In this Grave Hour by Jacqueline Winspear

Author:Jacqueline Winspear [Jacqueline Winspear]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780749021856
Publisher: Allison & Busby
Published: 2017-09-04T04:00:00+00:00

Maisie left early the following morning to allow for delays, though traffic diversions put in place to allow for the evacuation of children and movement of troops in the days immediately following the declaration of war had been lifted. It was just before ten o’clock that Maisie knocked on the door of a Victorian terrace house just off Lewisham Way. She waited a moment or two and knocked again. Soon footsteps could be heard, and the door opened. The woman who stood before Maisie had her blonde hair pulled up in a kerchief and wore a blue boiler suit, but no shoes. The boiler suit was cinched at the waist with a belt of a different shade, as if the woman were trying to grasp a last vestige of femininity while wearing men’s clothing. She was about thirty-five years of age, and before speaking, she took a cigarette from her mouth and blew smoke upward. She tapped ash to the side, just missing the step.

‘Whatever it is, love, I don’t want any – I can barely make ends meet as it is.’ She stepped back, ready to close the door on Maisie.

‘Mrs Firmin? Mrs Firmin, I am not selling anything – I wanted to speak to your husband.’

‘I can’t pay you back, whatever it was for – and if you want to speak to him, you’d better know how to get to the other side, because he’s not on this one any more.’

‘I’m so very sorry – and I am not looking to extract money from you. Could you spare me a moment or two?’

‘What do you want?’

Maisie looked around at other houses on the street. ‘Probably best not to speak on the doorstep.’

The woman sighed, stepping inside and pulling back the door for Maisie to enter. ‘You can come in, but you take me as you find me. I don’t have time to run around with a duster and broom, and it’s all I can do to get a line of washing done these days.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Firmin.’ Maisie stepped into the passageway, noticing a broom leaning against the wall with a small pile of debris behind it, as if someone had started sweeping the carpet and then abandoned the job.

‘Might as well go into the parlour – on the right, first door. Don’t breathe in – I think it was last cleaned a month ago, and what with the railway, all you get is dust everywhere. I bet they have dirt from Lewisham landing in snooty Mayfair, the way things are going.’

Maisie stepped into the parlour and took a seat in the armchair nearest the cold fire grate. The armchair was part of a ‘three-piece suite’ and was probably a good number of years old – not ancient by any means, though the design was very much a hallmark of the previous decade. Faded tapestry upholstery and curved wooden arms reflected an Art Deco styling. A variety of framed family photographs hung from a picture rail, and above the fireplace a mirror was secured with a solid brass hook and a sturdy chain.

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