have others.”
“Tell me what happened when she arrived here—where did she live?”
“I would send letters to this address, in St. John’s Wood.” Pramal pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and gave it to Maisie. “This is the address. Later, she wrote that I should send my letters poste restante to a post office in southeast London.”
She nodded. “Where was she living when she died? Have the family been in touch?”
Pramal shook his head. “My sister was given notice within a few years of disembarking here in Great Britain. She was cast aside by the family, with nowhere to go, no money except that which was owed her. I did not know this until a long time afterwards—she did not want to bring shame on her family.”
“But what happened to her?”
“She found somewhere to live—in an ayah’s hostel, in a place called Addington Square. That’s probably why I was not given an address—she didn’t want me to know where she was living, and I think she also would not have wanted anyone else intercepting her correspondence.”
“Addington Square’s in Camberwell,” said Billy. “But what’s an ayah’s hostel?”
“It’s where women live who were servants,” Sandra interjected, leaning towards Pramal. “They call them ayahs, don’t they? Women who look after the children—they do nearly all the work so the mother doesn’t have to lift a finger. They come over with the family, and when the family doesn’t need them anymore, that’s it—out on your ear in a strange country with nowhere to go.” She looked at Maisie. “We talked about this problem at one of our women’s meetings—terrible it is. At least there are a couple of hostels for the women, though it doesn’t stop some from having to work as—”
Maisie shook her head. Sandra had become involved in what was being talked about as “women’s politics” and would not draw back from confrontation. It seemed to Maisie that she had found her voice since the death of her husband—but on this occasion, she did not want Sandra to describe the ways in which a homeless ayah might be pressed to make enough money to keep herself.
“So Usha found lodgings in an ayah’s hostel. And you had no knowledge of her situation until—when?” asked Maisie.
“Until about nine or ten months ago. I have a family, Miss Dobbs, so I did not have sufficient funds to pay for her immediate passage home—and she told me she had almost enough, so was planning to sail at the end of the year.” He paused. “You see, she wasn’t only saving to come home—she wanted to bring enough money to open her school. She said she could earn better money here in London than in all of India, so she remained.”
Maisie could see fatigue in the lines around the man’s eyes and—as much as he fought it—knew it was in his backbone.
“Mr. Pramal, here’s what I would like to do now. I will be visiting the Allisons, and also the ayah’s hostel—I am sure we can find the address, if you don’t have it to hand. In the meantime, I think it best that you return to your hotel and rest. We should like to reconvene tomorrow morning—would nine o’clock suit you?”
“Indeed, thank you, Miss Dobbs.”
Maisie stood up, pushing back her chair. Sandra returned to her desk, and Billy stood ready to escort Mr. Pramal to the front door.
“May I ask if you have satisfactory accommodations while you are in England?” asked Maisie.
“A small hotel, Miss Dobbs. It’s inexpensive, close to Victoria Station. I was staying with an old friend, but I did not want to inconvenience the family any longer.”
Maisie nodded. “Please do not hesitate to let me know if the hotel ceases to be comfortable. I am sure I can arrange another hotel, with help from Scotland Yard.”
Pramal gave a half-bow, his hands closed as if in prayer. “You are most kind.” He turned to Sandra. “Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Tapley.”
Billy extended out his hand towards the door and left the room with Pramal. While Sandra removed the tea tray, Maisie walked to the window again, where she watched Billy bid farewell to the former officer in the Indian Army. As if he couldn’t help himself, Billy saluted Pramal again, and was saluted in return. Each recognizing a war fought inside the other.
Chapter Three
“I always thought women in India were sort of tied to the house until they married,” commented Sandra, while marking the name “Pramal” on a fresh cream-colored folder. “Then