A Dangerous Place (24 page)

I appreciate Lord Julian's efforts to find me, and to keep an eye on me. But I am an investigator by training, so it was not long before I realized that I was the subject of some attention from men who could
only have been working for Lord Julian's contacts in London. I would have done the same thing in his position.

We are all still so terribly stricken by the horror of losing James, but what I try to remember is that he died doing something he loved and believed in. He loved to fly. He loved the feeling of being aloft, above the earth and looking down upon all its goings-on, even though what he saw in the war grieved him. And that is what he was doing in Canada—he loved his country, and believed he was engaged in work that would ultimately be of service to her. Given what I have seen in Spain, I now believe him to have been right. I have been slow to come to that conclusion, and I will be honest, I still bear ill will toward John Otterburn, who persuaded him to come to Canada to undertake work that was fraught with danger. But I also have come to accept that James understood those dangers, and considered the cause to be worth such risk.

Rowan, I have felt the loss of James and our child so keenly. For a while I would have chosen death, and willed it to come to me so that I might join them. My experiences over the past month in particular—you doubtless know where I am, and where I have been—have made me realize that to make anything of my future, I must take a few steps back. When I was a girl, one of the first lessons Maurice taught me was to stand with my hands upturned as if to receive a most precious gift, and then ask, “How may I serve?” I have discovered the answer, for now at least. I have found a place where I may be of use, where my skills might save a life, so I must follow the voice of my heart. Dame Constance Charteris of Camden Abbey spoke to me of Saint Benedict once, and urged me to listen “with the ear of your heart.” I have been trying hard to follow her counsel.

I will be in touch again soon with an address.

With my love and affection,

Maisie

W
e're almost there, señora,” said Raoul. “You have slept, no?”

Maisie rubbed her eyes. “I was dozing, not quite asleep.” Looking out the window, she saw familiar buildings in the distance. “You made good time, Raoul.”

Raoul smiled and patted the steering wheel. “She is good. Full of faith.”

Maisie smiled. “Yes, a good faithful motor car.”

As the motor car approached their destination, Raoul pumped the horn in a playful manner.
Parp-parp-pup-pup-parp. . . .
The sound brought children and dogs from the shadows and out into the square. As he maneuvered the vehicle in a circle and stopped in front of the church, women emerged from the houses and Sister Teresa came out of her hospital, wiping her hands on a cloth. Maisie stepped from the motor car, and the nun all but ran forward, dropping the cloth as she took Maisie's hands in her own, as she had at their first meeting.

“You kept your promise, Miss Maisie Dobbs. You returned to us.”

“I didn't make a promise, Sister Teresa,” said Maisie, giving a half-laugh at the error.

“Oh, yes, you did—it came from your heart. I saw it. God saw it.”

Maisie nodded, feeling the itch of tears at the corners of her eyes. “Well, if you can't keep a promise, then you're in trouble, I think.”

Sister Teresa laughed and wrapped her arms around Maisie. “I knew you would come back. I had faith.”

Maisie and Sister Teresa drew apart as women and children clapped their hands. Sister Teresa announced that
efermera
Maisie—nurse Maisie—would be back in just a moment; she had to take her to her room. She turned and led Maisie through the church to the cloistered square where her own cell was situated. Maisie wondered how it might have been, when other nuns were present, their long habits brushing the ground, their hands clasped together in copious sleeves, heads
bowed. Passing the nun's own quarters, they came to another door of dark oak, which opened into a simple room with a bed, a table, a washstand with a bowl and ewer, and a hand-plaited rug on the floor. A narrow window looked out onto the courtyard garden.

“It is very simple,” said Sister Teresa.

“It is all I need,” replied Maisie.

And it was. As she rested her carpetbag, knapsack, and satchel against the table, she looked around her. Yes, this was all she needed. She would do work she knew she was good at in the service of those who needed her. She knew she would grow strong here, putting others before herself. And because she had always worked, and accepted that working was part of who she was, she thought that in time, after she'd returned to England, she might even feel compelled to go back to her old business. But that was a few months away. Now there was a task before her, and she wanted to get on with it.

Sister Teresa walked with Maisie out to the front of the church. The women and children had remained, waiting, with one boy holding a pitcher of water for Maisie, another a plate with bread and sheep's milk cheese. Raoul had allowed children to take turns sitting in the motor car, but when he saw Maisie emerge from the church, he waved. She walked to the motor car and shook his hand.

“Gracias, Raoul. Gracias por su ayuda.”
Thank you for your help.

Raoul gave a short bow and said in halting English. “Look after you-self.”

Maisie smiled as Raoul turned and told the children it was time to leave the motor car; because he wouldn't bring back stowaways.

It was as Raoul drove off, with a cloud of dust in his wake and everyone waving good-bye, that Maisie saw the young woman whose child she'd delivered walking toward them, carrying the infant wrapped in a cotton shawl. She stood in front of Maisie and held out her daughter.

“Oh, hasn't she grown, already—and she's still only days old!” said Maisie, reaching for the baby.

Sister Teresa translated, and the woman giggled and pointed to her lips, making a sucking sound.

“Ah, she feeds well.” Maisie laughed along with the women as they applauded again. “What have you named her?” she asked, her words translated by Sister Teresa.

“Esperanza,” replied the woman. She lifted her hands and brought them together in front of her lips, as if in prayer.

Maisie watched the nun, who nodded her understanding and turned to Maisie, resting her hand on the babe's head.

“It means ‘hope.' Her name is Hope.”

Maisie looked down at the child, at her tiny hand now wrapped around Maisie's little finger.

“Esperanza,” she whispered. “
Hope.
”

I
t was during a trip to Gibraltar to visit my Cheef Resurcher (the misspelling is quite deliberate) that my interest in “The Rock” deepened. In the early years of the Maisie Dobbs series in particular, my esteemed researcher—“he who cannot be named”—provided a welcome helping hand, not only with his intimate knowledge of Scotland Yard, but with useful historic materials garnered from the Garrison Library. So thanks must go to my esteemed Cheef Resurcher, and of course also to the helpful staff at the Garrison Library, and to those at Gibraltar House in London for their assistance. Unforeseen errors and wide turns are all down to me.

Deepest gratitude to my fabulous editor, Jennifer Barth, to publisher Jonathan Burnham, and—as always—the wonderful team at HarperCollins, especially Katherine Beitner, Stephanie Cooper, and Josh Marwell.

The iconic cover designs for the Maisie Dobbs series are the result of collaboration between creative wizard Archie Ferguson, and the re
nowned artist and craftsman, Andrew Davidson—working with you both is a highlight of my year.

On the other side of the pond—many, many thanks must go to Susie Dunlop and the committed “Team Maisie” at Allison and Busby in London—you are all just terrific!

I consider myself blessed to have Amy Rennert in my corner, not only as my literary agent, but my friend.

And as always, last but never least, to John Morell—thanks, love, for being my #1 supporter.

PHOTO BY STEPHANIE MOHAN

JACQUELINE WINSPEAR
is the author of the
New York Times
bestsellers
Leaving Everything Most Loved, Elegy for Eddie
,
A Lesson in Secrets
,
The Mapping of Love and Death
,
Among the Mad
, and
An Incomplete Revenge
, as well as four other national bestselling Maisie Dobbs novels. Her standalone novel,
The Care and Management of Lies
, was also a
New York Times
bestseller. She has won numerous awards for her work, including the Agatha, Alex, and Macavity awards for the first book in the series,
Maisie Dobbs
, which was also nominated for the Edgar Award for Best Novel and was a
New York Times
Notable Book. Originally from the United Kingdom, she now lives in California.

Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at
hc.com
.

Maisie Dobbs

Birds of a Feather

Pardonable Lies

Messenger of Truth

An Incomplete Revenge

Among the Mad

The Mapping of Love and Death

A Lesson in Secrets

Elegy for Eddie

Leaving Everything Most Loved

The Care and Management of Lies

COVER DESIGN BY ARCHIE FERGUSON

COVER ILLUSTRATION BY ANDREW DAVIDSON

A DANGEROUS PLACE.
Copyright © 2015 by Jacqueline Winspear. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

FIRST EDITION

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

ISBN 978-0-06-222055-4

EPub Edition MARCH 2015 ISBN 9780062220578

15 16 17 18 19   
OV
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RRD
   10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

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