this volunteer work, was a sort of self-flagellation.”
“Do you think she killed herself?”
“Put it like this: Because of what I saw, I think she had it
“Why?” asked Maisie.
Andrew Dene sighed. “I’m trained as a doctor of medicine. I specialize in accidents and rehabilitation. I deal in the specifics of what is happening to the body, though I am interested in what motivates a person to become well again. I am used to fine lines, but only have a passing familiarity with the type of speculation that is clearly your bailiwick. But if I were to hazard a guess . . .”
“Yes?”
“I would say that she . . .” Andrew Dene faltered. As Maisie said nothing, Dene exhaled, and continued, “I think she felt she had a debt that had not yet been repaid. So coming here was part of that repayment, wasn’t it? Don’t get me wrong—” For just a moment, Maisie detected Dene’s original accent breaking through. “I don’t want to stick my neck out and have you take it as fact. It’s just my opinion.”
“Thank you, Dr. Dene. I appreciate your honesty, which will be kept in absolute confidence. Now, you said that Mrs. Hicks wants to see me again?”
Dene looked at his pocket watch. “She’ll be at the house now. I’ll telephone her, to tell her you’re on your way.”
Andrew Dene moved several books and papers to reveal the telephone. He quickly placed a call to the Thorpe house and informed Mrs. Hicks that Miss Maisie Dobbs was just leaving the hospital. Then he set down the receiver and pushed the books and papers back on top of the telephone. Maisie’s eyes widened at such disarray.
“Dr. Dene, please forgive me for saying this, but wouldn’t it behoove you to invest in a cabinet for your files?”
“Oh no. I’d never find a thing!” he replied with an impish grin. “Look, would you be free for a spot of lunch after you’ve seen Mrs. Hicks?”
“Well . . . visiting time at Pembury is at four, so . . . as long as I’m on my way again by one-thirtyish. I like to leave plenty of time.”
“Yes, I’m sure you do. We can walk along by the net shops and perhaps have some fish and chips. There are no posh restaurants down there, it’s all a bit spit and sawdust. But you’ll never taste fish like it anywhere else in the world.”
As Maisie parked the MG outside Rosamund Thorpe’s house on the West Hill, Mrs. Hicks opened the front door to greet her.
“Thank you for getting in touch, Mrs. Hicks, I do appreciate it.”
“Oh, Miss Dobbs, I’m only glad to help. I had the feeling that you were acting in Mrs. Thorpe’s best interests, so when I remembered, I thought I’d better get in touch. Hope you don’t mind me asking Dr. Dene. Such a nice man.” She closed the door behind Maisie and led her into the drawing room, where a teapot and two cups were set on a tray with some biscuits.
Maisie took a seat on the settee and once again removed her gloves. Despite extra clothing she still felt the cold, in her hands as much as in her feet.
Mrs. Hicks poured tea for Maisie, passed her cup, then offered biscuits which Maisie declined. She would need to leave space for a hearty helping of fish and chips. “Right. I expect you’ll want me to get straight to the point.”
“Yes, please. It really is important that I understand why Mrs. Thorpe might have taken her own life or, on the other hand, who might have wanted her dead.”
“Well, as you know, I’ve racked my brains trying to answer the first question, and haven’t had much luck with the second. Everyone thought well of Mrs. Thorpe. Then I remembered a visit; years ago, it was, not long after she was married. Probably not long after the war, either. Joseph Waite—”
Maisie set her cup into the saucer with a clatter.
“Is that tea cold, Miss?”
“No . . . no, not at all. Please continue, Mrs. Hicks.” Reaching into her document case, she took out an index card and began to make notes.
“Well, anyway, Joseph Waite—he’s the father of one of her old friends. Mind you, they hadn’t seen each other for years and years, not since the war. Anyway, Mr. Waite came here, big motor car and a chauffeur and all, and asked to see Mrs. Thorpe. Perhaps he didn’t know her married name, because he took liberties. What he actually said was, ‘I’d like to see Rosie.’ It was the first I knew that she used to be called Rosie, and I thought it was a bit of a cheek, calling a respectable married woman by the name of Rosie—in fact,
“Go on.”
“Well, I showed him into the front parlor, then informed Mrs. Thorpe that she had a caller and who he was. She was shaken, I know that. Didn’t like it at all. Said, ‘Thank heavens Mr. Thorpe isn’t here’; then, ‘You will keep this to yourself, won’t you, Mrs. Hicks?’ And I never told anyone, until now.”
“What happened?”
“Well, she goes into the parlor to greet him, like the lady she was, and he was all huffy. Didn’t want tea or any refreshment. Just says he wants to speak to her in private, looking across at me. So I was dismissed.”
“Do you know what he came to see her about?”
“No, sorry, Miss, I don’t. But he was angry, and he got her all upset, he did.”
“Did you hear anything?”
Mrs. Hicks sighed and tried to gather her thoughts. “Of course, at my age, you forget things, but him I remember. These houses are built like fortresses, on account of the wind and storms. Built for Admiral Nelson’s
