Free An Incomplete Revenge by Jacqueline Winspear Page B

Maurice Blanche was watching her, his newspaper under one arm. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the searing early morning sunlight that bathed the room, then waved, and after a lapse of some seconds Maisie waved in return. She knew he waited for her to unlatch the gate and walk along the path, across the lawn, and through the rose garden up to the conservatory. He may have already asked for an extra cup and saucer to be brought, just in case she came to join him. But she wouldn’t. Not today. She wasn’t ready for fain-ites yet.

FIVE
    Maisie stopped on the outskirts of Maidstone as soon as she saw a red telephone kiosk alongside a row of shops. The directory inquiries operator found the firm of White, Bertrand and Spelton without much ado, giving Maisie their address as well as a telephone number, though Maisie declined to be connected.
    Parking her motor close to the old Corn Exchange, Maisie soon found the solicitors’ offices on the High Street. She did not have an appointment and did not want to attempt to make one at short notice, either—such a move would have meant immediate refusal, she suspected. However, though she did not secure an audience with Mr. Spelton, who had been assigned to represent the two boys from Shoreditch, she was able to speak with his clerk, who informed her that the young men were being held on remand at a reformatory school for juvenile criminals and would stand trial for breaking and entering, malicious damage, and theft. With luck, they would serve a sentence of between three to six months, seeing as this was a first offense, though the victim was strongly protesting such a short incarceration. The clerk noted that it was lucky theywere not yet of an age—sixteen—where they would be sent to borstal. “Then they’d know all about it,” he commented.
    Maisie asked a few more questions, then left. As far as she understood, at a reformatory school the boys would not be subject to either a birching if they stepped out of line or a leather across the palm, though the punishment would not be a pleasant experience either. But no matter how seemingly lenient the sentence, her task was to prevent its being passed down.
    Turning into Week Street, Maisie’s next stop was the offices of the local newspaper, which brought word of events in Kent, whether significant or trivial, to the broad population of the county. A woman receptionist proved helpful, and when Maisie asked if she could speak to one of the reporters who had been at the newspaper for, say, fifteen years or so, she was told that they rarely changed staff, so that would be anyone.
    “I reckon the best thing, miss, is for you to speak to Beattie. She’s been here since the war and knows what’s gone on all over Kent.” She paused. “I’d say to speak to one of the men, but they’re all over at the King’s Arms at the moment.”
    Maisie leafed through a newspaper while she waited for the reporter to come to the receptionist’s desk. She noticed that the burglary at the Sandermere estate had warranted several column inches, including a searing comment from Alfred Sandermere: “Since the war we seem to have been overrun with young ruffians, and they need to be taught a lesson! As if the gypsies aren’t enough for us to put up with!” There was another journalistic observation and then a final quote from Sandermere: “I’ll see that they are punished to the full extent of the law. Let this be a lesson to others bent on delinquency!”
    “Miss Dobbs?”
    Maisie turned to see a woman of average height standing before her, wearing a sensible two-piece costume of pale gray lightweight wool with a white blouse underneath. The gored skirt hadfashionable kick pleats, and her black shoes demonstrated a choice based both on comfort and demand—she suspected the woman was on her feet for much of the day. Indeed, her clothing suggested nothing threatening and was simple in such a way as to extinguish any immediate rise to