to say ’ello to Mr. Dobbs for me, won’t you?”

Maisie looked at her watch and nodded. “Yes, of course I will, Billy. You should be getting along now, you don’t want to keep Inspector Stratton waiting.”

Billy scraped his chair back and winced slightly as his foot dragged along the floor.

Maisie pretended not to notice, but as Billy pulled on his overcoat she voiced her concern. “Are you sure I’m not leaving you with too much on your plate? I should only be away for a couple of days, but I’ll cut my journey short if you aren’t feeling up to it.”

“Nah, Miss. I told you last week, I’m much better now. Loads of energy, and the pain ain’t as bad as it was. Tell you the truth, I reckon it was the weather rusting the shrapnel they left in me legs.”

Maisie smiled. “Very well, Billy.”

Maisie began to collect her papers, which she placed under lock and key in her desk drawer. She consulted her watch and had just gathered her mackintosh, hat, and gloves, when the bell above the office door rang out as someone tugged the brass bell-pull by the outer door. Maisie wondered who could be summoning her at this inopportune moment. The thought crossed her mind that Dame Constance might have sent word via telegram. She ran downstairs.

“Why, Mrs. Beale, what a surprise!” Maisie was amazed to see Billy’s wife standing on the doorstep, holding