As she maneuvered the MG, Maisie reflected upon her visit to see her father the day before. She had entered the ward to see Frankie at the far end of the column of beds, straining forward in his sitting-up position to greet her as she approached.
“How are you, Dad?”
“Better every day, expect to be up and about soon.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I’ve just spoken to Dr. Simms, and he says that you should have two weeks convalescence by the sea before returning home, and even then, you shouldn’t be putting any weight on your right leg at all.”
Frankie was about to protest, then looked at his daughter. “You’ve got a bit more color in your cheeks, my girl, and you’re looking more rested.”
It was true, even Maisie had noticed that the gray rings usually etched under her eyes had diminished, her hair seemed more lustrous, and she felt much better, though she’d had so much on her mind that she hadn’t even noticed feeling below par in the first place. It was Maurice who pinpointed a possible reason for Maisie’s fatigue: “You’ve taken something on, Maisie. You’ve absorbed something of whatever was held inside the three women. And though being a sponge can aid in your work, it can also hinder, for becoming one with the subjects of your investigation does not necessarily help you.”
During her visit more was revealed to Maisie, more wounds were healed, more firm footing added to the ground as father and daughter tentatively made their way forward. As her reflections became illuminated by the light of understanding, so she felt a certain resentment lift, enabling her to look back on the past more kindly, with a little more compassion. And as she made her way toward Camden Abbey, she thought of Lydia, Philippa, and Rosamund, her thoughts coming back time and time again to who might not have been able to forgive them, and what it was they might have done to warrant such deep, unrelenting anger. An anger laced with a passion that led to murder.
She was close to Camden Abbey when the rain seemed to become lighter and for a moment it seemed as if the sun might manage to push its way through leaden clouds scudding across an already purplish gray sky. But that was the way of the marshes. The promise of light made it seem as if the elements were holding their collective breath. Then the observer realized that such a breath was only a minute’s respite before it started blowing again even harder, a biting wind with a volley of more stinging rain.
Parking in front of the abbey, Maisie secured the car and ran inside, where she was immersed in silence, broken only by the drip-dripping of water that came from her mackintosh.
“Dame Constance has instructed me to escort you directly to the sitting room, where you can dry off.” The young postulant avoided eye contact as she reached out to take Maisie’s outer clothing. “Your coat, hat, and gloves will be ready for you by the time you leave.”
“Thank you.” Maisie inclined her head, and followed her guide, who walked close to the wall as she made her way to the room where Maisie had met with Dame Constance previously.
Once again, a fire crackled in the grate, though this time two wing chairs had been positioned alongside the grille. Maisie sat down, and leaned back with an audible sigh. The door behind the grille slid open to reveal Dame Constance. Her eyes sparkled as she spoke.
“Good morning, Maisie.”
“Good Morning, Dame Constance. You have been most kind to encourage Miss Waite to agree to this meeting.”
“I know it’s important for you, Maisie, and the work you must do. However, my concern is primarily for Miss Waite. We have to consider how we can best be of service in her healing and recovery.”
Maisie understood that this preamble to the meeting with Charlotte was important.
“You see, when a young woman makes a petition to join the community . . .” Dame Constance looked at Maisie intently. “You are surprised? Ah, Maisie, I would have thought that you had intuited by now that Miss Waite wishes to remain here, to join us. It is an attractive option for a woman who has found a measure of solace within these walls. However, I should add that there is no instant acceptance. Ever.”
Dame Constance waited for a comment from Maisie. Then she went on. “There is a misconception that a religious community is a place of escape, that the refuge offered on a temporary basis can easily become more permanent. But that is not so. Our novices are women who are at peace with the world outside. They have enjoyed society in its broadest sense; they have had the support of loving families and in some cases no shortage of suitors. I have advised Miss Waite that her foundations must be solid before she can commit to a relationship with God. She cannot come out of fear, to hide.”
“What do you mean, Dame Constance?”
“Joining a religious order is not a means of escape. It is a positive undertaking. One’s foundation is the relationship one has with family, with one’s first love, so to speak. Charlotte Waite has had difficulties with familial interactions, especially with her father. Such difficulty represents a crack in the foundation. The house of her future cannot be built if her very foundations are compromised.”
Maisie frowned, thinking of her own situation rather than Charlotte’s. Was that why she had felt such loneliness? Had it been the rupture in her relationship with Frankie that had prevented her from making other associations, so that she felt that she was always missing the mark in some way? Never quite able to join in, and surprised when she did? Never able to open her heart to another? Perhaps. After all, hadn’t she noticed, now she came to think of it, a greater ease in her more personal interactions of late? She thought of Andrew Dene.
“Ah, I see you understand, Maisie.”
“Yes, I think I do, Dame Constance.”
The nun smiled, then continued. “I believe that Charlotte Waite might reveal to you what is at the heart of discord between her father and herself. I will summon Miss Waite to meet you, but I will remain during your interview, at her request, though she will join you here in the sitting room.”
“Thank you, Dame Constance.”
The small door closed and Maisie was left alone with her thoughts. She would rather have seen Charlotte alone, but was grateful for any meeting. She had undertaken to urge Charlotte to return to Dulwich, to her father’s home. But in so doing, would she be persuading Charlotte to risk her life? Might she be putting the lives of others in
