The Consequences of Fear Jacqueline Winspear (i can read book club .txt) 📖

what stuns me, Maisie, is that you said ‘Yes.’ You didn’t say, ‘Oh, let me give it a bit of thought until next year.’And you didn’t throw excuses one after the other, you know, about how he’s an American and will never understand you. Youjust accepted there and then.”

Maisie shrugged. “I suppose I broke the habit of a lifetime. But if there’s one thing about wartime—and indeed love—that I’velearned the hard way, Pris, it’s that you don't dither when it comes to happiness. And in this case it’s not only my happiness,but that of my beautiful daughter.” She put her hand against her chest, feeling a welter of emotion rise up. “You know, it’sas if something is so very complete when we’re all together. I see Anna in her element with this big family around her—Me,Dad, Brenda, Mark, her Auntie Pris, Douglas, the boys, Grandma Rowan and Papa Ju-Ju, which is what she’s started calling Julian,much to his delight, which has surprised us all. Now she’ll have a father, and I must say she is like a puppy with two tails.They’ve gone out this afternoon for a walk together to search for chestnuts, and you would not believe the smile on her face.”

“Oh, that reminds me—talking of puppies and tails, what is that thing I saw Anna and your father with, when I came over tothe house this morning?”

“Her name is Little Emma. Mark brought her back from America and had someone at the embassy look after her for him until he found an opportunity to bring her to Chelstone for Anna. She’s another Alsatian. He couldn’t bear the thought of Anna being so upset over losing her beloved dog. I can’t say he’s in Brenda’s best books, given Little Emma’s antics, but the dear pup is learning fast.”

The conversation lulled as Priscilla mixed herself another drink, holding up the bottle to inquire whether Maisie wanted atop-up. She shook her head—she had barely touched her cocktail—and Priscilla returned to her place on the sofa.

“So, you think you’ve done it right this time, Maisie?”

“I believe I did it right with James, but yes, I’ve done it right this time too.” Maisie stood up. “Sorry to leave you todrink alone, Pris, but I must be getting on now—I have work to do. My current case isn’t quite finished. There are a few tasksto complete before I can close the book on it.”

“Oh yes, your final accounting or whatever you call it.” Priscilla stood up and accompanied Maisie to the door. “By the way,has a honeymoon been mentioned?”

“It has, but it won’t be until after the war. Mark is talking about taking me to his home in America, followed by a sojournin Hawai’i.”

“Terribly exotic, I’m told.” Priscilla drew Maisie to her, kissing her on both cheeks. “I just wish the rest of the bloodyYanks would come in and help us out a bit. The papers say that over seventy percent of them are in favor of war now—and that’sa big change, isn’t it? It’s because they’ve seen what we’re going through here on their newsreels, and they’ve been listeningto Mr. Murrow’s broadcasts from London. We’ve held the line against Hitler for a long time, and we’re so terribly small andalone in the world, aren’t we? Anyway, I’m not going to spoil your day with my moaning about this bloody war. I’m going toreturn to the task of learning a bit of Welsh to add to the few words I’m composing for Elinor’s memorial service.”

“What do you want to say?”

“I’m not completely sure, but I know how I’ll begin.”

Maisie waited for Priscilla to answer.

“Roedd hi'n annwyl iawn.”

“Which means?”

“She was much loved.”

 

Though excitement about her forthcoming marriage to Mark Scott had begun to consume the family, Maisie knew there would beno clear start to a new life if she did not begin her final accounting, the process by which she drew each case to a close.She often thought of it as akin to washing and ironing the laundry, folding each pressed item with care and putting it awayin the linen cupboard. It was a way of closing the door on a case, as far as she could manage. Sometimes that final clicktook years to achieve.

Her first stop was the very place where Freddie Hackett had witnessed a murder, a killing that confused him in a part of hispsyche that he might never understand. In overlaying an image of his brutal stepfather with the ultimate act of aggression,he had seen nothing more than a scarred man—a man with a terrifying disfigurement that he saw in every story he wrote in school,in every nightmare keeping him awake at night.

She had no desire to enter the bomb-damaged house where Major Chaput had created a refuge, the secret haven where he received sensitive documents and also hatched a scheme for revenge; where he had met Hackett to plan how he might take an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, payment for terror that had stained him during the French occupation of Syria. Again she hoped for peace, not only in far-flung corners of the world, but in her world, a part of London that was once full of hard-working families, neighborhoods where back doors remained open to anyone who called, and children played football and hopscotch in the street.

At the pub not far from the rooms where the Hackett family had lived, she was informed by the landlord that Arthur Hackettwas now in police custody for being drunk and disorderly, and that it might be some time before he was a free man, given thelist of “previous” held against him. He would have no rooms to return to anyway. Following a recent bombing, the back-to-backdwellings had been condemned, and Mrs. Dunley was now with relatives in another part of London; relatives she hardly knew,according to the pub landlord.

 

Gabriella Hunter was sitting up in bed when the ward sister, a rotund Irish woman with a ready wit, ushered Maisie into thehospital room. She fluffed up Gabriella’s