She waited.
Just at the point when she thought a leg cramp was becoming unendurable, a key turned in the lock of the main door to Charlotte Waite’s suite of rooms. Maisie held her breath. A light footfall stopped at the chair; then came a clinking sound as the intruder reached for the fallen china and set it on the tray. She heard the lid being taken off the teapot, then replaced. Another moment passed, footsteps came closer and Maisie crouched lower as a long shadow unfolded across the floor when the door opened wide.
She swallowed and, in the tension of the moment, feared that the person who had come to kill Charlotte Waite might have heard her. Once again she held her breath and watched as a hand was held high with blade ready. The killer moved toward the bed, then lost all control and screamed to the heavens. Doubling over, she keened so deeply and with such passion, that even her shadow seemed to emit a deep guttural cry. She sobbed as only a mother can, her whole body given over to the grief and rage of one who has lost her children. Again and again she rammed the bayonet home into what she believed to be the already cold body of Charlotte Waite.
The killer slumped to the floor, her chest heaving, her lungs gasping for air. Maisie moved to her side, knelt and pulled the woman to her, holding her close while taking the bayonet from her limp, unresisting grasp.
“It’s all over now, Mrs. Willis. It’s all over. It’s over,”
CHAPTER TWENTY - TWO
“Miss!” Billy snapped on the light, kneeling awkwardly beside Maisie. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and carefuly removed the bayonet from her hand.
“Miss, I couldn’t get back in again. I tried, but there was too—”
“Never mind, Billy. Summon Stratton immediately. Go now, but first make sure that bayonet is somewhere safe!”
When Billy returned, Maisie had already helped Mrs. Willis into the sitting room, seating her in Charlotte Waite’s wing chair. She was calm, but her eyes were dull as she stared in front of her.
“He’s coming right over. They telephoned ’im at is ’ome, Miss, and ’e’s on ’is way.”
There was time to sit with the woman who had taken three lives and would have taken a fourth. Billy stood by the door, Maisie kneeling beside Mrs. Willis, who sat gazing into the fire Maisie had lit for her comfort. The scene might have reflected a young woman visiting a favorite aunt.
“I’ll hang, won’t I, Miss Dobbs?”
Maisie looked into the glazed eyes of the woman leaning forward in Charlotte’s wing chair
“I cannot second-guess a jury, Mrs. Willis. When the whole story is told, they may find grounds for mercy. You may not even be considered fit to stand trial.”
“Then they’ll send me away.”
“Yes. You will lose your freedom.”
Mrs. Willis nodded, her lips forming a crooked smile. She gazed into the flames. “I lost my freedom a long time ago, Miss Dobbs.”
Maisie remained still. “I know.”
“They
“Yes.” Maisie knew that now was not the time to raise the issue of nuances, of what might have happened anyway, after conscription.
“It seems if it were yesterday.” Mrs. Willis looked up at Maisie. Billy came a little closer so that he, too, could hear.
“My Frederick was a master butcher. Had worked for Waite’s for years. We were young when we got married. I fell for our eldest straight away; honeymoon baby, that’s what they called him. Our Anthony. Oh, he was a love. Soft, was Tony. If that boy saw a bird in the street that couldn’t fly, well, it would be in the kitchen with a saucer of bread and milk before you knew it. Then a year later came Ernest. Different kettle of fish altogether, that Ernest. . . .” Mrs. Willis smiled as she looked into the past.
“Ernest was a little tyke. If there was mischief, then you could bet Ernest was in the middle of it. But Tony was there to put him right, and as much as they were chalk and cheese, they were always together. Always. Then came Wilfred, Will, our youngest. Loved books, loved to read. And so thoughtful, you’d have supposed he was in a dream half the time. The neighbors said I was lucky, to have three boys who got on so well. Of course there were times that they had a bit of a dustup. Like puppies, tumbling all over each other until Frederick had to go out and take each of them by the scruff of the neck. He was a big man, my Frederick. He’d end up there with them, wrestling in the garden with them all over him. People said I was born under a lucky star, with my boys.”
Billy had moved even closer. In the distance, Maisie heard the main gate open, and the crunch of tires as Stratton’s Invicta motor car made its way to the front of the house. Another vehicle followed, presumably the van that would transport Mrs. Willis. She motioned to Billy to stand by the door, ready to prevent a noisy entrance by the police
“Well, first Tony went to work at Waite’s, then Ernie went, and Will last.” Mrs. Willis brought her gaze back to Maisie. “Mr. Waite liked having families work for the company, said it was good for morale for sons to learn from their fathers. He was doing the same thing, with young Joseph.” She stared silently
“Go on.” Maisie could hear voices in the corridor, which then subsided as Billy met the police. When Billy, Stratton, and a newly-minted woman police constable stepped into the room, Maisie raised her hand to stop them. Mrs. Willis continued her story, oblivious to the new arrivals.
“Then one day Tony came off his shift, very down at heart. Not like himself. Ernie and Will came home, didn’t say much. Went straight upstairs. I could hear the three of them talking, but I thought something had happened in the warehouse, you know, a bit of trouble, something like that. Frederick wasn’t there that day, he’d gone to the abattoir. Mr. Waite liked one of his master butchers to go there, to check up, to make sure work was being done to the highest standards.”
