She addressed the man. “Mr. Howard?”
“How do you know who I am?” he said, peering up at them through a gold-rimmed monocle, which magnified one red eye and the surrounding wrinkles.
“This is Agent Standish from MI-Five and I am Margaret Hope, his … associate. We’re here investigating the death of Estelle Crawford and the quarantine of Mildred Petrie and Sarah Sanderson.”
Mr. Howard threw down his paper. “This is all top secret, by orders of the Prime Minister’s office. I must ask you to leave. I have nothing to say to you two.” He rose and clapped a tweed hat atop his thin gray locks. “Good evening,” he said, turning on his heel.
They watched him leave, stunned.
Then, “Come on,” urged Maggie. “Let’s go back to Mildred’s room.”
“We’re not allowed. I’ll have to call Frain and he’ll have to get on it. There’s a lot of red tape involved—I don’t expect you to understand—”
“I’ll tell Dr. Janus that I had a word with Mr. Howard.”
“Yes—and Mr. Howard just told us to go away.”
“I’ll say I had a word—I’m not going to say which word.”
“Maggie—”
“Mark, if you don’t want to be involved, I understand. But this is one of my closest friends, and she may be dying. If I can help, find out anything … Well, let’s just say I’m not going to let anything like red tape get in my way.” She walked away, heels clicking resolutely on the linoleum floor.
Mark looked to the ceiling as if to say a silent prayer, then followed her. “I can now see why Hugh managed to get into so much trouble with you. You’re stubborn, you don’t follow the rules—”
“Yes, and if we waited for every i to be dotted and t to be crossed, where would that leave Sarah and Mildred? Oh, that’s right—dead.”
“They may die anyway.”
“But we need to try. I’d never forgive myself if we didn’t.”
Despite her growing concern for Sarah and the grim nature of the situation, Maggie realized that for the first time in a very long time, she was free of the Black Dog. He’d whimpered and turned away, settling down with his paws tucked underneath him—at least for the time being.
Mildred Petrie was tossing in her narrow white bed, moaning.
While Mark hung back, Maggie approached the bed. “Miss Petrie? Mildred?”
The dancer’s eyes were closed, but her head flailed on the pillow. “I did it! It was I!” she muttered. She coughed, a long and racking cough, then gasped for air.
“Mildred?” Maggie repeated. “I’d just like to ask you a few questions—”
“We were right to do it! Estelle had to pay! But I didn’t know … It wasn’t my fault I touched them, too …”
“Who is ‘we’?” Maggie pressed. “What did you touch, Mildred?”
Mildred opened her eyes and opened her mouth to respond. But when she tried to speak, she began to cough again, a cough that swiftly turned into a choke. She struggled for breath, her hands clawing her neck.
Mildred Petrie was dying.
Maggie whirled to Mark. “Get the doctor! Go!”
As the medical staff descended on Mildred Petrie’s room, Maggie and Mark waited in the hall outside. Maggie was knitting furiously, muttering profanities under her breath. Mark stopped pacing and looked over.
“Socks,” she said by way of explanation.
He looked blank.
“You know, ‘Our Boys Need Socks—Knit For Your Brit.’ Or however the propaganda offices are phrasing it these days. Look—” Maggie said, showing him the knitting, “I’ve even put in tiny V’s in Morse code—V for Victory. This is very patriotic work I’m doing. Very important, very patriotic work.”
Mark nodded, distracted. “Right, right.”
Dr. Janus finally emerged from the room. Both Maggie and Mark froze. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this.” He shook his head. “We did everything we could.”
If Estelle is dead and Mildred is dead, then what about Sarah? “Dead?” Maggie managed. “What’s the cause?”
“I understand that Miss Petrie is—was—a ballet dancer.” The doctor took off his glasses and wiped them with his handkerchief. He looked bone-weary. “But the blisters on her skin look to me like Woolsorters’ or Ragpickers’ disease. And that would account for symptoms mirroring pneumonia or emphysema.”
“Woolsorters’ disease? What’s that?” Mark asked. “Because Estelle Crawford had the black sores, too, as does Sarah Sanderson.”