Billy nodded. “Awright, then. Awright, I’ll go, but not until this business with Miss Waite and them women is closed. I can’t leave work ’alf done.”
“Right you are, Billy.” Maisie acquiesced. “And is there anything else?”
Billy looked at Maisie in earnest. “Can Doreen and the nippers come down?”
“Of course they can. It isn’t prison, you know. In fact, if she wants, I think Doreen could get work from Lady Rowan.”
“Oh, she’d like that.”
“Yes, apparently Lady Rowan has been so preoccupied with the mare and foal, that she is ‘behind’—as she puts it—with preparing for her return to London. She wants to have several gowns altered rather than buy new ones, so I told her about Doreen.”
“You should get a job down the labor exchange, Miss. You’d ’ave everyone in work and off them lines in next to no time.”
Maisie laughed. “Come on, let’s get cracking. I want to see where we are with everything that’s happened while I’ve been away. We should leave here by ten. And we’ll continue this afternoon as soon as we’re back. Also, I’ll need to speak to Detective Inspector Stratton later today.”
“T’ see whether Fisher has spilled the beans?”
“Yes, in a way. Though I think the only beans Fisher has to spill concern his wife’s drinking and his gambling debts. But the newspapers are having a field day with him.”
“All over him like a rash, Miss. Feel a bit sorry for him, I do.”
“You should. I would bet my business on his innocence.”
Quite deliberately, Maisie had not discussed her latest news on the Waite case in detail with Billy. Though she wanted to work on the case map as an artist would an unfinished canvas, she also knew the value of letting facts, thoughts, observations and feelings simmer. In the hours of driving that followed her meeting with Charlotte Waite, Maisie had concluded that the only person who was at risk now was Charlotte. A plan had begun to form in Maisie’s mind. Execution of that plan would depend upon Charlotte.
At ten o’clock on the dot, just as they were about to leave for the appointment with Joseph Waite, the telephone rang.
“Always the way, innit?”
“You can say that again.” Maisie reached for the receiver and gave the number.
“May I speak to Miss Maisie Dobbs?”
“Speaking.”
“Ah, Miss Dobbs. My name is Reverend Sneath, from the village of Lower Camden. I have an important message for you from Dame Constance at Camden Abbey. I visited her earlier today, and she asked me to telephone you as a matter of some urgency as soon as I returned to the vicarage.”
“What is the message, Reverend Sneath?” Maisie was filled with dread. Seeing her complexion change, Billy moved closer to the desk.
“I’ll read it out to you, so I don’t miss a thing.”
Maisie bit her lip as she listened to the rustle of paper, the message being unfolded. The reverend cleared his throat. “Dear Maisie. Miss Waite has left Camden Abbey. She went to her cell immediately after your meeting with her yesterday, and did not join us for our meals or for our devotions, as is her practice. I gave instructions for a food tray to be left for her, and when it was discovered untouched this morning we searched the abbey to no avail. I fear that yesterday’s distressing events have weighed heavily on her. I have not informed the authorities as Miss Waite is not a member of the community. However, I am concerned for her well-being. Do all that you can to find her, Maisie. I need not remind you that her safety is your responsibility. We will hold you and Miss Waite in our prayers.”
“Oh God.” Maisie slumped into her chair.
“Yes, quite.”
“Thank you. Reverend Sneath. Please destroy the message. And would you be so kind as to get word to Dame Constance that I will be in touch as soon as I have located Miss Waite.”
“Of course. Good day to you, Miss Dobbs.” The line clicked.
“She’s run away again, Billy.” Maisie’s hand was still on the receiver, as if willing the telephone to ring with news of Charlotte.
“Oh blimey! Now what’re we goin’ t’ tell ol’ Waite?”
“Nothing. I don’t want to alarm Waite until we’ve made inquiries. For now we’ll carry on as if we know where she is. But we have to find her—and pretty sharpish. Come on, let’s get going. We can talk about it in the car.”
Maisie and Billy exchanged ideas throughout the journey to Dulwich, until Maisie put a stop to their speculation. “Let’s give this problem some air. Now we’ve speculated back and forth, let’s allow some room for inspiration.”
“Awright, Miss. Let the ideas come to us instead of chasing them.”
“Exactly.” Maisie spoke as forcefully as she could but was unable to escape the dread that pulled at her stomach. Where was Charlotte Waite now?
Once again, Maisie was required to park “nose out” at the Waite mansion and, once again, after being most cordially greeted by Harris, the calm was broken by the entrance of Miss Arthur, Joseph Waite’s secretary, clutching her files.
“Oh, Miss Dobbs, Miss Dobbs, Miss Dobbs. I tried to telephone you, but your line was engaged, and then when I telephoned a second time, there was no answer. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Miss Arthur reminded Maisie of a startled hen, with her arms flapping. Maisie raised her hand, as if to smooth the other woman’s ruffled feathers.
“What is wrong, Miss Arthur?”
