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

after while their mums were at work,” she continued. “I’ll ask if she can keep an eye on Iris—would that be all right?”

Hackett nodded, the faraway look in her eyes reminding Maisie of soldiers she’d treated in the last war, and later in thesecure hospital where her patients were men who had experienced a fear so debilitating in the face of battle, it had leftthem shocked to the point of paralysis. Yet by the time Maisie departed the ground-floor flat in Pimlico, though Grace Hackettwas still trembling, she was busying herself in her temporary home, setting to work and settling her demons with tasks tobe completed before she and her children spent their first night in quarters they considered the height of luxury.

As Maisie walked along toward the Embankment to hail a taxicab, she reflected that luck had been on her side when she visitedthe caretaker; not only did he offer to call on the family to ensure that all was well, but his wife was delighted to be askedto care for Iris if needed, and seemed not at all fazed by her disability. “Oh, my niece has got one of them,” she said. “Lovelylittle thing she is—no, that doesn’t worry me at all. In fact, I think I’d rather have one—always smiling they are, thoughthey do have tummy aches that the other children don’t get, and my niece’s little girl has a dicky heart too.”

By the time she reached the office, her thoughts had drifted to reach a certain level of hope that one day another word wouldbe found to describe children such as Iris Hackett, because being named after a tribe of people in far-flung Asia wasn’t goodenough. But as she searched her bag for her key, those thoughts were interrupted.

“Oi, you—you! Dobbs, or whatever you call yourself!”

Maisie looked around, drawing upon years of training and experience to remain calm, focused and direct.

“May I help you, sir?”

“You’ve taken my wife, so you’d better look lively and tell me where she is, or I’ll—”

“You’ll what, mate? What exactly will you do?” said Billy, emerging from the downstairs flat and joining Maisie on the step.

Hackett moved back a couple of paces. “Where have you taken them?”

“Your family are in a very safe place, so you’ve nothing to worry about, Mr. Hackett.”

“They were safe enough where they were.”

Maisie stepped toward Hackett, who had been slurring his words and was now swaying. Any patience she might have felt towardthe drunken man began to slip away. “Were they, Mr. Hackett? Were they really safe? Funny, isn’t it, that with them beingso safe, both your son and wife have been bruised black and blue, and your son is not well—which means he doesn’t have a pennyto give you because he hasn’t earned anything today.”

“Well, that’s bleedin’ marvelous,” said Hackett. “Lazy little . . . wait until I get my hands on him.”

“And that’s just it, Mr. Hackett—you won’t be getting your hands on him, either today or any other day.”

Hackett drew back his fist. “I’m telling you—”

“You want to tell someone something?” said Billy, standing in front of Freddie Hackett’s father. “Then tell someone of yourown size, mate. You tell me.”

“I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” Hackett staggered again, and began to stumble away.

“Mr. Hackett!” Maisie ran to the man’s side and caught him by the arm. “Mr. Hackett, you are in no fit state to go anywherelike that. We’ll get you a taxicab home.”

“Who said I was going home? Can’t stand the place. Never could.” He flapped his hand as if dismissing all connection to his wife and children. “Only one home for a bloke like me. Now leave me alone.”

Billy joined Maisie, and they watched Hackett weave from left to right toward the corner.

“He seemed to get worse as he came for you, didn’t he, miss?” said Billy.

“Yes, he did.” Maisie was thoughtful, watching the man as he wavered before turning right onto Warren Street.

“Probably had a few in the pub along the street, then came round here and before he knew it the drink hit him.”

“Hmmm,” said Maisie, then drew her attention to Billy. “Did you see MacFarlane?”

Billy nodded. “Gave him your message—he didn’t say much, just thanked me. The porter got on to the other two to let them knowthey wouldn’t be seeing Freddie tonight; made up a story about him being not well. And I telephoned Caldwell—told him you’dtaken the family to your old flat for their safety, just in case.” He studied Maisie, who was looking along the road intothe distance again. “What’re you thinking, miss?”

“Just thinking. Just thinking that it’s all very sad, isn’t it?”

“Bloke beating his wife and son all very sad? I dunno, miss—I think he’s a you-know-what, and I hope he never goes near themagain.”

“Me too, Billy.” She turned toward the door. “It’s just that people don’t become violent like that in a vacuum, do they? Itall starts somewhere—that’s the sad thing, that it has to start in the first place.”

“It did with him, and yet look at Freddie—he’s not going to turn out to be a brutal piece of work, mark my words. He’s a lovelylad. Mind you, he gets it from his mum.” Billy stopped speaking and looked at Maisie. “What is it, miss?”

Maisie sighed. “It’s that scar, Billy. That scar on the side of his face.” She shook her head. “It’s just too much of a coincidence—and perhaps not a clue, or an indication of anything, except . . .” She closed her eyes as if to shut out all other images.

“Except what?”

“The imagination, Billy—the sort of imagination that arises like a plague from constant terror.”

Chapter 10

Maisie was late leaving her flat on Tuesday morning. Following supper with Priscilla the night before, she had walked homeand then stayed up at her desk working on case notes and indexing paperwork to take back to Sandra at her cottage in the villageof Chelstone on Thursday. She sometimes felt as if she had gathered everyone she loved around her in rural Kent, ensuringtheir safety when the