jangled when she pushed a stray hair behind her right ear. Maisie noticed that she was wearing a silver crucifix.
“Yes? May I be of assistance to you?” The woman’s smile was broad and welcoming.
“I’d like to see Mr. or Mrs. Paige, if I may. Are they home?”
“Mrs. Paige is here. Please come in.” She stepped aside, and held her hand out to one of two ladder-back chairs situated on either side of an umbrella stand in the entrance hall. “Please wait—I will fetch her.” The woman bowed her head and walked on tiptoe towards the door at the end of the passageway. It seemed almost as if she were dancing, so light was her step.
While waiting, Maisie regarded her surroundings. Dark cream wainscoting ran along the bottom half of the walls, above which wallpaper with a design of intertwined red geraniums had been hung without matching the pattern. She thought that if she looked at the wall for long enough, she would become quite dizzy, so strong was the sense that the bricks were moving underneath the paper. She looked at a collection of photographs on one wall, of a series of very British-looking adults clustered together in places other than Britain. In one they were seated at a table under a palm tree, in a second together in front of a series of mud huts. There was one of a church minister holding his hand up to the heavens while talking to a group of dark-skinned children, all seated with legs crossed and each one appearing to hang on his every word. A crucifix hung on the wall.
“Good morning. I’m Mrs. Paige.” A short woman with a round face and hair tied back in a bun stood in front of Maisie, her hands clasped in front of her middle. She wore a flower-patterned day dress with the low waist that might have been fashionable some ten years earlier, though the fabric seemed to pull across her middle. Her face was unlined, and her cheeks rosy red, as if she had been sitting in the sunshine without a hat.
“Mrs. Paige, please forgive me for imposing upon you without notice; however, I wanted to see you at the earliest opportunity.” Maisie held out a card. “I have been retained by Mr. Pramal to look into the death of his sister, Miss Usha Pramal, who I believe resided with you.”
The woman appeared agitated, looking at the card without taking it, and wringing her hands together. “Well, yes, but . . . but my husband isn’t here, you know.”
Maisie nodded. “I see—but perhaps you could spare me five minutes or so. I have just a few questions for you, Mrs. Paige.”
“Oh, all right then. Come with me.”
Mrs. Paige led the way into a front-room parlor. It was a dark room, revealing a sensibility that was somewhat old-fashioned, even by the standards of those who were slow to change or who had little money to do so. A picture rail painted in maroon gloss that had lost its shine framed the deep-red, embossed wallpaper. A table set next to the bay window had a plant on top with leaves that had grown out to the point of diminishing natural light that might otherwise have illuminated the room. Ornate plasterwork on the ceiling seemed oppressive, as if it were bearing down on one’s head, and heavy cloths on tables and across chairs lent the room a funereal feel.
Paige led Maisie to the table, where she pulled out two dining chairs carved in a manner that would have made them at home in a church.
“Please sit down. Would you like tea? I can summon the girl.”
Maisie shook her head. “No, thank you, Mrs. Paige.”
“I’ve already had the police here, weeks ago. Not very nice at all, what with the neighbors getting nosy. We’ve had it hard enough, looking after these women, you know. This is a good area, after all.” Paige nodded as she finished the sentence, and Maisie thought this might be a habit.
“You have been most benevolent, Mrs. Paige. I have heard about your work—how you gave room and board to women far from home who have been abandoned by the very people who should have looked out for them.”
“We’re doing God’s work, Miss Dobbs. The women here have all toiled for those far wealthier than us, you know. We give them a roof over their heads, and we find them jobs so they can earn their way back to their people. We ask