Birds of a Feather

“I’ll get directly to the point, Miss Dobbs. My daughter, Charlotte, is missing from home. I’m a busy man, so I will tell you straight, I do not want to involve the police because I don’t for one minute think that this is a police matter. And I don’t want them turning this place upside down while they waste time speculating about this and that, and drawing every bored press man to my gates while they’re about it.”

Maisie once again drew breath and opened her mouth to speak, but Waite held his hand up from the table, his palm facing her. She noticed a large gold ring on his little finger, and as he placed his hand on the table, she saw that it was encrusted with diamonds. She stole a sideways look at Billy, who raised an eyebrow.

“It’s not a police matter because this is not the first time she’s left my house. You are to find her, Miss Dobbs, and bring her back before word gets out. A man in my position can’t have a daughter running around and turning up in the newspapers. I don’t have to tell you that these are difficult times for a man of commerce, but Waite’s is trimming its sails accordingly and doing very nicely, thank you. It’s got to stay that way. Now then.” Waite consulted his watch yet again. “You’ve got twenty minutes of my time, so ask any questions you want. I won’t ’old back.”

Maisie perceived that although Waite had worked hard to eliminate a strong Yorkshire accent, the occasional revealing long vowel and the odd dropped h, unlike that of the London dialect, broke through.

“I’d like some details about your daughter.” Maisie reached for the blank index cards that Billy handed her. “First of all, how old is Charlotte?”

“Thirty-two. About your age.”

“Quite.”

“And with about half the gumption!”

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Waite?”

“I’ll make no bones about it; Charlotte is her mother’s daughter. A wilting lily, I call her. A good day’s work wouldn’t do her any harm at all, but of course the daughter of a man in my position has no need. More’s the pity.”

“Indeed. Perhaps you could tell us something about what happened on the day Charlotte disappeared. When was she last seen?”

“Two days ago. Saturday. Morning. At breakfast. I was down in the dining room, and Charlotte came in, full of the joys of spring, and sat down at the other end of the table. One minute she seemed as right as rain, eating a bit of toast, drinking a cup of tea, then all of a sudden she starts with the tears, sobs a bit, and runs from the room.”

“Did you go after her?”

The man sighed and reached for an ashtray, into which he tapped the smoldering end of his cigar, leaving a circle of pungent ash. He drew deeply on the cigar again and exhaled.

“No, I didn’t. I finished my breakfast. Charlotte is a bit of a Sarah Bernhardt, Miss Dobbs. An actress—should’ve been on the stage, like her mother. Nothing is ever good enough for her. I thought she’d’ve made a suitable marriage by now, but no, in fact—you should write it down there—” He waved his cigar toward Maisie’s index card. “She was jilted by her fiance a couple of months ago. Even with my money she can’t get a husband!”

“Mr. Waite, the behavior you describe suggests that your daughter may have been in a state of despair.”

“‘Despair’? ‘Despair’? She’s always had fine food in her belly, clothes—and very good clothes, I might add—on her back. I’ve given her a good education, in Switzerland, if you please. And she had a proper coming out ball. You could’ve fed a family for a year with what I spent on the frock alone. That girl’s had the very best, so don’t tell me about despair, Miss Dobbs. That girl’s got no right to despair.”

Maisie met his gaze firmly. Here it comes, she thought, now he’s going to tell me about his hard life.

“Despair, Miss Dobbs, is when your father dies in a pit accident when you’re ten years old and you’re the eldest of six. That’s what despair is. Despair is what gives you a right good kick in the rump and sets you off to provide for your family when you’re no’ but a child.”

Waite, who had slipped into broad Yorkshire, went on. “Despair, Miss Dobbs, is when you lose your mother and her youngest to consumption when you’re fourteen. That, Miss Dobbs, is despair. Despair is just when you think you’ve got everyone taken care of, because you’re working night and day to make something of yourself, and you lose another brother down the same pit that killed your father, because he took any job he could get to help out. That, Miss Dobbs, is despair. But you know about that yourself, don’t you?” Waite leaned forward and ground his cigar into the ashtray.

Maisie realized that somewhere in his office Joseph Waite had a dossier on her that held as much information as she had acquired about him, if not more.

“Mr. Waite, I am well aware of life’s challenges, but if I am to take on this case—and the choice is mine—I have a responsibility for the welfare of all parties. If this type of departure is something of a habit for your daughter and discord in the house is at the heart of her unsettled disposition, then clearly something must be done to alleviate the, let us say, pressure on all parties. I must have your commitment to further conversation with respect to the problem when we have found Charlotte.”

Joseph Waite’s lips became taut. He was not a man used to being challenged. Yet, as Maisie now knew, it was the similarity in their backgrounds that had led him to choose her for this task, and he would not draw back. He was a very intelligent as well as belligerent man and would appreciate that not a moment more could be lost.

“Mr. Waite, even if Charlotte has disappeared of her own volition, news of her disappearance will soon attract the attention of the press, just as you fear. Given your financial situation and these difficult times, there is a risk that you may be subjected to attempts at extortion. And though you seem sure that Charlotte is safe and merely hiding from you, of that we cannot be certain until she is found. You speak of prior disappearances. May I have the details?”

Waite leaned back in his chair shaking his head. “She runs away, to my mind, anytime she can’t get what she wants. The first time was after I refused to allow her a motor car.” He looked across the lawns and waved the cigar in the direction of what Maisie expected were the garages. “She can be taken by chauffeur anywhere she wants. I don’t hold with women driving.”