Pardonable Lie (4 page)

FOUR

Maisie went to the office for just one hour the next morning, before being collected by a Scotland Yard driver in a black Invicta motor car. However, there was time to spend with Billy before embarking upon her day.

“Mornin’, Miss.” Billy had arrived early at the office. “Nice evenin’ with Mrs. Partridge?”

Maisie removed her coat and hat, hung them on a hook behind the door, and went to her desk, where she placed her handbag in a drawer and her black document case—a gift from the Comptons’ staff when she first went up to Girton in 1914—on the floor next to her chair. She sighed. “Yes, it was a lovely evening. Thank you for asking.”

Billy looked up, not used to hearing fatigue in his employer’s voice. “A late one, was it, Miss? I know you said Mrs. Partridge used to be a bit of a girl for the long nights and parties.”

Maisie nodded and leaned back in her chair. “Well, it was a bit later than usual, but no, that’s not the reason for my malaise this morning, Billy. I can’t say I slept very well.”

“Not comin’ down with somethin’, I ’ope.”

“No—just a few concerns.”

Billy frowned. “What, about that girl from Taunton?”

“Actually, no. There may be another case coming in that I’m not—”

Billy reached across and picked up a buff-colored folder. “Was it”—he turned the folder sideways; a piece of paper flapped on top—“Sir Cecil Lawton?” Billy didn’t wait for an answer but continued, leaving his desk to bring the folder to Maisie. “The dog-and-bone was ringing its ’ead off when I got in this mornin’, and this bloke said to tell you that ’e’d thought about what you’d said and wanted to assign the task—that’s what ’e called it, a
task
—to you, and could you place a telephone call to ’im in ’is chambers today, so—”

“Oh, damn it!” Maisie leaned forward and rested her forehead on her hands.

Billy’s eyes opened wide as he placed the folder on the desk in front of her. “I beg your pardon, Miss. Did I do somethin’ wrong? I mean, I took the message, got the file ready for the particulars, and—”

Maisie looked up. “No, it’s all right, Billy. I’m sorry, that was rude of me. The truth is, I’m just not sure about this case.”

Billy thought for a moment. “Well, you always said we’ve got the final decision as to whether we accept a job, didn’t you?”

“I know, I know.” Maisie sighed, scraped back her chair, and walked to the window. “And I never thought I would be compromised, but I have a…a very uncomfortable feeling about this.”

“So, why don’t you put a tin lid on it? Tell the man to go to someone else.” Billy joined her at the window. They looked not at each other but across the square before them, where the sun was streaking across leaves beginning to take on hues of copper, deep red, and gold. Leaves that would soon litter the flagstones, rendering them slippery and brown.

Maisie did not answer but instead closed her eyes. Billy stepped away quietly, gathered a tray set for tea, and left the room, understanding that this was one of those times when she required some moments alone. Hearing the door click behind him, Maisie reached for a cushion on an old armchair set in the corner and placed it on the floor. She knew Billy would give her ten minutes before gently knocking at the door and entering with a freshly brewed pot of tea to refresh them both. Pulling up her skirt slightly to allow ease of movement, she sat on the cushion, legs crossed, arms loose in her lap, her eyes now half closed. Soon she would leave the office for Vine Street. For the sake of Avril Jarvis, she must be clear and ready, not fatigued by other concerns.

She allowed her mind to become still, as she had been taught so many years ago by Khan, the Ceylonese wise man to whom she had been taken by Maurice Blanche. Then she asked questions silently, questions she did not struggle to answer, knowing that insights and responses would come to her in the hours and days ahead, as long as she went forward with an openness of heart. What was at the source of her doubts regarding the assignment from Lawton? Was it a question of trust? Certainly she had intuited a certain…a certain…what was that sense she’d had? Reticence? Yes, there was fear, but why? Whatever could a man have to fear from a dead son, a son who was a decorated aviator? Without doubt, Agnes Lawton had exacted a terrible deathbed promise, so it was likely that Sir Cecil was reeling not only from her passing and state of mind in her final years but from the task he had assumed. A task he now wanted to pass on to Maisie.

Was she concerned because she felt Sir Cecil was interested only in making good on his word, giving the case an element of triviality? There would doubtless have to be a return to France, and to Flanders—
Oh, God, why? Why?
Maisie sat in silence, allowing her mind to clear again, so that mere seconds assumed an expanse that stretched into hours, in the way that, in slumber, one can have a dream of years passing, yet upon waking look at the clock and see that only the briefest of naps has been taken.

Billy knocked gently on the door, waited a moment, and entered. Maisie was standing now and walked toward the desk, her customary strong stride and ready smile greeting him.

“That’s better, Miss. Now, get this down you before the old doorbell goes and you’ve to be off to Vine Street.” Billy poured tea into a well-used tin army mug for Maisie, a vessel she had preferred since her days of service in France, when the hot, strong, almost-too-sweet tea had sustained her in the worst of times. “Do you think she’ll talk—y’know, with Stratton in the room?”

“Oh, yes, I should think so, though perhaps with a little difficulty. Much of it will be repeating the story she told me yesterday.”

“Poor little scrap.” Billy sipped his tea, then continued. “Well, talking of the girl, Avril Jarvis, I’ve sorted it all out with Doreen and we’re off this weekend to Taunton.”

“Oh, good work, Billy.”

“And you know what I’m like about leaving the Smoke! Anyway, me old mum is taking on the nippers, so we’ll be on our own. Doreen says she don’t mind that I ’ave to work, and all, it will be a nice little break.”

“Good. Now then, Billy, please devise a plan for your inquiry, and let’s look at it together before you go—we’ll do that tomorrow. In fact, why don’t you leave on Thursday, to allow a little more time.”

“Right you are, Miss.” A bell rang in the office, activated by a caller at the front door below. “Ay-oop, there’s the Scotland Yard chappie now. You’d better be off, Miss.”

“I’ll see you this afternoon, Billy, all right?” Maisie quickly put on her coat and hat, and opened the door.

“Yes, Miss. Oh—Miss? Did you decide about Sir Cecil Lawton?”

Maisie turned to answer Billy before leaving. “Yes, I’ve made my decision. I’ll telephone his chambers while I’m waiting at Vine Street.”

U
PON ARRIVAL AT
Vine Street, Maisie was ushered into an office to meet with Detective Inspector Stratton and his assistant, Caldwell.

“We’ve received the postmortem report from the pathologist.” Stratton removed several sheets of paper from a folder but did not pass them to Maisie. “How a slip of a girl managed to kill a man of that size beggars belief, but the evidence is there for all to see: fingerprints all over the murder weapon.”

“She maintains that she didn’t murder the man; he was her uncle—”

“But with respect, Miss Dobbs,” Caldwell interrupted, “she also has no recollection of the actual events, per her confession to you yesterday.”

“I would hardly call her story a confession, Sergeant Caldwell.” Maisie turned to Stratton’s assistant, disguising her distaste for a man she considered an opportunist who rushed to premature conclusions. “Miss Jarvis recounted the events she could remember before her collapse.”

“Yes, with a knife in her hand, right next to the body. She should have thought about her fear of blood before she thrust the knife into her beloved uncle’s neck and chest.”

“I think
beloved
hardly describes a relationship hallmarked by such brutal behavior, do you?”

“But, with respect, Miss Dobbs—”

Stratton sighed. “All right, that’s enough, Caldwell.” He turned to Maisie. “Let’s see what we get out of this interview, shall we? In the meantime, we are trying to establish whether Harold Upton, the victim, was indeed related to Jarvis. I’ve been in touch with the constabulary in Taunton this morning, and we expect to hear shortly. Her people will be informed in due course.”

“And
due course
is how long, Inspector Stratton?”

Stratton was about to answer when there was a knock at the door.

“Yes!”

Maisie noted Stratton’s edgy response, an indication that her question would not be answered and that it was likely that Avril Jarvis’s family would not yet be informed that she was in custody. She was curious to know who would be offering legal counsel to the girl.

“Sir, she’s in the interview room now.”

“Very good, Chalmers.”

The policewoman nodded and closed the door.

“Now then—”

“We were talking about her people being notified, Inspector.”

“Ah, yes.” Stratton looked at his watch. “We’d better get cracking, I’ve an appointment at eleven.” He rose and opened the door for Maisie.

As they walked along the corridor toward the interview room, Maisie turned to Stratton. “Has Jarvis had the benefit of legal counsel yet, Inspector?”

Stratton opened a door into an anteroom and indicated for Maisie to enter before himself and Caldwell. “She refuses to speak to anyone but yourself, Miss Dobbs. A duty solicitor has been assigned”—he glanced at his watch—“who should have been here by now.”

As if on cue, a young man rushed into the room in a flustered manner, clutching a new briefcase. Maisie shook her head, though it was no surprise to her that Avril Jarvis would be assigned a raw recruit to the legal profession. The combination of no money, as far as anyone knew, and a novice solicitor with no reputation or established contacts in chambers could only mean that, during her trial, Avril Jarvis would be represented by a junior barrister rather than counsel of some standing.

“I hope I haven’t held anyone up here. I’ve been sorting out some very testy relatives fighting over a will. Sorry!” The solicitor was flushed and hurried, giving no reason for confidence. “Charles Little, duty dog assigned to Jarvis.” He held out his hand to Stratton and beamed a boyish smile. Maisie watched Caldwell sneer.
Duty dog
might have been an attempt at humor, but even Maisie could not avoid thinking that he was more like the
duty pup
.

“Right then. Let’s get on with it.” Stratton turned to enter the interview room, but Maisie placed a hand on his arm.

“Inspector, look, I know this has to be done, but may I see Miss Jarvis alone for a moment, with only Miss Chalmers in attendance? I fear that if we all enter at once, nothing will be gained except another wall of silence.”

“I must say, this is most—” Little stepped forward, grasping a possible opportunity to exert some influence.

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Caldwell’s complaint was almost drowned as the young solicitor pressed his position.

Maisie held up her hand. “This will take only a minute and may make the difference between accomplishment and failure.”

Stratton turned to the two men. “I believe Miss Dobbs should have this opportunity, and I agree with her conclusion.” Addressing Maisie he added, “Two minutes, Miss Dobbs, double the time requested.”

Maisie inclined her head and stepped into the room where Avril Jarvis stood alongside a table and chair. She was not wearing handcuffs, but bracelets of raw skin on her wrists suggested that a pair had been removed after she had been brought into the secure room. Chalmers stood beside the door. Jarvis was dressed in a plain gray dress of prison issue and plain black lace-up shoes. Her hair had been drawn back sharply in a bun and her face and hands appeared to have been scrubbed roughly. She smiled as Maisie entered, but then her eyes filled with tears. She took a step toward Maisie, but Chalmers moved quickly. The girl was, after all, detained on suspicion of murder.

“It’s all right, Chalmers.” Maisie held up a hand and turned to Avril, who collapsed into her arms. She said nothing but allowed the girl to weep.

“I’m scared, miss. I’m right scared.”

“Of course you are, of course you are. Now then.” Maisie held Avril Jarvis away from her but kept her hands on the girl’s upper arms, so she could feel the benefit of Maisie’s strength. “The Detective Inspector is waiting outside, and so is your solicitor. Avril? Avril, look at me.” Maisie lifted the girl’s chin, for she had tried to rest her head on Maisie’s shoulder.
She’s exhausted
. “Come on now, Avril, look at me. All you have to do is tell the same story that you told me yesterday.”

Avril Jarvis wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffed. “Yes, miss, all right.”

Maisie looked into her eyes deeply and smiled knowingly.
But you didn’t tell me everything, did you, dear girl.
“Take a deep breath…yes, that’s it. And another…. And again…. Shake your hands like this…. Good. Now then, stand with your hands at your sides, keep them loose, and”—Maisie walked behind the girl and pressed her fingertips into the middle of Jarvis’s slender back—“let this go.”

Avril Jarvis gasped and almost fell forward, feeling the tension in her spine escape as Maisie touched her. “That felt like burning, it did, miss. As if your hands was on fire. Like a hot poker going through me, it was.”

Maisie nodded. “Keep your feet firmly on the floor, Avril, and stand tall, but not like a lamppost!”

Stratton entered without knocking, accompanied by Caldwell and Charles Little.

“Right, Miss Jarvis, let’s get down to business. This need not be long and miserable if you cooperate and answer my questions. Then Mr. Little here will be able to speak to you alone—with only the policewoman in the room, that is.”

“What about this lady?” Avril pointed to Maisie. “Can she stay?”

Maisie stepped forward. “No, Avril, I have to leave you with your solicitor. It’s for the best, and it’s also the law.”