Part 19 (1/2)
”You only need to keep them closed for a little while, then my secret can be revealed.”
”All right-but no blindfold. And I promise I won't look.” Maisie held her hands to her eyes as they set off again.
A few moments later, the motor car came to a standstill and Maisie breathed in the air around her. There was a faint loamy smell of fallen leaves, and a light rain on flagstones. There were just a few motor cars and not far away she could hear a horse and cart.
”Oh dear. Oh, it can't be. James, I know the smells here, I know, it's-”
”All right, you can look now.”
”Ebury Place!” Maisie all but shouted. ”Oh goodness, what are we doing here? Why did you-?”
And at that point, he turned her around to face number 15 Ebury Place, the house where she had come to work as a young girl, where she had struggled to study despite her duties as a domestic servant. The house had been mothballed when Lady Rowan announced that she did not want to come to London anymore. Sheets covered the furniture, and the property appeared deserted-the last time Maisie drove past, she thought how lonely the house had looked, when it had once been so full of life. And now the mansion was half-shrouded in scaffolding and heavy canvas sheets, and a builder's van was parked outside. A man wearing white overalls and cleaning his hands on a cloth walked towards them.
”Good morning, sir.”
”Mr. Judge, I thought we'd come and have a look at your progress. How's the job going? Did you have any luck with that door frame?”
”Yes, we did-took two men to pull it out, but we've solved the problem, and now we're going great guns.”
James turned to Maisie. ”Mind where you step now.”
The foreman led the way across the entrance hall and Maisie looked up at the sweeping staircase which led to the first floor. Scaffolding had been erected to enable men to reach the high ceilings and windows; it seemed the mansion was receiving complete refurbishment.
”When do you think the job will be finished?” James asked the foreman.
”You should be able to move in by Christmas, all being well.”
”Well done. Tell your men there will be a bonus for them if the work is completed by December twenty-third.”
”I'll do that, sir, and I hope I'm not jeopardizing that bonus when I tell you the men are pretty determined to get the job done anyway.”
Maisie and James exchanged glances, and James smiled. ”What do you mean, Mr. Judge? Is everything all right?”
The man shrugged and reddened. ”It's not the sort of thing that would bother me, but some of the lads are a bit uneasy, what with the fact that you've got some haunting going on here.”
James laughed, yet Maisie moved closer to the foreman. ”What makes you think this house is haunted?”
”The noises. Creaking floorboards and all that. And things have gone missing. Ronnie said he could've sworn he had his sandwich box with him when he came in the other morning. He went back out to the van, came back in again, and what do you know-gone!”
James stepped forward. ”Oh, I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation. I lived in this house almost all my life, and I a.s.sure you, if a ghost had crossed paths with my mother, I know who would have been given a fright-and it wouldn't have been Lady Rowan Compton!”
”Tell me, Mr. Judge, have you been up to the old servants' quarters yet?” asked Maisie. ”The attic rooms? There's a back staircase leading up there and a disguised door on every landing.”
”No, we won't get to that part of the house for at least another couple of weeks, and no one's been up there.”
At once Maisie was stepping quickly across the dust sheets, and then along the hallway until she reached a place where she pulled back another dust sheet and opened the door that many a visitor would not have noticed was there.
”Maisie, where are you going? Maisie! Maisie, have you lost your senses?”
She could hear James' footsteps behind her, but now she was on the back stairs. Oh, how often she had gone up and down these stairs as a girl, a coal scuttle in hand, stopping on each floor to light the fires in the family's reception rooms. As she made her way up, it was as if she were on a stairway to the past, but now she had only one thing in mind. She was in pursuit of a ghost.
Almost out of breath by the time she reached the attic floors, she stopped at the room she had once shared with a girl named Enid. She stood outside the door, caught her breath, and knocked with a light hand. She stepped with care across the threshold. To the right was a dressing table, on top of which was the typewriter that had once been placed in the library for the use of guests visiting the mansion-of course, that's why the typeface on her letter from Sandra had seemed so familiar. She moved into the room and sat on the first of two cast-iron beds, reaching out to touch the young woman curled on her side with her eyes open, her cheeks red with the feverishness of so many shed tears.
”It's all right, Sandra. I've got you, you poor love. I've got you.” Maisie leaned over and put her arms around the bony frame of Sandra Tapley. ”I should have known you would come here. This was your home when you met Eric; it was where you fell in love. I should have known.” She waited a while as the sobs ebbed, rubbing Sandra's back as if she were settling a baby for the night. ”It's over, Sandra. The police have got him-the man responsible for Eric's death is in custody. You won't be getting into trouble. There, there, it's all done now.”
And as she looked back towards the door, Maisie saw James Compton standing in the doorway.
”I can't leave her alone at the flat, James,” whispered Maisie. ”We must take her to Priscilla's. Could you ...”
”Yes, I'll find a taxi-and I'll let Priscilla and Douglas know-the telephone's been reconnected downstairs. It's Sandra, isn't it?”
”Yes. Tell them we've found Sandra.”
Maisie did not trouble Sandra with questions. She could see that the young woman was beyond exhaustion, physically and emotionally, and that her spirit had been battered as if it were a s.h.i.+p in a storm. Now, in the guest room at Priscilla's house, she helped Sandra into the bed and pulled up the sheets and counterpane, coc.o.o.ning her so that she might sleep. She waited a moment, then tiptoed away, closing the door behind her. Priscilla was waiting for her on the landing.
”Maisie, you will stay for lunch, won't you? Sandra isn't the only one who looks as if she needs a rest-look at you, I bet you've been rus.h.i.+ng about all over the place.”
”I've been busy, Pris. And I have to leave for Ipswich very soon.”
”Ipswich? Ips-b.l.o.o.d.y-wich! What are you going there for, and leaving that lovely man behind?”
Maisie put her finger to her mouth. ”Shhhh. You'll wake Sandra.”
They walked towards the staircase, but lingered there, still speaking in lowered voices.
”I tell you, Maisie, you'll lose him if you carry on like this. I mean, it's all very well to be working, if that's what you want to do, but for heaven's sake-that man adores you, and I know you feel the same way; you can't fool me, you know. Can't you stay just one day?”
Maisie could barely meet her friend's eyes, so filled with concern. ”I wish I could, but the sooner I go, the sooner I'll be back again. James understands.”
”I think you'll find there's a distinction between understanding and tolerance. I don't think he'll be that happy about it for much longer.”
”He'll surprise you, Pris.”
”I hope you're right, my friend. I do hope you're right.” They began making their way down the staircase. ”You'll stay for a quick lunch, then?”
”Yes, that would be nice.”
”We've some salmon in aspic, very nice with new potatoes and a salad. And cook made some freshly baked bread.”
”I could eat that-we didn't have a moment for breakfast.”
Priscilla winked at her friend. ”Didn't we now?”
Maisie liked Priscilla's dining room. It could have been so much more formal, and indeed, when they were entertaining on a larger scale, the room appeared very grand. But at other times, there always seemed to be something to indicate that this was a house where children lived and were not only loved by their parents, but enjoyed. A cricket bat might have been left behind a door, or a rugger ball under a side table. She had once discovered a muddy sock by the French windows, and it seemed there was a model airplane or an abandoned toy motor car to be found in almost every room. At intervals Priscilla was known to announce, ”That's enough! All toys to your room!” But such discipline was soon lost with her desire to have fun with her boisterous sons-a sentiment that most of their friends found incomprehensible, if not alarming.
”So, Maisie, what did you discover about Sandra's foray into the world of cat burglary?” asked Priscilla.
”She didn't tiptoe over any tiles, yet I wouldn't have put it past her. But she was was on the scent of the man who killed her husband, though he didn't touch him with his own hands.” on the scent of the man who killed her husband, though he didn't touch him with his own hands.”
”What happened?”