Birds of a Feather

It was Maisie’s turn to smile. The Abbess had put on the gloves and was ready to spar.

“In this context the only is a request for truth. I am here simply to gain information to put the mind of her father to rest.”

“Simply and only, simply and only. Everything and nothing are simple, as you know.”

Dame Constance reached for a cup of water, sipped, replaced the earthenware vessel, and thought for a moment in silence, her hands tucked together inside the copious sleeves of her habit. She looked up and nodded. “Do you know one of the most common questions I am asked? ‘Why is an enclosed nun kept behind bars?’ My response is always the same: ‘The bars are there to keep you out, not us in!’” There was silence again, and Maisie waited for a final decision. “Your request must be considered by the order, and to do that, Maisie, I must have the whole story. Yes, I know—with this comment I have given you the answer you require. However, we both know that your only goes further, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does. Let me tell you what has happened.”

Maisie was served an early lunch alone in the sitting room. She excused herself to use the lavatory and washbasin facilities provided for visitors. Upon her return, her shoes clattering on the flagstone floors, a fresh tray awaited her, bearing a hearty bowl of pearl barley-and-vegetable soup, a flask of cider with an upturned glass on top, and three slices of still-warm, crusty brown bread. She was just scooping up the final spoonful of soup when the small door was drawn back and Dame Constance smiled at her through the grille.

“No, do finish. You can carry on eating.”

“It’s all right. I’m all but finished.” Maisie poured a glass of cider, took one sip, and quickly put down the glass. The beverage was clearly homemade and a strong brew.

“The order has decided that, on this occasion, we can confirm that Miss Waite is within the walls of Camden Abbey. She is tired and needs to rest and recuperate. I cannot allow her to be assailed with questions. Give her time.”

“But—”

“There may be another life taken? The order has considered, and we have concluded that we must continue to offer refuge to Miss Waite.” Dame Constance looked at Maisie intently. “We will pray, Maisie. We will petition God for His strength and His hand in this matter.”

Thank heavens Stratton isn’t here, thought Maisie. If he thought the order was offering succor to a murderer, he’d have something to say. Then Dame Constance surprised her.

“If you can return to Camden Abbey next week, you might be able to meet with Miss Waite then. I will have had several conversations with her in the interim, so expect my letter.”

“Thank you, Dame Constance.”

“And perhaps you can stay longer next time. I sometimes miss the debate my students challenged me with when they stopped being scared of me, and before they were mature enough to realize that those who are older may know something after all.” Dame Constance paused. “And perhaps you can tell me something, then, that I am curious about.”

Maisie inclined her head to demonstrate her own curiosity.

“I’d like to know, Maisie, where do you find refuge? And who offers you close counsel and companionship?”

Maisie nodded. “I’ll see you next week.”

“Very well. Until then, dear child, until then.” The small grille door closed with a click.

Maisie pulled up the collar of her jacket against the large raindrops that were beginning their assault on Romney Marsh. She opened the door of the MG and looked once again at the imposing building. Yes, it looked safe. Very safe. Charlotte Waite had found herself a fortress and an army of knights to protect her. The knights were women, and the arms they bore were prayers. But whom were they protecting? A murderer or another potential victim?

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Lady Rowan chose to wait at Chelstone until after the new foal was born. Lord Julian had decided to travel to Lancashire to visit the site of a bankrupt factory he was considering for purchase. The economic slump could not last forever, and he wanted to be well-placed to boost the manufacturing arm of his investment interests when the time was right. Upon her return to London, Maisie would be alone in Belgravia for several more weeks with only the servants for company.

Once again the drive back into London gave Maisie time to consider her next steps in light of the past few days’ revelations. The task she had been retained to perform in the Waite case was almost complete. She knew where Charlotte Waite had taken refuge, though it remained for her to persuade the woman to return to her father’s home. In the normal course of events Maisie would not consider the case completely closed until personal conversations with Charlotte and Joseph Waite had taken place individually and jointly, with commitments from each to fashion a new relationship with the other. But could the completion of her assignment conclude this case, when there were the deaths of three other women to be considered? Maisie detoured. Instead of driving directly into London, she made her way west into the county of Surrey, then north to Richmond. It was time for her to make her monthly pilgrimage to visit Simon, the former love who had sustained such serious injuries during the Great War that he was now in a convalescent hospital where he could be cared for along with other men who had suffered profound injury to the mind. Though he would not know that Maisie sat opposite him, taking his hands in hers as she spoke, Maisie would feel the warmth in his fingers, sense the blood coursing through his veins, and she would continue to tell him of her days. She would describe the gardens that lay beyond the windows, the leaves turning to brown, red and gold before falling, then, later, she would tell of snow on branches and Jack Frost leaving icicles where leaves would sprout in spring. Today she would describe the new leaves unfolding, the fresh green shoots of daffodils and crocuses, the sun higher in the sky, and the springtime nip in the air. Above all, as Simon’s head nodded along with his breathing, his eyes focusing on a place in the distance only he could see, Maisie would share with him her deepest thoughts and secrets.

She parked the MG and, as was her habit, walked to the lower perimeter of the gardens before approaching the main entrance. Maisie watched the Thames snaking through Richmond, and consciously took four deep breaths placing the fingers of her right hand against the cloth of her aubergine jacket at the point she knew to be the center of her body. She closed her eyes and took one more deep breath. She was ready.

“Good morning, Miss Dobbs, very nice to see you again, but then it is your time, isn’t it? First week of the