Birds of a Feather

Charlotte smiled. “I . . . I should thank you—”

Maisie held up her hand. “Don’t say anything . . . not yet, anyway. This day is far from over.You know what to do next?”

“Yes. I have to return directly to Number 15 Ebury Place. Sandra is expecting me and will remain with me at all times until you return.”

“And you must not leave your room. Is that understood? You must stay with Sandra!” Maisie spoke quietly but urgently.

“I understand, Miss Dobbs. But what about my father?”

“One step at a time. One step at a time. Right, are you ready?”

Charlotte nodded.

“Good.” Maisie opened the door and beckoned Billy into the room.

Billy looked from Maisie to Charlotte Waite and back again. “So, this is it, then?”

“Ready, Billy?”

“I’m ready.” Billy reached for the door handle. “You know, there’s one question I’ve been meaning to ask you, Miss Waite?”

Charlotte looked first at Maisie, then back at Billy. “Yes, Mr. Beale?”

“Did you ’ave two address books, you know, one what was old with all your addresses in, and another what you left behind?”

“Why . . . yes, yes I did. I took the old one with me, because I never did get used to the new one. It was so empty, it made me feel as if I didn’t really know anyone.”

“Thought so. We’d better be on our way now.” He turned to Maisie. “Take care, Miss.”

The light was beginning to fade. Maisie watched from the window of Charlotte’s sitting room as they left, noticing how Charlotte had straightened her spine. The small rear lights of the taxi-cab were extinguished as it drove toward the gatehouse. She knew that she had taken a chance with Billy; his weak leg rendered him a questionable asset. But she was forced to ask him to return surreptitiously to the Waite mansion. She needed a witness, someone on her side, and did not know how far the household could be trusted. If only Stratton had been open to another view—but he had not.

Maisie’s eyes were drawn to the dove-cote, where it seemed for just a second that she saw movement in the evening shadow. Something stirred again, and a few doves flew up. Maisie watched the ghost-like flapping of wings in the twilight sky as the doves circled before swooping down to return to their home for the night. When she looked at the dove-cote again, the shadow was gone. She knew that, disguised as Charlotte Waite, she had cause to fear. Entering the bedroom, Maisie closed the curtains then walked across to the bed. Drawing back the counterpane and bed linens, she pulled off the pillows and repositioned the long bolster so that it seemed as if the bed were occupied.

The oldest trick in the book—let’s hope it works. She turned on the dressing-table lamp and scanned the room before reopening the curtains; then she surveyed her handiwork from the door. Yes. Very good.

In the sitting room, Maisie was reaching for the curtains when she heard a soft knock at the door. She did not answer. There was another gentle knock, then a woman’s voice.

“Miss Waite? Miss Waite? I thought I’d come to see if you’d like a cup of tea. Miss Waite?”

Maisie breathed a sigh of relief. She sat in silence. A minute passed before she heard steps receding along the hallway. She checked her watch, the one accessory she had not relinquished. Billy should be back soon. She sat in the same chair she had occupied on her initial visit to the rooms, when she had first felt Charlotte’s lingering fear and sorrow. And she waited.

Another knock at the door. She listened carefully, for if all had gone well, Billy should have returned by now.

“Miss Waite? Miss Waite? Can you hear me? What about a bowl of thick chicken-and-dumpling soup? You need to keep up your strength, Miss Waite.”

Maisie was silent, listening. When at last footsteps receded along the hallway for a second time, Maisie realized that she was indeed in need of sustenance. Opening Charlotte’s bag, she took out a bottle of lemonade and a sandwich. To maintain absolute silence, she went into the tiled bathroom to eat and take a few sips of lemonade.

It was now completely dark outside. Had she been wrong to anticipate that the murderer would strike again quickly? Time passed slowly.

Ten o’clock. Another knock. Maisie tensed.

“Miss Waite? Miss Waite? You must be gasping for a nice cup of tea and something to eat by now. As you don’t want to see anyone, I’m leaving a tray outside the door. There’s a pot of tea and some macaroons. They’re fresh from the oven, I made them especially for you.”

The tray was set down. Retreating footsteps indicated that the corridor was now empty. Very slowly Maisie turned the key and handle and pulled the tray inside. She closed and locked the door behind her, then set the tray down on the table next to the wing chair.

Maisie lifted the lid of the teapot and sniffed the Earl Grey, strong with the smell of bergamot. Yes. Then she crumbled the fresh macaroon, still warm and filled with the aroma of almonds. Simple attempts to disguise a toxic feast. Taking up the pot, she poured a cup of tea, added milk and sugar, swirled the liquid around then went to the bathroom to pour all but a few dregs into the sink. She poured away half of the tea in the pot, so that the provider would think she had taken two or three cups. Then, leaving the door to the bedroom ajar, she dropped the cup and saucer to the floor, spilling what poison-laced tea was left across the carpet. She was so close to the window that her silhouette could be seen from the gardens so, knowing that there was an observer, she half-staggered across the bedroom and fell onto the bed. Once there, Maisie rolled sideways onto the floor and crawled to the corner, where she took up her hiding place behind the wardrobe. From this vantage point she could see the doorway and the bed. Her only concern now was for Billy’s arrival.