instructed me in her care, so I was able to administer medicine and make her comfortable even at the end. I paid him back by helping him. At first he trusted me with errands, then I helped at the clinics—obviously not with patients, as I was just a boy. If it hadn’t been for Dr. Blanche, I might never have known what I wanted to be, or what I could be. He helped me to apply to Guys, which I attended on a scholarship. Mind you, I had to work night shifts at the brewery to earn my keep. Then the war broke out, and I think you know the rest.”
Maisie smiled. “Yes I do, Dr. Dene. I know the rest very well.”
CHAPTER TEN
Maisie parked the MG on the West Hill and looked across toward the East Hill, where she had strolled just thirty-five minutes earlier. She had walked down the 158 steps from the top of the cliffs onto Tackleway Street, then through a narrow alleyway known to locals as a “twitten,” one of the many almost-secret paths that crisscrossed the Old Town of Hastings. It led out onto Rock- a-Nore, where she had parked the motor car. No wonder smugglers loved this place, thought Maisie.
It was a fine Spring afternoon. The sun and a light breeze conspired to glance light off whitecaps in such a way that the view across the Channel seemed to be repeatedly punctured by shards of crystal. Maisie shielded her eyes from the prismatic flashes of light as she looked out over the water before making her way to the four-storey Regency house that had been the home of Rosamund Thorpe. She was anxious to interview the housekeeper and be on her way back to Chelstone, to plan the next part of her visit to Kent. She was abundantly aware that the initial meeting with Joseph Waite had taken place almost a week ago, and she was not yet certain she had located her client’s daughter.
A short woman answered the door and smiled warmly at Maisie. “You must be Miss Dobbs.”
Maisie returned the smile. She thought the housekeeper resembled the quintessential grandmother, with her tight white curls, a plain dress in wool the color of heather, and stout black shoes.
“Young Dr. Dene from the convalescent hospital telephoned me and said to expect you. Very nice man, isn’t he? Surprised he’s not married, after all, it’s not as if there’s a shortage of young women. Mind you, he was walking out with that one girl last—Oh, excuse me, Miss Dobbs, I do go on at times! Now then—” Mrs. Hicks showed Maisie into a drawing room with bowed windows that commanded a view across the West Hill. “Dr. Dene said that you were a friend of a friend of Mrs. Thorpe’s and wanted to know more about her passing on.” The housekeeper regarded Maisie intently. “Normally, I wouldn’t be talking to anyone outside the family, but Dr. Dene said it was important.”
“Yes it is, Mrs. Hicks, though I can’t really say much about it at the moment.”
Mrs. Hicks nodded and wrung her hands together in her lap, revealing her discomfort and, Maisie suspected, the fact that she wanted to speak of her employer very much. Maisie would give her that opportunity.
“Tell me, Mrs. Hicks, is the house for sale? Mrs. Thorpe passed on some two months ago now, didn’t she?”
“They—Mr. Thorpe’s children by his first marriage, that is—have asked me to stay on and keep the place up until it’s sold. It has only just gone up for sale, as there was a lot of legal to-ing and fro-ing and paperwork and so on to go through after . . .” Mrs. Hicks’s bottom lip wobbled, and she hurriedly pulled an embroidered handkerchief from her pocket. “I’m sorry, Miss, but it was so very hard, finding her there. . . .”
“You found Mrs. Thorpe?”
Mrs. Hicks nodded. “I went up in the morning because she was late rising. Since Mr. Thorpe passed away, the house has been so quiet. Even though he was that much older, they were always laughing together. I tell you, if they saw two raindrops running down the window, they’d bet on which one would reach the bottom first and have a giggle over who’d won.” Mrs. Hicks kneaded the handkerchief between her hands. “Anyway, Mrs. Thorpe had trouble sleeping and was an early riser, so it was a change to not to see her up and about.”
“Was she in bed when you found her?”
“No, she was . . .” Mrs. Hicks rubbed her eyes with the handkerchief. “She was lying there, on the floor in her sitting room. It’s a small area that connects to the bedroom. She liked to sit there to have tea, for the view. The tea tray was still out from the day before, and there she was.”
“When had you served tea?”
Mrs. Hicks looked up at Maisie. “Well, she must’ve made it, because it had been my afternoon off. She often made herself a cup, especially if she thought I was busy with something else. They didn’t keep a big staff here, the cleaning’s done by Mrs. Singleton and Mrs. Acres who come up from the Old Town every morning, and if they were entertaining, they called in a cook and maids. There was only the two of them for me to keep for.”
“Mrs. Hicks, I know this is difficult for you, but did you notice anything that made you think twice when you went into the room, or when you looked at it later?”
“It was all such a shock, but I suppose there was one thing that I thought about, you know, afterwards.”
Maisie sat forward to listen.
“The tea tray was set for two: Two pieces of malt loaf, watercress sandwiches for two, two scones and some biscuits. But only one teacup had been used. So I wondered if she was expecting someone who hadn’t arrived. Mind you, she hadn’t said anything to me in the morning. Apparently she’d taken it, the poison, and washed it down with a cup of tea and a biscuit. But, I don’t know . . . .”
“What don’t you know, Mrs. Hicks?”
“She was a funny little thing at times. She would spend hours up at All Saints’ with the soldiers. I used to tell her that she did too much, but she’d say to me, ‘Mrs. Hicks, I have to make things right.’ Anybody would have thought she was responsible for their suffering, the way she said it. She was well-liked in the town, would always stop to talk to folk if she was out walking, not one of those uppity types.” Mrs. Hicks bit her lip. “I know she was sad, very sad, when Mr. Thorpe passed on, but I never, never knew that she was in such a state as to take her own life.”
“Mrs. Hicks, I know this is a strange question, but—do you really think she committed suicide?”
Mrs. Hicks sniffed and dabbed at her nose; then, emboldened by loyalty to her employer, she sat up. “No, Miss Dobbs. I do not.”
“Do you know of anyone who might have wanted her gone?”
