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

mother’s death, she had known that terror could be around the next corner at any moment. Had there ever been a time when she felt the clutch of fear in her gut loosen its grip, so that she could have faith in the future? Even now—even now that she had Mark Scott in her life, and a child she would move mountains to keep safe—she knew fate could fool you. Fate could play out the line and allow you to feel at ease, and then yank you back with anything from a sickening illness to an accident or a war and bombers in the skies above. Or a love lost. And now she had to try to deceive her best friend into thinking a young woman who had become part of her family had died behind the wheel of an army vehicle, instead of slipping a cyanide pill into her mouth so she would never reveal the names of her fellow agents and the means by which they intended to sabotage every move the enemy made.

And what of the enemy? As her sobs subsided, she wondered who was with her country and who was against it. Freddie Hackettknew who was against him, and he knew who he feared—yet in taking on his case, she had crossed paths with a powerful Frenchagent, and she didn’t know to what extent he represented a danger to the boy, or to herself. Maisie had to keep Freddie safe—andthe only way to do that was to keep digging in her search for the truth.

 

The headquarters of the Free French was guarded and surrounded by sandbags and barbed wire—as were so many buildings across the city. However, she could stand and watch for a while from a short distance without anyone noticing as she took account of comings and goings before she made her move. On occasion a motor car would pull alongside the door and a man or woman would emerge and enter the building, or a vehicle would arrive and someone would be escorted out. She knew who she was looking for—a certain Major André Chaput.

Maisie had left the flat that morning determined to find out more about the man whose murder the Hackett boy had witnessed.MacFarlane might have considered him a nameless thug pulled out of the Thames, but he had an identity and he had a job. Washe an honorable man, an innocent victim? Or might his murder have been a violent settling of accounts? She was ready to pokethe wasps’ nest with a stick and watch them buzz around in a frenzy. Yes, she might get stung, but she was prepared to takethe risk—to a point.

She had been keeping vigil for about half an hour when she saw a man in the distance to the right who appeared to have thesame bearing, the same gait as the major. Hoping for an advantageous moment, she walked to the left, then crossed the roadat what she believed was the optimum point, and began to make her way back in the direction of the French Free headquarters.She pulled a piece of paper from her bag and scribbled a few words, then folded it, holding on to the square note while shereturned the pencil to her bag. Looking around as if searching for an address, she all but walked straight into Chaput.

“Oh my goodness, I am so sorry,” said Maisie, looking up at Chaput. “I was not paying attention, sir, I—oh, my goodness, it’sMajor Chaput, isn’t it?”

The Frenchman gave a short bow, and as he returned to his full height, Maisie’s gaze was drawn to the ridges of skin extendingfrom the outer corners of his high cheekbones and alongside his face.

“I’m sorry, madame—I do not believe we’ve met,” he said.

“Yes, of course—you’re right. I’m sorry—you looked familiar.”

Chaput smiled. “I should correct myself—we are not supposed to have met, are we?”

“Again, you’re right. Forgive me.” She held up the piece of paper. “I was rather preoccupied. I’m on my way to an appointment nearby and was checking the address.”

“May I help you?”

“No, not to worry—it would be rather embarrassing if a Frenchman had to direct a native Londoner, wouldn’t it?”

“Indeed, madame. Now, if you would excuse me—” Chaput raised his hat and continued on his way.

Had she lost her chance? No—she was not ready to confront him—yet she had achieved one thing: confirmation in broad daylightthat the man had those deep vertical ridges on either side of his face, and a paler patch of skin under the right eye.

She checked her watch. It was time to see Freddie Hackett again—this time at his new school.

 

Children were in the playground as Maisie came alongside the school. There were not many outside during the dinner break,but she spotted Freddie and another boy of about the same age taking it in turns to kick a ball back and forth against Victoriancast iron railings resembling a series of spears facing the sky. The boys seemed bored, kicking the ball in a desultory fashion,as if it were the only game they could think to play. She walked along until she reached the railings and called out to Freddie.He waved, said something to his friend, and kicked the ball back to him before joining Maisie.

“ ’Lo, Miss Dobbs,” said Hackett.

“Hello, Freddie. Everything all right? Are you liking your new school?”

“Well—it’s still school, but it’s all right.” He shrugged, but then gave a wide smile. “But my mum, Iris and me, we really like the flat. I can’t believe I’ve got my own room! Thank you very much, Miss Dobbs.”

“I’m glad.” Maisie glanced across to the teacher monitoring children in the playground and saw her consult her watch. “Look,we’ve only got a minute, but I wanted to ask you about the night you saw the two men fighting. How did you manage to see thelines on that man’s face? Where was the light coming from? It’s to help the police draw up their notes—you’re not in any trouble.”

“Have you got him, miss?”

“We’re following