The Consequences of Fear by Jacqueline Winspear (the best electronic book reader TXT) 📗

“Here, let me do that,” said Maisie. “You sit down with Iris and Mr. Beale will get the cups for us. I know where your mum keeps the milk.”

Soon Maisie had tea on the small kitchen table. She watched as Freddie placed his sister’s hands on either side of the cupfilled with milky, lukewarm tea Maisie had prepared and watched her drink. Both children were seated on wooden crates, whichFreddie had pushed close together. Billy sat down opposite them after toasting a slice of bread on the gas ring and cuttingit into small squares for Iris. There was no margarine or jam in the kitchen.

“There you are, lovey,” said Billy.

“What happens to Iris when your mum is at work?” asked Maisie.

“The school won’t have her, so she goes down to Mrs. Dunley, but Mum’s worried because she thinks the old girl puts somethingin her tea to make her sleep. Sometimes she goes to another neighbor who has a girl a bit younger, so she’s not at schoolyet. Mum pays her—and what I earn on the side helps. The doctor said Iris should go into a special home. He called it an ‘institution,’but Mum said she didn’t want her little girl ending up with a load of old lunatics. I don’t like that word—institution.” Helooked down at his tea, stirring it idly with his spoon, before putting an arm around his sister’s shoulder and pulling herto him. “She might be a . . . a mongol, but she’s lovely. And people don’t realize it, but she’s very bright. Mum says it’sjust a different sort of bright, and it shines better than most because Iris has a good heart.”

“She looks very bright to me, Freddie—and you can tell she loves her big brother.” Maisie paused, ready to change the subjectto what had happened at the school, and more to the point, how he had bruised his cheek, but Freddie began talking again.

“I reckon I saw a bloke at the school today—he reminded me of that man, Miss Dobbs. The bloke who killed that other one. The bell had gone, so I ran out of the classroom toward the door, but then I looked through the window and saw him talking to one of them bomb-squad soldiers, who was pointing toward Mr. Chambers, the caretaker. I wasn’t going to let him see me, so I legged it to the other door at the back of the school, then I went through where the army keeps tools in the yard, and ran home that way. I knew I had to get here to see Mum and Iris before going off to the Albert Embankment, but I was scared he’d catch up with me. And now I can’t leave Iris on her own because Mum’s late. I hope I don’t lose my job. My dad’ll kill me and then take it out on Mum.”

“What about Iris?”

The boy shook his head. “Oh, he don’t see her if he can help it—we have to keep her out of the way. He says he wants her inan asylum, but Mum says no. If he’s in a really bad temper, he takes that out on Mum too, that we’ve got Iris.”

“Where’s your father now, Freddie?”

The boy shrugged. “Probably waiting for the pubs to open—there’s a few he goes to. Sometimes he comes home after closing,but other times, well, I don’t know where he goes.”

Maisie was about to ask another question when they heard a voice outside calling out. “Freddie—Fred! Let me in love. I’m lateenough as it is.”

“That’s Mum,” said Freddie, extricating himself from his sister and running down the stairs.

Mrs. Hackett’s voice carried up from the courtyard. “Whatever have you locked the door for, or was it her downstairs again? Batty old thing, isn’t she? They kept me on at work—big pile of ironing was put in front of me just as I was about to leave and no extra money for my trouble either. Now come on, help me with this bag. I managed to scrounge a pound of scrap vegetable ends from a coster for a penny, and bless him, he gave me some extra because he was finishing his round. I’ve got to get some soup going before your father gets home. Not that he’ll be here soon, but I don’t want him to come in and find there’s nothing on the table. That’s it, love—you’re a good boy.”

Iris squealed with joy when she saw her mother and ran into her arms, though Grace Hackett’s smile faded upon seeing Maisieand Billy waiting to greet her.

“Hello, Mrs. Hackett—sorry to give you a bit of a shock. This is Mr. Beale, who works with me.”

“Is Freddie in trouble?” She looked sideways at her son, drawing him to her while still holding on to Iris.

“Not at all. We’d heard he was late getting to his job, so we were coming out this way and thought we’d make sure he was allright. And here we are.”

“You look worried, Miss Dobbs—is my boy in any danger?”

Maisie placed her hand on Grace Hackett’s arm. “Usually, I would like more time to consider different . . . different solutionsto what I believe is not a danger as such, but an intimidation; a deliberate presence designed to unsettle not only Freddiehere, but you as well.” She removed her hand, folded her arms and looked out of the dusty window as she continued, givingherself time to frame the right words; words that would inform and strike a tone of vigilance without terror. “I believe there’ssomeone who ultimately wants to talk to Freddie to find out how much he saw when he witnessed what we believe to be a murder—whichmeans we have to act with some haste.” Iris had slipped from her mother’s grasp and was sucking her thumb while leaning againstGrace’s knees. Grace kept her gaze on Maisie, as if bracing herself for what might come next.

“Right,” said Maisie, taking care to offer a positive tone. “Here’s what we will do.