A Lesson in Secrets (4 page)

Liddicote looked at Maisie and held her gaze for longer than was comfortable, though she did not look away. She felt it was as if he were assessing her response and looking for evidence of where
she
might be on that personal pilgrimage.

“And what if the student shows no talent for introspection, Miss Dobbs? How would you deal with such a situation, if your ambition is to lead your students towards a nirvana of personal wisdom?”

His tone verged on sarcasm, though she suspected he was playing devil’s advocate.

“I see my role as being instrumental in introducing the study of philosophy in a way that has meaning for my students, rather than regurgitating a series of lectures on modern thought, as if it were biology or chemistry. There is, of course, a syllabus that must be adhered to for the students to achieve standards set by the college—and those standards represent a promise by any other name. However, in my approach I would hope to teach concepts in a manner which encourages personal introspection and energetic dialogue.”

“And how will you do that?”

“I intend to introduce the important philosophical ideas and the teachings of the masters in such a way that students are turned towards their own personal experience as a path to understanding. I would see my role, ultimately, as one tasked with inculcating a sense of wonder regarding the self.”

“A lofty ambition.”

“I may be an idealist, but I believe that when one enters teaching, one’s ambitions should be lofty.” Maisie’s eyes met Liddicote’s once more, and she wondered if she had not overdone her reply.

Liddicote cleared his throat. “Something you should know about how we go about education—
educare
—at St. Francis: we offer the study of English, both language and literature; European languages and literature; and the moral sciences, which you studied at Girton, though you would have had the benefit of a more scholarly intensity than our students, for whom the study is introductory by comparison. Yet they take it no less seriously. The concept of peace—peace among men, among nations—underpins our work here, which is why we encourage and welcome students from the Continent. There are German and Austrian students here, as well as students from France, Italy, Spain, the Netherlands, and Belgium. This blend of cultural origin is reflected in the staff as well. Do you have any objection to working with those with whom this country has been at war in the past?”

“Of course not. I would not have applied for the job if my personal sentiments had leaned towards such a position.” Maisie took a deep breath and was aware that her voice trembled a little as she began to speak. “I do not hold with the idea that we should fight each other towards an end goal of mutual destruction.”

“Go on.” Liddicote leaned forward, resting his hands on the desk in front of him. They were the hands of a boy barely out of his teens, as if Liddicote had never lifted anything more heavy than a pen. His nails were manicured and seemed unsullied, except for a smudge against the inside of the top joint of his middle finger, where the ink from his fountain pen had leaked onto his skin. Maisie often bore a stain in exactly the same place.

“And I believe,” said Maisie, “that the study of philosophy, of the meaning of life itself, helps us to consider the problems that face mankind from a new perspective—from multiple perspectives when all students engage in broad conversation based upon their study of both traditional and new works. And if we then know more about ourselves and each other—as I said in response to your earlier question, with that sense of wonder—surely we will be less inclined go to war.”

There was silence as Liddicote leaned back and regarded her. He nodded. “Come, let me show you around the college here; a short meander around the grounds. I’ll tell you more about our founding as we walk, and we’ll continue discussing your application in the gardens. I’m a great believer in walking, you know.”

Maisie stood up. As they made their way along the corridor to the doors that led into the grounds, she noticed several other candidates waiting in the room to which she had been taken when she arrived at the college, and she wondered if Liddicote had remembered that he had other people to see. She felt there were more specific and challenging questions to come as they walked through the college and around the grounds, though she was now more confident. She had felt a welter of warmth when he’d said, “I’m a great believer in walking, you know.” Though his tone and presence were quite different, it was a sentiment shared by Maurice, and there was a comfort in that.

A
“short meander” around the college grounds was extended to reveal a larger property than Maisie had at first imagined, and included Greville Liddicote personally accompanying Maisie along a path referred to as “a Meditation on St. Francis.” The path led into woodland and snaked around a stream before emerging close to the opposite side of the property. At points along the way, stones were set into the ground, or hung on a tree, or perhaps placed alongside a wooden seat, each engraved with several lines from the Prayer of St. Francis. On a bench adjacent to a stone etched with the words “
to be understood, as to understand;
to be loved, as to love,
” Liddicote sat with Maisie, questioning her further on matters of philosophy, before escorting her back to his secretary’s office, where Miss Linden informed him that he was now running far behind schedule. Liddicote appeared unfazed by his tardiness and smiled as he introduced his secretary as if the women had never met, though Maisie suspected he was diffusing the young woman’s anxiety with humor.

“Miss Dobbs, this is my secretary, Miss Rosemary Linden, without whom the wheels of learning would doubtless grind to a halt and there would not be a pencil or chalk to be found—and, more to the point, our staff would never know where to go or which class they were teaching.”

Maisie smiled and extended a hand to Rosemary Linden, who offered the hint of a smile in return and barely grazed Maisie’s fingers by way of a handshake.

“Miss Linden, I would like Miss Dobbs to meet Dr. Thomas and Dr. Roth.”

The woman nodded. “Yes, of course, Dr. Liddicote. I’ll summon them to the library meeting room; that would probably be the best place for them to see Miss Dobbs.” She handed him a folder. “Mr. Shepherd, your second interview. Dr. Poole will be your third.”

Miss Linden turned to Maisie. “Let me take you to the meeting room, then I’ll find Dr. Thomas and Dr. Roth.”

With the College of St. Francis already in session, students walking to and from their classes now filled the previously empty corridors. Maisie could see where the house had been altered here and there to accommodate the needs of a learning institution, but thought it still seemed to bear the mark of an intimidating family home designed to be cool in the summer and warm in winter. Sandstone walls were adorned with tapestries, landscapes of the local countryside, and portraits of the masters of knowledge—she suspected the latter had been commissioned especially for the school, as they all appeared to be of the same recent vintage. Maisie took the opportunity to ask a few questions that she had not put to Liddicote.

“Where do the students live, Miss Linden?”

“Those in their first year here live in the dorms over in the east wing. We are a small college, but there are about fifty new students each year—they study at St. Francis for between one and three years.”

“So, I take it that after the first year they move into lodgings.”

“We have a roster of landladies who meet our standards at boarding houses around the city.”

“That must be difficult, when one considers the great number of students here in Cambridge.”

Linden led the way up a broad staircase with a grand banister that curved from top to bottom; at both ends the wood had been carved into a globe cradled in two hands. “Our students have a good reputation among the landladies, we administer all rents, and we pay well, so accommodation problems are rarely encountered.” She took out a set of keys as they came alongside a door adjacent to the library. “Here we are. Please make yourself comfortable while I find Drs. Thomas and Roth.”

The young woman closed the door behind her before Maisie could thank her. Had she not already known something of the property’s history, Maisie might have thought the architecture was Elizabethan. Dark wood panels flanked the walls, with a square diamond-paned bay window looking out onto the grounds. A wooden table was situated in the center of the room and could easily have done justice to a medieval banquet, though the leather blotter at each place marked it as a table where the school’s business was discussed. Armchairs were clustered around the edge of the room, and above the fireplace the crest of the original occupants of the house continued to be displayed. The crest lent an air of gravity and, from the point of view of the college governors, no doubt, underscored a longevity that such a young educational institution could not yet boast.

As she settled on a window seat cushioned with needlepoint pillows, she looked out at the lawns, where a man—wearing brown trousers and a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches—and a young blond woman were walking along another path that led into woodland. From the manner in which she used her hands to express herself, together with the way she kept turning to her companion, as if for reassurance, Maisie judged the woman to be in her early twenties. The man was older. Maisie watched as he moved alongside the woman; his stance seemed to imply some level of intimacy—perhaps a father visiting his daughter. He placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder at one point and they turned towards each other. As Maisie watched, both the man and the woman looked around as someone whom she could not yet see approached; they stood apart, with the man lifting his chin slightly in greeting, while the woman began to turn away, half-opening a book—Maisie thought it an attempt to suggest that the page in question was the topic of conversation, a hurried movement born of momentary panic. Maisie leaned forward in time to see Miss Linden approach the man. They spoke for just a moment, then the man bade a hasty farewell to the young woman and followed Liddicote’s secretary. It came as no surprise when, ten minutes later, Miss Linden returned to the meeting room with the man, Dr. Matthias Roth, and informed them that Dr. Francesca Thomas would join them shortly.

“Miss Dobbs,” said Roth, with just a trace of a German accent. “Welcome to our own League of Nations. The neutral Swiss will be here as soon as she’s finished her tutorial.”

M
aisie Dobbs. What have you got for me—you’ve been a bit quiet, I thought you might have gone off to the Riviera with your friends from Biarritz, or wherever it is.” The fact that MacFarlane had deliberately pronounced it “
Beer
-itz” was not lost on Maisie.

Maisie opened the door of the telephone kiosk just enough to allow fresh air to circulate. “My
Beer-
itz friends are back in London now; their boys are back in school. But you knew that anyway, didn’t you, Robbie?”

The detective laughed. “Too-chay!’ His pause was brief. “Got the job yet?”

“Waiting to hear. I’ve just had my interviews and the powers that be have sent me off for a walk while they put their heads together. This is the way it’s done in colleges—they see all the candidates on one day, then they meet and discuss and the final decision is made. My sense is that Liddicote goes through the motions of including other members of staff in his deliberations, but when it comes down to it the decision is his alone.”

“Anything out of the ordinary?”

“He gets on his secretary’s nerves, but that could be part of his role as the absentminded professor—when he wants to play it. He’s a very acute man—despite being genuinely hard of hearing, I think—his stock-in-trade seems to be pressing the unexpected question.”

“Anything you know that I don’t know about him?”

“Not yet.” Maisie coiled the telephone cord around her fingers.

“Who else did you meet?”

“Dr. Roth. He lectures in philosophy and German literature in translation—and in some quarters that’s seen as just one subject, not two. And Dr. Francesca Thomas. Roth said she was Swiss, but there is no trace of an accent; she speaks as if she attended Roedean.”

“Have you met anyone else?”

“No.”

“We already had a staff list, so we know about Roth and Thomas—and as far as we know, there’s nothing to concern us about either one. But we’ll have another look at Roth, just in case. What did you think of them?”

“Both very approachable,” said Maisie, reflecting upon their meeting. “It was more conversational than an interview for a job at the school. Neither of them seemed out to question my shortcomings, or test me in any way, though obviously they asked about my credentials and queried my experience. Without doubt, Thomas is a highly educated woman; she had nothing to prove. Roth was confident—possibly an overconfident teacher—but pleasant.” She looked at the clock on the outside of a nearby shop. “I should be getting back.”

“Right you are. Telephone when you know the lay of the land,” said MacFarlane, by way of good-bye.

A
s Maisie walked along the corridor on her way to the office, she took the liberty of checking the waiting room to see if the other candidates were still on the premises and was hopeful when it appeared they had left. She informed Miss Linden of her return; the secretary said little before escorting her directly to Greville Liddicote’s office.

“Miss Dobbs,” said Liddicote, taking her hand in both his own. “Welcome to St. Francis. You’ve been selected to join us as junior lecturer in philosophy. You are still here, so I take it that you intend to accept our offer.”

“Yes, indeed, I’m delighted.”

“Come now, the staff are waiting to be introduced.”

Miss Linden was offering glasses of sherry to the staff when Greville Liddicote brought Maisie into the library meeting room. Rapping his knuckles against the wooden table, Liddicote brought the twelve or so gathered to order—Maisie noticed that she was one of only three women, and was surprised there were not more, given the number of women who had entered the teaching profession since the war. Among the staff were a professor of English and American literature visiting from a college in Ohio, and a Swedish lecturer in Greek literature and English fairy tales, as well as Matthias Roth and Francesca Thomas. To her surprise, the young blond woman was introduced as Delphine Lang, a teaching assistant who had recently graduated from the University of Heidelberg, though in Maisie’s estimation she spoke English with a Home Counties accent that could cut glass as easily as the voice of Dr. Francesca Thomas. And as the welcoming reception went on into the early evening, Maisie noticed Roth making his way towards Delphine Lang, and when she turned to continue her conversation with Francesca Thomas, it was evident that Thomas was following the pair with deep interest.