of those interned was lost. In fact most of those in the camp were released in a healthier state than before the war, despite being poorly nourished. The physical movements incorporated in the regimen have been used to rehabilitate the severely wounded with great success. My friend is a practitioner of the regimen.”
“Who is he?”
“Gideon Brown. After the war he changed his surname from Braun, and his Christian name from Gunther to Gideon. It made life a little less difficult for him, given the manner in which those of German extraction were treated at the time. The man whose work he has followed now lives in America. His name is Joseph Pilates.”
Maisie smiled. “I’m glad that at least I have the bare bones of a plan now . . . But my first step is All Saints’. In fact, I may be able to kill two birds with one stone, as Rosamund Thorpe lived in the same area.” Maisie checked her watch. “Eleven o’clock. If I leave by noon, I should be there by half past one.”
“You’d better get along then, hadn’t you, Maisie? Remember to ask for Dr. Andrew Dene. I will have spoken with him by telephone before you arrive.”
CHAPTER NINE
Maisie reversed the MG out of the narrow lane onto the carriage sweep that led from the main gate to the manor house. As she drove slowly along the gravel road, Lady Rowan waved from the edge of the lawn where she was walking with Nutmeg and Raven, her two black Labradors, and a Welsh Springer Spaniel who answered to the name of Morgan. Though Lady Rowan walked with the aid of a silver-tipped cane, her posture gave the impression of youthfulness. She wore a tweed walking skirt, a brown corduroy jacket and a small fur scarf around her neck. Her ensemble was topped off by a jaunty brown felt hat, a single feather pinned to the band with an amethyst brooch. She waved again at Maisie, who slowed the car to a halt.
Maisie stepped from the MG. “Lady Rowan, how are you?”
“Hallo, Maisie, dear. So lovely to see you. How is the motor car running? Serving you well, I hope.”
“Oh, yes, very well indeed.” Maisie smiled warmly. “It’s never broken down, and goes very smoothly. I’m off to Hastings this afternoon.”
“Anything exciting, Maisie?” Before Maisie could respond, Lady Rowan held her hand up. “I know, I know, you can’t divulge the nature of your work. I never learn, do I? It’s just that you always seem to be involved with something so very intriguing!” Lady Rowan’s eyes crinkled to emphasize not a little envy at Maisie’s employment. “Mind you, I’ve had my day, Maisie, I’ve had my day.”
“No you haven’t, Lady Rowan. What’s all this I hear about breeding racehorses?”
“It’s most thrilling. Your good father and I have pored over breeding records. He is a most knowledgeable man when it comes to horses, so we expect to see the will to win in the eyes of this one! I confess I am beside myself with anticipation, which is why I am pacing back and forth across the lawn. Otherwise I would make a nuisance of myself in the stable.”
“Dad’s keeping an eye on the mare, but he said it could be a day or two yet.”
“When do you leave, Maisie? Will you come to see me before you go back to London?” Lady Rowan refrained from displaying the affection that would embarrass them both, but in truth she viewed Maisie almost as a daughter.
“I am here until tomorrow, Lady Rowan. Aren’t you coming back to London at the end of this week?”
“Hmmm. I confess, I’m tempted to stay at Chelstone until after Merriweather foals.”
“Shall I call on you when I get back from Hastings?”
“Yes, that would be lovely. Don’t let me detain you a moment longer. Come along, Nutmeg. Morgan, come here! Oh dear, it seems I’ve lost Raven again.”
Maisie laughed, took her seat in the MG, and continued down the driveway, then along the country lanes until she joined the main road for Tonbridge. The journey to Hastings was an easy one. She saw few vehicles as she cruised through the Weald of Kent, crossing into Sussex near Bodiam, where she could see parts of the old castle beyond the hop gardens.
She entered Hastings from the east, negotiating the narrow streets of the Old Town, which was still so much like a fishing village, in stark contrast to the development along the promenade toward St. Leonards, built up during Queen Victoria’s reign to cater for the town’s increase in popularity with day-trippers.
Her first stop would be a visit to All Saints’ Convalescent Hospital, a red-brick mansion on the Old Town’s East Hill. It commanded sun-filled views over the channel on a good day, only to be battered by wind and rain when the weather turned. It was just after one o’clock, she had estimated the journey exactly. Because it was such a fine day, Maisie decided to park the car along Rock-a-Nore, then take the path that led alongside tall wooden net shops where fishermen hung out their nets to dry. She would make her way to the East Hill via the Old Town’s small funicular railway, a carriage that took passengers from sea level to the upper lift station, with its castellated towers that each contained an iron tank filled with more than one thousand gallons of water to operate the water-balance lift. Once outside the station, visitors would set off along the cliffs, where they could enjoy the fresh, if sometimes biting, sea air. At the top Maisie would have just a short walk to All Saints’.
Having made her way past the shacks with counters where day-trippers bought small bowls of tasty jellied eels, whelks, or winkles, or strolled while lunching on fish and chips wrapped in newspaper, Maisie bought her ticket, and found that her companions on the ascent were four women clad in walking skirts, leather boots, and heavy pullovers; they were clearly prepared for a day’s hiking. She felt her stomach turn when the funicular began to move. As the carriage made its way up the cliff, Maisie wondered if Billy had used this means of coming down into the town when he had reached a point in his convalescence at which short excursions were allowed. She knew that he had met Doreen in Hastings. Had it been on her day off, perhaps, when each had gone with friends to the pier to listen to the band and drink sarsaparilla? She imagined Billy cracking jokes as Doreen blushed and turned away toward her group, then back again to smile in a way that was just a little coy. The carriage lurched again, and Maisie waited while the four women alighted first, maps flapping in the wind, one pointing toward the Firehills at Fairlight where out-of-work Welsh miners had been brought in to create a series of walking paths along the cliffs.
Seagulls whooped and called below her as she walked along the edge of the East Hill. From her vantage point she could see the rooftops below. The architecture revealed the history of the town, from beamed medieval hall houses with huts and fish smokers in the back, to Regency mansions, and brick two-up-two-down cottages built perhaps only sixty years earlier.
