Maisie waited as Maurice drew again on his pipe. A “but” was imminent.
“As you will have seen from the notes, Waite was an interested and generous benefactor of my clinics in the poorer areas of east and southeast London. He gave immediately and unstintingly, but . . .” Maurice drew breath deeply and cupped the pipe in both hands, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair. “But he is a man who likes to be in control, or to at least
“What happened, Maurice?”
“In short, he began to instruct me in the finer points of doing my job. That may seem harmless enough. However, his instructions revealed deep prejudices. He began to make demands regarding the type of people my staff could or could not serve at the clinics. He tried to stipulate the nature of illnesses or indispositions that we could and could not treat. The people who came to the clinics were human beings, and as a doctor I could not turn away one who was sick, whether a felon or a drunkard, though certainly those who abused their health were subjected to strong words of advice.”
Maisie was thoughtful as Maurice carefully composed the next part of his story.
“As with his shops, Waite had the habit of turning up at the clinics unannounced. I had always allowed access to benefactors. After all, seeing the work done on behalf of the poor encouraged further contributions from them. Few came. However, Waite was one of those who wanted to see his money at work. On the occasion in question—I was not there at the time—one of my staff was interviewing a girl. She was very young and with child herself, though at an early stage.” Maurice brushed some ash from his sleeve. “Those who helped at the clinic were instructed by me personally that our concern was for the health of the mother and her unborn child. We’d given refuge to young women in similar situations, or placed them where they would be cared for. They were never to be put in a position of having to give up a child.” Blanche shook his head. “The clinics are not large affairs, usually just two or three rooms, then a little extra space to store supplies. Though we do all we can to ensure confidentiality, Waite heard part of the conversation, rushed to judgment and gave the nurse and the young girl—already emotionally unstable—a piece of his mind. The girl ran away. I was alerted at the earliest opportunity and left Waite in no doubt that his money was no longer welcome.”
Relations between Maurice and Waite at the time must have been incendiary, thought Maisie. “What happened to the girl?”
Maurice sighed. “By the time my staff located her, she had already taken her problem to a back alley. She was rushed to the clinic again. It was too late. I did all I could to save her life, but she died clutching my hand.”
“Oh!” Maisie brought her hands to her mouth.
Maurice stood up and tapped tobacco from his pipe against the brick of the fireplace, emptying it into the grate. “Even from Chelstone, I am still very involved in the work of my clinics. All the more reason to ensure that the health of women and children is provided for and protected by those who are qualified for such a task. I also now ensure that no benefactor visits a clinic without my express permission. A gift is unconditional by its very nature. Waite brought his tendency to dominate, along with prejudices rooted in experience, into my clinic and, I believe, killed an innocent child. No—two innocent children. I refused later requests to accept funds from him. A difficult man, Maisie.”
They were both silent for several moments. Maurice suggested a walk to the orchard. Fortunately Maisie had dressed with such an excursion in mind, knowing Maurice’s maxim: “To solve a problem, take it for a walk.” Her dark brown trousers, fashionably wide, were complemented by brown walking shoes, an ivory linen blouse and a light-brown-and-cream Harris tweed jacket with a shawl collar and large square pockets at the hips.
They strolled through still-damp grass and trees laden with blossom buds that gave a promise of summer’s bounty, and they spoke of Maisie’s work, her challenges, and how she had fared in the year since Maurice formally retired and she had set up in business on her own. Finally, Maisie spoke of her worries about Billy.
“My dear, I believe you already know what is at the root of Mr. Beale’s erratic behavior.”
“I have my suspicions,” she confessed.
“How might you confirm them in such a way as to protect Billy?”
“First of all, I think I should visit All Saints’ Convalescent Hospital in Hastings. It’s where Billy was sent after being discharged from hospital in London. They should still have his medical records. The problem will be gaining access to them.”
“I think I can help, my dear. The physician in charge is known to me: He was one of my students at King’s College in London.”
“Maurice, I do believe you know everyone!” Maisie moved a low bough aside as they walked through an avenue of trees.
“Not quite, but my contacts are useful. I will telephone him prior to your arrival—when will you go?”
“This afternoon. I know they are open for visitors on a Saturday.”
“Good.”
“Of course, what I really need to do is find a way to get him to a doctor to do something about the continued pain in his leg.”
Maurice stopped. “Maisie, I sense that Billy has had enough of doctors. Sometimes people who have endured a chronic illness cannot face even a discussion with a doctor. And though I am a doctor, I can say that often there is good reason for such a reaction. We don’t have all the answers.”
“What do you suggest?”
“First, you must find out whether your suspicions are grounded. Then you must confront Billy. You know this already. But a confrontation of this sort is best followed by a plan, an idea, a lens through which the future can be viewed once the secret has been revealed. May I make a suggestion?”
“Oh, please.”
“I suggest that you bring Mr. Beale to the Dower House, where I would like him to meet a new acquaintance of mine.”
Maisie inclined her head. “He’s a German by birth, though he came to this country as a child. While he was interned during the war, he met a very interesting man, also a German. The man had developed a means of exercise and movement that helped maintain health in the camp: Even during the first flu epidemic in 1917, not one
