Pardonable Lie (7 page)

EIGHT

Maisie was at her desk early on Friday. In preparation for lunch with Priscilla, she had gone through her entire wardrobe and found it wanting. She held up a cream silk blouse, one of three she owned, to see if it might look too dowdy with the burgundy suit she had considered so very stylish several months ago. Instead, the black day dress was chosen again, along with black shoes and the hat with a broad ribbon of claret satin. She would wear the suit jacket over the black dress.
There, that will add a bit of something
….

As she sat at the case map and tapped a red pencil on the broad sheet of white paper, the thought occurred to Maisie that the source of much of her discombobulation was Madeleine Hartnell. Maurice had been of little help—or was it that his answers had not immediately given her rest? It was obvious that he had no intention of providing comfort, though she knew his counsel to be true as she reflected upon the telephone call she had made to him immediately upon returning to her rooms at Ebury Place.

“Remember, Maisie, that such people come to us on two levels, so to speak.” He had paused during their conversation to draw deeply on his pipe. “On the one hand, yes, you must take great care with the likes of Hartnell. We have seen her sort before, and with due care we have come to no harm. And it is clear that she might be of further use. My advice would be to seek the wisdom of our friend Khan.”

“I haven’t seen him in a long time, Maurice. I’m amazed he’s still alive, to tell you the truth.”

“Khan seems to be above such notions as age.” Maurice paused. “He is the one to whom
I
have turned, Maisie, in times of spiritual darkness.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that I’m—”

“The second level, Maisie, is the task that we are all sent to accomplish in each other’s lives. It is a task of which we have no conscious awareness, but it is there all the same. Hartnell’s appearance at this time will indubitably require you to address…a conflict, perhaps? It is a rhetorical question. Consider your discomfort and welcome it as the ache necessary for you to become more deeply attuned.”

Maisie sighed, the sound of her own exhaled breath bringing her back to the present. She looked at the scribbled notes and diagrams on the case map in front of her and began working again. In a circle centered on the paper, she had written
RALPH LAWTON
; in another,
AGNES LAWTON
. Drawing connecting lines between the circled names of each person already identified as someone known to Ralph, she wondered who might be able to shed light on his character and how she would approach them. There was specific groundwork to do, so she made a note to investigate the aviator’s military record herself as soon as possible. The word
HOUSE
was circled, and as Maisie looked at the chain of thoughts, guesses, questions, and known facts linked by the series of lines, she knew her next visit must be to the Lawton country home.

She worked for several hours, checking her watch and waiting for Billy to report in. She had written the words
FRANCE
and
FLANDERS
on the case map; then, in a corner, she had faintly penciled in the word
BIARRITZ
, as a frivolity if time allowed. The telephone rang.

“Fitzroy—”

“S’me, Miss.”

“Billy, hello! How are you?” Maisie leaned back in her chair and looked out at the square as she spoke.

“Awright, thank you very much. Doreen’s gone out for a stroll, and I’m in this telephone kiosk talking to you.”

“So, any news for me?”

“Not a lot yet, Miss, not a lot. Mainly because the papers ’aven’t got ’old of the girl’s actual name, though when they do it’ll be all over the place, I can tell you.”

“Not a lot happens in country towns, Billy.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that, Miss—ay-oop, got to put a bit more money in.” Noises on the line indicated that Billy was pressing coins into the telephone box and then the button to continue the call. “I’ve been to the library already and looked up
Jarvis.
They’ve got a very good librarian who was over in France you know—very interestin’ woman, said what she did was something she couldn’t talk about—but anyway, I told ’er I was looking for an old mate of mine from the sappers, who lived down this way and that we’d lost touch in 1917 when I was wounded. So she drags out all sorts of books and papers and ledgers and what ’ave you—”

“And?” Maisie wanted to chivvy Billy along. Given the chance, Billy Beale could talk the hind leg off a donkey.

“Anyway, interestingly enough, turns out there was a family of Jarvises lived outside the town, in a village not far from ’ere, and—you are never goin’ to believe this, not that it has anything to do with my investigation—but—”

Oh, get on with it, Billy, thought Maisie, tapping her pencil against the table again.

“But apparently this ’ere Jarvis family was involved in some strange doin’s.”

“What sort of strange doin’s—things?”

“Well, some years ago, one of the womenfolk got ’erself put away for a bit for meddlin’ in medicinal work—you know, giving people tinctures and mixtures.”

“I don’t think there’s an actual law against that, Billy.”

“There is when it kills people.”

“Oh, I see.”

“They weren’t exactly fitters-in, if you know what I mean. Now then, I don’t know if our Avril Jarvis is of the same family, but it does seem a bit of a coincidence, don’t it, Miss.”

“Look into it, Billy. What’s the name of the village?”

“Downsmarsh-on-Lye.”

“Sounds very postcardy.”

“Not from what I’ve ’eard, Miss. More like, the only people are farmworkers and tinkers who ain’t got enough money to put clothes on the backs of their children. Mind you, at least they can grow a bit of food down ’ere.”

“Will you go to the village today?”

“There’s a branch line with a train every three hours. I’ll get the half-past-eleven.”

“Good.”

“Talk to you tomorrow mornin’, Miss. Shall I telephone Chelstone?”

“Yes. Better make it early, as I’m leaving for Hastings. Telephone at seven—and Billy, take care.”

“’Course I will, Miss. What they goin’ to do, whop me one over the ’ead with some ’erbs?”

“You know what I mean.” Maisie shook her head and placed the receiver in its cradle.

So, it appeared Madeleine Hartnell was right: The girl came from a village outside Taunton. The accuracy of the prediction unsettled Maisie even more. She felt vulnerable, as if she were crossing a lake covered in ice. Just one false step and…. She tapped the table again. She was to meet Priscilla at the Strand Palace at one o’clock. There was just enough time to go to Khan.
He is the one to whom
I
have turned, Maisie, in times of spiritual darkness
. She would go now, before the cloud she felt looming ahead came any closer.

T
HE LARGE HOUSE
in Hampstead had not changed since she first entered it as a young girl, brought by Maurice Blanche to meet Dr. Basil Khan on what he described as an
educational visit
. It was from Khan that Maisie learned that seeing was not necessarily something one did with the eyes; there was a depth of vision to be gained from stillness, a vision that had stood her in good stead ever since. And it was to Khan that Maurice brought Maisie again, in the early days of her return from France in 1917, so that his insight, calm, and healing presence might bring peace to a young woman wounded in body and spirit. He had not failed her but simply asked her to tell her story again and again and again, and in the telling she had begun the journey of ridding herself of death’s ugly stench, a clinging vapor she thought had laid claim to her senses forever.

A young man in a white cotton robe answered the door and bowed to Maisie, bidding her to enter the spacious yet plain hexagonal hallway.

“I have come to see him—if I may?”

“I shall ask. It is Miss Dobbs, is it not?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

The young man bowed, his hands pressed together in front of his chest, and left the room.

Maisie walked to the bay window that looked out across the garden at the front of the house. A dense privet hedge obscured a view of the road, offering privacy from the curiosity of passersby. There were two statues in the garden, which was fragrant with flowers and shrubs not immediately familiar to Maisie. One statue had been brought from Ceylon. It was of the Buddha, sitting with legs crossed. Rose petals had been left at the base of the statue and around the neck. The other, perhaps surprisingly, was of St. Francis. At the foot of this statue, a small feeding platform for birds had been placed. Maisie smiled as a thrush settled on one of St. Francis’s arms before hopping down for a repast of bread crumbs.

Khan’s students came from all over the world, accommodated in the many rooms of the large house. In addition to the young men and women who stayed for months at a time, Khan held daily audiences with others who sought his counsel. Those who came represented a broad spectrum of influence, be they men of politics, commerce, or the cloth; it was from such sources that bills for upkeep of the house and property were paid—though the material needs of its occupants were few.

The young man entered again, and Maisie was led to Khan’s rooms. The reception room was much as she remembered it as a girl, though today the floor-to-ceiling windows were closed and the white curtains did not billow majestically as they had on that first visit. She removed her shoes before entering the spartan room. Khan sat cross-legged on cushions, positioned so he faced outward, to the natural light. Maisie moved toward him, and as she came closer he turned. She took the wizened clawlike hand extended to her and leaned forward to brush her lips against his forehead.

“I am glad you are in my house again, Maisie Dobbs.”

“And I too, Khan.”

“You have only a short time, no doubt.”

“Yes.”

Khan nodded as Maisie silently knelt on a cushion close to him and then sat with her legs to the side. She rested one hand on the floor and smiled at Khan, and though he could not see her, he turned to her once more and smiled. As he faced the window again, Maisie saw a single fly land on his forehead and crawl to his ear and then his nose before flying away into the room. Khan did not even flinch. She knew she would have to speak first, and that her words must be from the heart.

“I am afraid, Khan.”

He nodded.

“I have been asked to take on a case that I feel—no, I
fear
—will compromise my spirit. I do not feel on safe ground with this work, even though I have my practice, my stillness. And I have no evidence of such a threat, though I am required to be in communication with those who claim to open channels to the other side.”

There was silence in the room. Then Khan spoke.

“Then what moves you to take this work?”

“I…well, at first I had thought to decline; however, a young girl needs legal representation, and it appeared that I could secure counsel for her as part of my payment.”

Khan lifted his head as the sun warmed the windowpanes. “And which young girl are you helping?” It might have been Maurice talking.

Maisie’s eyes became moist as she blurted out her confession. “I have missed her so much, Khan, so very much. I’ve always known she was with me, really, and I didn’t want my father to feel he couldn’t be everything to me, I didn’t want him to know I grieved so deeply for my mother. Then, when he almost died, I—”

Khan turned to her, and she began to sob.

“I want to help this girl. I can’t bear it that she could end up incarcerated for the rest of her life. That she be sent away….” Maisie fought to compose herself. “And I have been afraid that if I go to France, the memories—”

Khan allowed her to weep, her shoulders shaking as he laid a hand upon her head. Then he spoke.

“My child, when a mountain appears on the journey, we try to go to the left, then to the right; we try to find the easy way to navigate our way back to the easier path.” He paused. “But the mountain is there to be crossed. It is on that pilgrimage, as we climb higher, that we are forced to shed the layers upon layers we have carried for so long. Then we find that our load is lighter and we have come to know something of ourselves in the perilous climb.”

Maisie looked up as he spoke, his melodious voice compelling her to listen carefully.

“Do not seek to avoid the mountain, my child, for it has been placed there at a perfect time. It will only become larger if you seek to delay or draw back from the ascent.”

Maisie said nothing, but she moved away and pulled a handkerchief from her pocket to wipe her eyes and nose.

“Know that you are protected, child. That in your practice and belief lies your strength.” Khan closed his eyes and appeared to be sleeping. He was a very old man, and he was tired, but he had one final message. “And you are blessed, both in those who protect you, and in those you seek to protect.”

Maisie came silently to her feet, kissed Khan once more on the forehead, and walked away, slipping on her shoes at the door before leaving the room. A student escorted her to the front door, and she pressed a half-crown into his hand. He bowed, turned, and was gone. The door closed behind her. The mountain loomed ahead. She squared her shoulders to face it.
Yes, but what do I believe in?