at one point, been reconstructed.
“Yes?”
Maisie smiled. “May I speak to you for a few minutes? My name is Maisie Dobbs.” She extended her hand, and it seemed that he looked at it for a second before reaching forward with his own. “I am working on behalf of Mr. Pramal, the brother of Miss Usha Pramal.”
“Miss Pramal? Usha? Is she all right?”
Maisie looked at the man, at his eyes, in particular. Was he genuinely inquiring about Usha Pramal? Or was it a feigned surprise, meant to deflect her inquiry?
“May I sit down?” asked Maisie.
“Oh, yes—yes, of course. I’m so sorry, forgetting my manners.” He pulled a pile of papers from a chair and brushed across the seat with his left hand—which Maisie noticed was claw-like, though he could, she noticed, wield a pencil with some dexterity.
“So, is Usha all right? I haven’t seen her in a long time.”
“Mr. Ashley, I am afraid I must inform you that Miss Pramal is dead. In fact, she was murdered.”
Ashley looked at her without speaking, as if he had watched every word form in letters and leave her mouth. Maisie could see that for the teacher, time had been suspended, and her words seemed to linger in the air above them. Miss Pramal is dead. In fact, she was murdered.
“Mr. Ashley?”
Ashley started, jolting himself into the present. “I’m so sorry, Miss . . . Miss . . .”
“Dobbs. Maisie Dobbs. And it is I who must apologize—I thought you would have known.”
He scraped back the chair and walked the three steps his small cluttered room allowed, and then back again. Maisie noticed he walked with a slight limp. He ran his fingers—his good fingers, from his right hand—through his hair, and then sat down again.
“I . . . I am shocked. I had no idea.” He rubbed his chin, his thumb worrying the scar back and forth. “Mind you, there’s no reason why I would know. I haven’t seen anyone who knows Usha for ages, so why would I be told? Was it in the newspapers?”
“Yes, but not in such a way as to catch the eye readily.”
He shook his head again. “Don’t read them anyway, if I can help it. And I’m in my studio much of the time, or at home—I’m in digs near Russell Square.”
Maisie nodded. “So you come out by bus every day?”
He shook his head. “Not every day. I only lecture a couple of days a week here, and I also teach privately—mainly using oils. Here I teach a course that’s sort of a mix of anthropology and art, so we do a lot with textiles, and with pottery, looking at rock art, that sort of thing. There is an emphasis on craft here and Usha assisted me with a couple of lectures for the embroiderers, though other arts students came along, because it was all about color and how they could be blended, what they mean in different cultures, that sort of thing.” Ashley had been folding and unfolding a piece of paper as he spoke. Now he paused, crumpled the paper, and looked at Maisie. “How did it happen? Who killed her and how did it happen?”
“It was very quick, I would imagine, Mr. Ashley. She was shot.” Maisie touched the place in the middle of her forehead where, if she had been an Indian woman, a bindi would have been smudged in red.
“Oh, God, what— I mean . . . who would have done that to such a sweet girl?”
“That’s what I am trying to find out. I thought you might be able to help me.”
“Me? I hardly knew her, Miss Dobbs.”
“But she helped you here.”
He nodded. “Yes. She brought along some lovely examples of the sari—her Indian friends helped and gave her some to help illustrate my lecture.”
“But how did you know her, Mr. Ashley?”
“I was introduced by a friend—well, I say ‘friend,’ but more of an acquaintance, really—who said she would be a good person to talk to about the sari.”
“I see—who was your friend?”
“Oh, he lives not that far from here, near Addington Square. Colin Griffith—or I should say, Reverend Griffith.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Have you met him?”
“I have, indeed,” said Maisie. “He was introduced to me by Mr. and Mrs. Paige—not in person, but they owned the house where Miss Pramal lodged, on Addington Square.”
“Very good chap, and thought highly of Usha, I must say.”
Maisie allowed a silence to linger for just a second more than was necessary, and watched as Ashley fidgeted, then scratched the