Maisie Dobbs (13 page)

“That’s not it, honestly, Dad,” responded Maisie defensively.

She took off her hat and coat, folded them and put them on top of her basket, which she left just outside the stable door. She walked over to Persephone and rubbed the soft spot behind her ears.

“I was just a bit late, that’s all, Dad.”

“You doin’ too much of that readin’?”

“No, Dad. No, I’m not.”

“So how about your week then, Love? What’ve you been doing?”

“Oh, we had a to-do in the kitchen this week. Mrs. Crawford was experimenting with pouring brandy over the cooked meat and then adding a flame to it. Some new French idea that Lady Compton had asked Carter about. The whole kitchen nearly caught alight. You should have seen it, Dad. It was hilarious!”

Frankie Dobbs stopped work and looked at Maisie.

“What is it, Dad?”The smile seemed to evaporate from her face.

“’Ilarious, was it? I like that. ’ilarious. Can’t use ordinary words anymore. Got to use big ones now, ’aven’t you?”

“But Dad . . . I thought . . . .”

“That’s the trouble with you. Too much of that thinking. I dunno . . . .”

Frankie turned his back on Maisie, the set of his shoulders revealing a seldom-seen anger.“I dunno. I thought this was all very well and all, you gettin’ an education. Now I dunno. Next thing you know, you won’t want to talk to the likes of me.”

“Now that’s silly, Dad.”

“Silly, am I?” Frankie looked up again, his eyes blazing.

“I didn’t mean it like that. What I meant was . . .” Maisie was exhausted. She let her arm drop to her side. Persephone nuzzled her to continue the ear rubbing, but there was no response. Father and daughter stood in stony silence.

How had this happened? How was it that one minute it seemed that everyone was on her side, and the next everyone was against her? What had she done wrong? Maisie went over to an upended box in the corner and slumped down. Her furrowed brow belied her youth as she tried to come to terms with the discord between her beloved father and herself.

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

“I’m sorry, too. Sorry that I ever talked to that Mr. Carter in the first place.”

“You did right, Dad. I would never have had this opportunity. . . .”

Frankie was also tired. Tired of worrying about Maisie, tired of fearing that she would move into circles above her station and never come back. Tired of feeling not good enough for his daughter. “I know, love. I know. Let’s ’ave an end to the words. Just make sure you come back and see your old dad of a Sunday.”

Maisie leaned over to Frankie, who had upended another wooden box to sit next to her, put her arms around his neck, and sobbed.

“Come on, love. Let’s put the words behind us.”

“I miss you, Dad.”

“And I miss you, Love.”

Father and daughter held on to each other a moment longer, before Frankie announced that they should be getting along to the park if they were to enjoy the best of the day. They worked together to finish jobs in the stable and, leaving Persephone to her day of rest, went to the park for a walk and to eat the sandwiches that Mrs. Crawford had made for Maisie.

As she traveled back to Belgravia that evening, Maisie couldn’t help but remember Frankie’s outburst, and wondered how she would ever balance her responsibilities. As if that were not enough, Enid’s tongue was as sharp as a knife again when Maisie entered the room they shared on the top floor of the house.

“It’s a wonder you can bring yourself to see that costermonger father of yours. Isn’t he a bit lower class for you now, Maisie?”

Maisie was stunned and hurt by Enid’s words. Slights against herself she could handle, but those against her father she would not tolerate.“ My father, Enid, is one of the best.”

“Hmmph. Thought he wouldn’t be good enough, what with you bein’ ’er Ladyship’s pet.”

“Enid, I’m not anyone’s pet or favorite. I’m still here, and working hard.”

Enid was lying on her back on the bed, pillows plumped up behind her head. She was reading an old copy of
The Lady
magazine while speaking to Maisie.

“Hmmph. Maisie Dobbs, all you’ve done is give ’er Ladyship a cause. They like causes, do these ’ere toffs. Makes ’er feel like she’s doin’ something for the lower classes. Right old do-gooder she is, too. And as for that funny old geezer, Blanche, I’d worry about ’im if I was you. D’you really think you can become a lady with all this book lark?”

“I’ve told you before, Enid—I don’t want to be a lady.”

Maisie folded her day clothes and put them away in the heavy chest of drawers, then took up her hairbrush and began to unbraid her glossy black hair.

“Then you’re as stupid as you are silly lookin’.”

Maisie swung around to look directly at Enid.

“What is
wrong
with you? I can’t do a thing right!”

“Let me tell you what’s wrong with me, young Maisie. What’s wrong with me is that I might not be able to do the learning from books that you can, but mark my words, I’ll be out of here before you, ’er Ladyship or not.”

“But I’m not stopping you—”

In frustration Enid flounced to her feet, pulled back the bedclothes, and threw herself into bed. Without saying goodnight, she turned her back on Maisie, as had become her habit.

Maisie said nothing more, but climbed into her heavy brass bed to lie upon the hard horsehair mattress between cold white muslin sheets. Without attempting to read her book or work on the assignment Maurice Blanche had given her, she turned out the light.

Jealousy. Now she was beginning to understand jealousy. Together with the exchanges of the past few weeks, and the heated conversation with her father, Maisie was also beginning to feel fully the challenge of following her dream. And she was disturbed, not for the first time, by Enid’s words about Lady Rowan. Was she just a temporary diversion for Lady Rowan, a sop to her conscience so she could feel as if she was doing something for society? Maisie couldn’t believe this, for time and time again she had seen genuine interest and concern on her employer’s face.

Maisie walked into the library for her meeting with Maurice Blanche and stood before him.

“Sit down, sit down. Let us begin. We have much work to do.”

Maisie silently placed her books in front of him.

“What is it, Maisie?”

“I don’t think, Dr. Blanche, that I can have lessons with you anymore.”

Maurice Blanche said nothing but nodded his head and studied Maisie’s countenance. Silence seeped into the space between them, and Maurice immediately noticed the single tear that emerged from Maisie’s right eye and drizzled down her face.

“Ah, yes, the challenge of position and place, I think.”

Maisie sniffed and met Blanche’s look. She nodded.

“Yes. It has been long overdue. We have been fortunate thus far, have we not, Maisie?”

Once again Maisie nodded She expected to be dismissed, as she would in turn dismiss her ambitions and the dream she had nurtured since first planning to visit the Comptons’ library at three o’clock in the morning so long ago.

Instead Maurice took up the book he had assigned at their last meeting, along with her notes, and the lessons she had completed in the subjects of English, mathematics, and geography.

Looking through her work, Maurice inclined his head here, and raised his eyebrows there. Maisie said nothing, but inspected her hands and pulled at a loose thread in her white pinafore.

“Maisie. Please complete these two final chapters while I speak with Lady Rowan.”

Once again Maisie was left, if only for a short time, to wonder at her fate, and whether all would be well. As Maurice Blanche left the room, Maisie took up the book and turned to the chapters he had indicated. But try as she might, she could not read past the first paragraph of her assignment and retain what she had read. Instead she put her right hand to her mouth and with her teeth worried a hangnail on her little finger. By the time Maurice Blanche returned with Lady Rowan and Carter, Maisie had to plunge her right hand into her pinafore pocket so that the blood now oozing from the cuticle would not be seen.

Clearly much discussion had taken place in the interim. It fell to Carter, as head of the domestic staff, to stand at Lady Rowan’s side as she told Maisie of a plan that had been incubating and had just hatched, inspired by her genuine need. It was a plan that would in turn help Maisie. And not a moment too soon.

“Maisie, the Dowager Lady Compton lives in the dower house at Chelstone Manor, in Kent. My mother-in-law is in command of her faculties but has some difficulty in movement, and she does sleep long hours now that she is of advanced age. Her personal maid gave notice some weeks ago, due to impending marriage.”

Lady Rowan glanced at Maurice Blanche and at Carter before continuing.“Maisie, I would like to offer you the position.”

Maisie said nothing, but looked intently at Lady Rowan, then at Carter, who simply nodded, then raised an eyebrow, and focused his gaze quickly on her hand in the pinafore pocket.

Maisie stood up straighter, twisted a handkerchief around the sore finger, and brought her hand to her side.

“The Dowager Lady Compton has only a small staff,” said Lady Rowan, “as befits her needs. Aside from her personal maid and a nurse, household staff do not live at the dower house but at the manor. When we are in residence, as you know, Carter and Mrs. Crawford travel to Chelstone to join the staff. However, Mrs. Johnson, the housekeeper, is in sole charge of the household at Chelstone while we are in London.”

Lady Rowan paused for a moment, walked to the window, and crossed her arms. She took a moment to look out at the garden before turning back into the room to continue.

“Employment with my mother-in-law will allow you some—let us say ‘leeway’—to continue your work with Dr. Blanche. In addition you will not be subject to some of the scrutiny that you have experienced in recent weeks, although you
will
report to Mrs. Johnson.”

Maisie looked at her feet, then at Carter, Lady Rowan, and Dr. Blanche, all of whom seemed to have grown several inches while Lady Rowan was speaking.

Maisie felt very small. And she was worried about her father.

As she remained silent, Carter raised an eyebrow, indicating that she should speak.

“Is there a bus so I can get back to London to see my father on Sundays?”

“There is a train service from the village, on the branch line via Tonbridge. But you may wish to make the visits to Mr. Dobbs farther apart, since the distance requires several hours of travel,” replied Maurice Blanche.

Then he suggested that Maisie be given a day to consider the offer.

“You will see Mr. Carter with your decision tomorrow at five o’clock in the afternoon, Maisie?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir—and thank you, Your Ladyship, Mr. Carter.”

“Right you are. I will bid you goodnight.”

Carter bowed to Lady Rowan, as did Dr. Blanche, while Maisie bobbed a curtsy, and put her hand back in her pocket, lest the company see her handkerchief bloodied from the bitten hangnail.

“I think, Mr. Carter, that Maisie should continue with her household responsibilities this evening, rather than her assignments from me. Such endeavors will be a useful accompaniment to the process of coming to a decision.’

“Right you are, sir. Maisie?”

Maisie curtsied again, then left the room to return to her duties.

Blanche walked over to the window and looked out at the gardens. He had anticipated young Maisie’s challenges, which had come later than he might have expected. How he despised wasted talent! He knew that the move to Kent would be a good one for her, but the decision to pursue her opportunity was one Maisie alone would have to make. He left the house, wending his way to familiar streets south of the Thames.