The Consequences of Fear, Jacqueline Winspear [most important books to read TXT] 📗

Hackett turned around holding a teapot in one hand and two cups in the other, revealing the full extent of the deep purple bruise. She placed the teapot and cups on the table and reached up to a shelf for saucers and a small jug. Stepping across to the window, she picked up a half-full milk bottle where it was kept in a pail of cold water, decanted some into the jug and set the bottle back in the bucket. There was something about the small, chipped willow-pattern jug that touched Maisie, as if Freddie Hackett’s mother were clinging to a crumb of gentility—perhaps a connection to the past, or a longing for better times.

Studying the woman as she poured tea, Maisie continued. “Has Freddie shown any signs of anxiety since Sunday? For example,have his hands been shaking, or is he scratching his face or rubbing his hands together—any movements you’ve not seen before?”

“Nothing new, no.” The woman shook her head, and Maisie could see tears well up in her eyes. She looked down and placed acup of tea in front of Maisie.

“Nothing new.” Maisie sipped her tea, thanked the woman, and continued. “Mrs. Hackett, I wonder, has he ever shown such signs?You said ‘Nothing new’—but is there a behavior already established?”

“He’s a brave boy, my Freddie—going out in the dark and running those messages so we have money coming in. Yes, he’s doinghis bit, but I think he’s too young for that kind of work, even though he’s always been light on his feet.” A single teardropran across her bruised cheek, which she swept away with the back of her hand. She looked up at Maisie. “He scratches his arms.You can’t see the scratches because of his shirt sleeves, but sometimes he does it and draws blood.”

“That’s a sign of nerves, Mrs. Hackett. How is he progressing at school?”

“Oh, he’s very good. Does his best. I’ve no complaints—and it’s not as if he’s got much longer, is it? He’ll be out to work when he turns fourteen. What with his running job, it’s not surprising he gets a bit anxious, because he goes straight from school to an office across the water, where he has to be ready to take out messages to the other office, so he goes from Baker Street to a building on the Albert Embankment and along to another place near Parliament, from one to the other. Sometimes they have him running a bit further—even back across the water, if need be.”

Maisie remembered how her South London–born father always referred to anything on the other side of the Thames as “acrossthe water”—the famous London river was always known as “the water” to locals.

“Why do you think he’s anxious, Mrs. Hackett?”

“Same reason we’re all a bit nervous, Miss Dobbs—we’ve seen the bodies, haven’t we? We’ve seen our neighbors killed, eventhe little ones. We’ve got our hearts in our mouths half the time, haven’t we? All scared out of our wits every single night.”

“Yes, of course—I just wondered if there was anything more specific to Freddie.” She took a different tack. “Were your childrenever evacuated?”

Hackett shook her head. “I was going to let them go, but I heard such things—terrible things happening, out there in the country.All them children living with strangers, coming home and not knowing which way is up. No, if one of us goes to meet our maker,then we all go together. We’re a family. And being as there are so many children away, the school is only small now, so thechildren are doing all right. The army is in the other half of the school—the bomb disposal lads. That’s who I feel sorryfor.”

“And your husband’s not in the service?”

“No, he’s—he wasn’t fit for service, on account of his wounds from the last war. He gets work where he can, though. You’d think there’d be more for him, what with so many men away, but no, it’s only piecework he can get—you know, a piece here and a piece there, paid by the hour with never a promise of more than that.” Hackett looked at the clock on the shelf above the stove. “Speaking of work, I’d best be getting on.”

Maisie stood up. “Mrs. Hackett, I’ve a taxicab outside and I’m going back across the water. Come on, let me drop you off—saveyou running to catch a bus.”

“Are you sure? That’s very kind of you, Miss Dobbs, and I’m much obliged. I’ll get my coat.”

Maisie took the cups to the sink, rinsed them under the cold tap and placed them on the draining board. A single framed photographhung on the wall by the door, of Freddie’s mother on her wedding day, her hand resting on the arm of her groom. Maisie lookedcloser and, glancing along the passage to see if she had a moment, reached into her bag for the magnifying glass that wasalways part of what she thought of as the “kit” she kept with her for use during an investigation. Lifting the glass to thephotograph, she leaned toward the image, focusing on the man Grace had married.

“Ready when you are, Miss Dobbs!” Hackett’s voice echoed along the landing.

Maisie put away the magnifying glass and joined Mrs. Hackett on the landing.

“Sorry to keep you, Miss Dobbs. I just had to nip out to the WC, and of course I have to lock the doors up here or Mrs. Dunley comes up for a poke around—she’s a bit nosy. I’ll pop my head around her door to make sure she’s all right, though.” She lowered her voice, leaning in toward Maisie. “She pretends she can’t move very well, but you can rest assured, the minute I leave, she’ll be up these stairs and trying the door handles.”

Maisie smiled, and as she looked at Hackett, she noticed that the woman had applied powder over the bruise, though it wasstill visible.

“How on earth did you do that to your face?” asked Maisie.

“See that broom there? I tell you, it happened so fast! I was