the same conclusion as the police, that Nick’s death was an accident. But if Georgie’s got more money than sense…”
Maisie turned to Piers. “I understand that you have some sketchbooks that belonged to Nick. Noelle said you took two or three from his cottage. I’m fascinated by his work, I’d love to see them.”
“I—I—good heavens, I have no idea where I put them.” Having finished his cake, Piers reached forward to set his plate on the tray, his hand shaking. “That’s the trouble with age, one forgets.” He smiled at Maisie, but the restful ambiance of the drawing room had altered. Piers became unsettled and Noelle sat forward, the language of her body indicating concern for her father.
Maisie softened her tone. “Well, I would love to see them, when you find them. I have come to hold your son’s work in some regard—that’s one advantage of my profession, I am able to learn so much about subjects I have never before encountered. I confess, before meeting Georgina again, my knowledge of the art world was limited, to say the least.”
Noelle stood up, so Maisie reached for her shoulder bag. “I really must be on my way. My father is expecting me this evening, and I’m sure he has cooked me a wonderful supper.”
“You know, you must forgive me for not inquiring before, but is your father alone, Maisie?” Leaning on the arm of the settee, Piers rose to his feet.
“Yes. My mother died when I was a girl, so there’s only the two of us.”
“I’m sorry.” He smiled, reaching for her hand. “That’s the trouble with us Bassington-Hopes, we’re so involved with ourselves, we forget to ask about our guests.”
Maisie smiled, returning the affectionate squeezing of her hand. “It was a long time ago, though we still miss her very much.”
She bid farewell to Piers and Noelle, asking to be remembered to Emma as she left the house. The MG spluttered to life, and as she drove away, she glanced in the mirror to see father and daughter standing together for one final wave. Then Noelle put her arm around her father’s shoulders, smiled up at him and they turned into the house.
Though the conversation had been benign—an unexpected, but nevertheless welcome guest, afternoon tea by the fire—another piece of the puzzle had slipped into place. With or without the sketchbooks taken from Nick’s cottage, she believed she knew something of what they contained and why Piers Bassington-Hope might have wanted them out of harm’s way.
Seventeen
The time with her father proved to hold news that was surprising, though it explained Sandra’s visit to her office. The Comptons had decided to close the Belgravia house completely until their son, James, returned to London from Canada at a future date. Though it was inevitable—the costs incurred in retaining a London home were not insignificant—the move indicated to Maisie that her former employer and ever-supportive patron, Lady Rowan Compton, was finally relinquishing her position as one of London’s premier hostesses. During the early morning journey back into London, Maisie felt both uneasiness and excitement. On the one hand, the door to part of her past was closing and with that came a sadness. The house she had been sent to as a motherless girl was now empty, not to be opened, perhaps, until the property’s heir returned with a wife and family. On the other hand, it was as if, finally, a tentacle that gripped her to what had gone before was being drained of strength. Slipping into a lower gear to push the motor car up the notorious River Hill, Maisie felt as if the past were losing its claim on her, that even though her father lived in a tied cottage on the Chelstone estate, it was his cottage, his work, that benefited him. The house in Belgravia was all but gone for her now, and it was as if she were being set free.
According to Frankie, events had progressed with speed following Maisie’s move and conjecture by the staff of what might happen next had been “bang on the money.” The Belgravia household staff had been offered new positions at Chelstone, though only two accepted. Eric had found a job with Reg Martin, who, despite the economic depression, was doing well with his garage business. Eric and Sandra had become engaged, so Sandra had declined the job in Kent to stay in London, though no one knew what she was going to do for board or living until the wedding, when she, too, would live in the one-room flat above the garage. Now Maisie understood that Sandra had likely come to her for advice, and wondered how she could possibly help.
Drawing into Fitzroy Street, Maisie parked the MG, and as she looked up at the office window, she saw the light, indicating that Billy was at the office already.
“Mornin’, Miss. Well, I ’ope?” Billy stood up from his desk and came to Maisie to take her coat as she entered.
“Yes, thank you, Billy. I’ve a lot to tell you. Everything all right here?”
“Right as rain, Miss. Shouldn’t say that, should I? Looks like it’s fit to pour down out there.” He turned from an inspection of the sky outside the window back to Maisie. “Need a cuppa, Miss?”
“No, not at the moment. Let’s get down to work. Fish the case map out of the chimney—though I have to tell you, here’s the old one!” Maisie held up the crumbled wad of paper returned by the Customs and Excise.
Billy grinned. “Where’d you get that, Miss?”
“I’ll explain everything. Come on, let’s get set up over at the table.”
Five minutes later, Maisie and her assistant were seated in front of both the old and new case maps, pencils in hand.
“All right, so you say that Nick B-H and ’is mates were all in this smugglin’ lark?”
“It appears that Alex Courtman was probably not involved, though I don’t know why. Could be because he met them later at the Slade, that he was a bit younger and therefore wasn’t part of that earlier camaraderie. Let’s keep an open mind about that one, though.”
Billy nodded. “So, what was it all about?”
Maisie opened her mouth to reply when a continuous ring of the doorbell suggested an insistent caller.
“Go and see who that is, Billy.”
Billy hurried to the door. She hadn’t inquired after Doreen, or the other children, knowing that there would be time for them to speak of the family. Asking the question as soon as she walked into the office would pressure Billy in a certain way; Maisie had decided it was better to wait until he had warmed to the day, making it easier for him to respond to inquiries about his wife and children. The cold light of dawn must always bring with it a sharp reminder that his daughter was gone.
