Birds of a Feather (39 page)

Maisie nodded. “I’ll be in touch as soon as it’s over, Maurice.”

Before finally seeking the comfort of her bed, Maisie once again put on her coat and hat and slipped out of the house, remembering her mentor’s counsel when they first worked together: “When we walk, and when we look out at a view other than one we are used to every day, we are challenging ourselves to move freely in our work and to look at our conclusions from another perspective. Move the body, Maisie, and you will move the mind.” As she walked the quiet nighttime streets of Belgravia, Maisie realized that in his final words to her, Maurice had made an assumption, an assumption that was quite wrong.

S
he had spent hours in silent meditation and was now ready for what the next twenty-four hours might hold. Before taking a light breakfast in the kitchen, where Sandra confirmed that she had personally served breakfast on a tray to Miss Waite in the guest suite and had run a bath for her, Maisie placed a telephone call to the Waite residence. In the kitchen, she went over her other arrangements before knocking on the door of Charlotte’s room.

“Good morning.” Charlotte answered the door.

“Are you ready, Miss Waite?”

“Yes.”

“Well, let’s get on then, shall we? It’s time we left. I will meet you by the front door in twenty minutes.”

It was ten o’clock when they arrived at the Fitzroy Square, which was Sunday quiet. As they drew up alongside the Georgian building that housed Maisie’s office, Billy crossed the square.

“Oh, good timing,” said Maisie. “My assistant has arrived. He is part of my plan, and will be going with us to Dulwich.”

Maisie formally introduced them and, once in the office, Billy reached out to take Charlotte Waite’s coat. Maisie removed her jacket and hung it on the back of the door.

“Let’s get down to business. We should leave by one. That should give us enough time to be absolutely sure of each step.” Maisie beckoned Charlotte to join her and Billy at the incident table. A large sheet of paper had been placed where a case map would usually have been unfurled and pinned. “Here’s what we’re going to do.” Maisie took up a pen, and began to explain.

During the conversation that followed, Charlotte excused herself twice and each time Billy stood outside the office door until she returned, to ensure that she did not leave the building. These were the only interruptions until Maisie pushed back her chair and walked over to the telephone on her desk. She dialed the Waite residence in Dulwich.

“Hello. Maisie Dobbs here. I want to confirm that all necessary arrangements have been made for Miss Waite’s arrival home this afternoon.” Charlotte and Billy looked on as Maisie listened. “Indeed, yes, I spoke with Mr. Waite early this morning and I know that he was just about to leave for Yorkshire. Back on Tuesday, isn’t he? Yes, good. Do remember, though, Miss Waite does not wish to see anyone and no one must be informed of her arrival. Yes, she’ll go straight to her rooms and I will remain there with her until she is settled. Quite. Yes. No, absolutely no one. Good. Right you are. Thank you.” Maisie replaced the receiver and turned to Billy.

“Time to get us a taxi cab, Billy.”

Billy reached for his coat. “Back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, Miss.”

As Billy closed the door behind him, Maisie turned to Charlotte. “Now then, you are clear on what you are to do?”

“Of course. It’s simple, really. You’re the one taking all the risks.”

“As long as you know that when you do your part, you must not be recognized. It’s imperative.”

“And you think it’ll—you know—all be over in a few hours?”

“I believe the murderer will strike again quickly.”

Billy returned, flushed with exertion.

“Billy, I’ve told you not to run!”

“Miss, the taxi cab’s outside. Better get going.”

They climbed into the taxi cab but were silent throughout the journey, each mentally reviewing the part to be played as the evening unfolded. Upon arrival at Waite’s Dulwich mansion, Billy took Charlotte’s bag.

“All right?” Maisie put her arm around Charlotte’s shoulders and led her toward the house. Charlotte’s head was lowered, with only a few strands of hair visible beneath her close-fitting gray hat.

“Yes. I won’t let you down.”

“I know.”

The door opened before they reached the bottom step leading up to the front door, and Maisie nodded acknowledgment to Harris as she hurried Charlotte inside.

“Thank you. We’ll go straight to Miss Waite’s rooms.”

The butler bowed, inclined his head to Billy as he came though the doorway with Charlotte’s bag, then followed the two women upstairs.

“Billy, wait outside this door until I come for you.”

“Right you are, Miss.” The door to Charlotte’s rooms closed behind him as Billy took up his place.

Maisie took off her coat, then her hat, followed by her blouse. “Hurry, I want you to leave as soon as possible.”

Charlotte began to undress. “I . . . I’m not used to . . .”

Maisie pointed to the bathroom. “Go in there, undress, leave your clothes behind and use your dressing gown.”

Charlotte scurried into the bathroom, while Maisie removed the rest of her clothing. After several moments, Charlotte opened the door and came into her small sitting room again. Maisie pointed to the pile of clothes on the chair.

“Now, put those on and pull some strands of hair free. I’ll be out in a minute.”

She dressed as swiftly as she could. Her hands were cold and she found it hard to work the buttons at the front of Charlotte’s dress. Perhaps she didn’t really need to wear Charlotte’s clothes, but in case someone looked up at the sitting room from the garden, she must be prepared. It would be Billy who had to take care not to be seen.

Returning to the sitting room, Maisie gasped. “Oh, my . . . if I didn’t know better”

“Your clothes fit me very well, Miss Dobbs.”

“And the hat seems to be a good size for you, too.”

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.”

T
he 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.

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