Free Pardonable Lie by Jacqueline Winspear Page A

she would approach them. There was specific groundwork to do, so she made a note to investigate the aviator’s military record herself as soon as possible. The word HOUSE was circled, and as Maisie looked at the chain of thoughts, guesses, questions, and known facts linked by the series of lines, she knew her next visit must be to the Lawton country home.
    She worked for several hours, checking her watch and waiting for Billy to report in. She had written the words FRANCE and FLANDERS on the case map; then, in a corner, she had faintly penciled in the word BIARRITZ , as a frivolity if time allowed. The telephone rang.
    “Fitzroy—”
    “S’me, Miss.”
    “Billy, hello! How are you?” Maisie leaned back in her chair and looked out at the square as she spoke.
    “Awright, thank you very much. Doreen’s gone out for a stroll, and I’m in this telephone kiosk talking to you.”
    “So, any news for me?”
    “Not a lot yet, Miss, not a lot. Mainly because the papers ’aven’t got ’old of the girl’s actual name, though when they do it’ll be all over the place, I can tell you.”
    “Not a lot happens in country towns, Billy.”
    “Well, I wouldn’t say that, Miss—ay-oop, got to put a bit more money in.” Noises on the line indicated that Billy was pressing coins into the telephone box and then the button to continue the call. “I’ve been to the library already and looked up Jarvis. They’ve got a very good librarian who was over in France you know—very interestin’ woman, said what she did was something she couldn’t talk about—but anyway, I told ’er I was looking for an old mate of mine from the sappers, who lived down this way and that we’d lost touch in 1917 when I was wounded. So she drags out all sorts of books and papers and ledgers and what ’ave you—”
    “And?” Maisie wanted to chivvy Billy along. Given the chance, Billy Beale could talk the hind leg off a donkey.
    “Anyway, interestingly enough, turns out there was a family of Jarvises lived outside the town, in a village not far from ’ere, and—you are never goin’ to believe this, not that it has anything to do with my investigation—but—”
    Oh, get on with it, Billy, thought Maisie, tapping her pencil against the table again.
    “But apparently this ’ere Jarvis family was involved in some strange doin’s.”
    “What sort of strange doin’s—things?”
    “Well, some years ago, one of the womenfolk got ’erself put away for a bit for meddlin’ in medicinal work—you know, giving people tinctures and mixtures.”
    “I don’t think there’s an actual law against that, Billy.”
    “There is when it kills people.”
    “Oh, I see.”
    “They weren’t exactly fitters-in, if you know what I mean. Now then, I don’t know if our Avril Jarvis is of the same family, but it does seem a bit of a coincidence, don’t it, Miss.”
    “Look into it, Billy. What’s the name of the village?”
    “Downsmarsh-on-Lye.”
    “Sounds very postcardy.”
    “Not from what I’ve ’eard, Miss. More like, the only people are farmworkers and tinkers who ain’t got enough money to put clothes on the backs of their children. Mind you, at least they can grow a bit of food down ’ere.”
    “Will you go to the village today?”
    “There’s a branch line with a train every three hours. I’ll get the half-past-eleven.”
    “Good.”
    “Talk to you tomorrow mornin’, Miss. Shall I telephone Chelstone?”
    “Yes. Better make it early, as I’m leaving for Hastings. Telephone at seven—and Billy, take care.”
    “’Course I will, Miss. What they goin’ to do, whop me one over the ’ead with some ’erbs?”
    “You know what I mean.” Maisie shook her head and placed the receiver in its cradle.
    So, it appeared Madeleine Hartnell was right: The girl came from a village outside Taunton. The accuracy of the prediction unsettled Maisie even more. She felt vulnerable, as if she were crossing a lake covered in ice. Just one