and color for far longer than she had intended. Thus a day that had seen so many tears ended in the midst of a rainbow.
CHAPTER SIX
Maisie made her way back to her office. It was dark by now, and although she was gasping for a cup of tea much stronger than the light Darjeeling served at Fortnum & Mason's, she needed to work. She reflected upon the Davenham story, knowing only too well that there was a lot more to elicit. But by leaving much of the story untold, Maisie allowed the door to remain open. Instead of being exhausted by her own revelations and memories, Celia Davenham was being helped to shed her burden gradually, and Maisie was her guide.
Jack Barker greeted Maisie outside Warren Street station, doffed his cap and bid her good evening.
'Miss Dobbs, and a good evenin' to you. My, you are a sight for sore eyes at the end of the day.'
'Mr. Barker, thank you, although I am sure I'll be better when I get a cup of tea inside me.'
'You should get that Billy to make you a cuppa. Does too much jawing of a working day, that one. Do you know, I 'ave to tell him sometimes that I'm busy and can't keep puttin' the world to rights with 'im.'
Maisie grinned, knowing by now that Jack Barker could talk the hind leg off a donkey, and that the same complaint about Jack was likely to come from Billy Beale.
'Well, Billy's a good 'un, isn't he, Mr. Barker?'
''E is that. Amazing how fast 'e can move with that leg. You should see 'im sometimes, running 'ere and there, 'dot and carry one' with that leg. Poor sod. But at least we got 'im back 'ere, didn't we?'
Maisie agreed.'Indeed, Mr. Barker, at least he came home. I'd best be on my way, so I'll bid you good evening. Any reason to buy the latest edition before I rush off?'
'All bloomin' bad if you ask me. Threadneedle Street and the City in a rare two-an'-eight. They're talking about a slump.'
'I'll leave it then, Mr. Barker. Goodnight.'
Maisie turned into Warren Street, walking behind two women students from the Slade School of Art, who were making their way back to lodgings nearby. Each carried an artist's portfolio under one arm, and giggled as the other recounted her part of a story about another woman. They stopped to speak to a group of young men who were just about to enter the Prince of Wales pub, then decided to join them. They pushed past a woman dressed in black, who had been standing outside the pub smoking a cigarette. She shouted at them to look out, but her warning was met with more giggles from the students. She was soon joined by a man, who Maisie suspected already had a wife at home, for he betrayed himself by quickly looking up and down the street before taking the woman by the arm and hurrying her inside the pub.
'It takes all sorts,' said Maisie in a low voice as she passed, and continued on down Warren Street to her office.
Maisie opened the door that led to the dark stairwell, and as she went to turn on the dim light to see her way up the stairs, the light over the upper stairwell went on and Billy Beale called out.
''S only me, Miss. See your way up?'
'Billy, you should be knocking off work by now, surely.'
'Yeah, but I've got some more news for you. 'Bout that fella you was askin' about. Weathershaw. Thought I'd 'ang about in case I don't see you tomorrow.'
'That's kind, Billy. Let's put the kettle on.'
Maisie led the way into her office, turned on the light, and went to put the kettle on the small stove.
'And that telephone has been ringing its 'ead off today. What you need is someone to help you out, Miss, to write down messages, like.'
'My telephone was ringing?'
'Well, that's what it's there for, innit?'
'Yes, of course. But it doesn't ring very often. I tend to receive messages via the postman or personal messenger. I wonder who it was?'
'Someone with an 'ead of steam, the way it was ringing. I was working on the boiler, making a fair bit of noise meself, and every now and again, there it went again. I came up a couple of times, t'see if I could answer it for you, but it stopped its nagging just as I got outside the door--I c'n use me master key in an emergency, like. I tell ya, I nearly got me kit and put in a line so that I could answer it downstairs meself.'
'Pardon?'
'Remember, Miss, I was a sapper. Let me tell you, if I could run a line in the pourin' rain and on me 'ands and knees in the mud--and get the brass talkin' to each other while the 'un's trying to knock me block off as I was about it--I can bloomin' well do a thing or two with your line.'
'Is that so, Billy? I'll have to remember that. In the meantime, whoever wants to speak to me will find a way. Now then, what do you have to tell me?'
'Well, I was askin' round some of me old mates, about that Vincent Weathershaw bloke. Turns out one of the fellas knew someone, who knew someone else, you know, who told them that 'e wasn't quite all there after one of the big shows.'
Billy Beale tapped the side of his forehead, and Maisie inclined her head for him to continue.
'Lost a lot of men, 'e did. Apparently never forgave 'imself. Took it all upon 'is shoulders, as if 'e was the one that killed them. But what I also 'eard was that some funny stuff went on between 'im and the big brass. Now, this is all very shaky, but . . . .'
'Go on, Billy,' Maisie urged.
'Well, Miss, you know, if truth be told, we were all plain scared 'alf the bloomin' time.'
