Messenger of Truth

“No, not Harry.” Noelle sighed. “Is he in trouble again? Is that why you came?”

“I came because I’ve been to Nick’s cottage a second time, and I have some questions, if you don’t mind.”

They were interrupted by the housekeeper, who brought tea, biscuits and cake. Noelle continued after pouring a cup for Maisie.

“And how can I help?”

“I understand that three people went to the cottage after Nick died. I assumed the visitors were you, Georgina and your father.”

Noelle nodded. “Yes, that’s right. Frankly, it was so upsetting that we only stayed for a short time. We thought we’d go back again in a few weeks. The cottage will be sold, obviously, but frankly, Emma just wants everything left as it was, for now—and I must respect her wishes.” She leaned forward to set her cup on the tray. “To tell you the truth, if it were completely up to me, I would have everything sold immediately, no hanging on, get it over with and get on with life. Now that is what Nick would have wanted.”

Maisie nodded, acknowledging the practicality of Noelle’s approach. “So, nothing much was taken?”

“Well, Georgie was in no fit condition to see the cottage, let alone think of what should be removed. I couldn’t just crumble like that, but Georgina fell to pieces.” She looked at Maisie directly. “Not what one would expect from the valiant reporter, is it?”

“The cottage was left as you found it, then?”

“For the most part. Piers looked around more than I, to tell you the truth. Nick was actually quite a tidy person, liked a certain order. Of course, the army does that for you. Godfrey was the same, though I only saw him on one leave before he was killed, but I noticed it, that order, so to speak.”

Maisie saw that when she spoke of her husband, Noelle’s jaw tightened. She placed her cup on the tray and waited for Noelle to continue.

“Piers began to go through some of the sketchbooks, but found it too hard, though he did take a couple or three with him.”

“Your father took Nick’s sketchbooks?”

The woman nodded. “Yes, though I couldn’t tell you where he’s put them, probably in the studio.” She paused. “Is it important?”

Maisie shrugged, an air of nonchalance belying her instinct. “No, I doubt it, though it would be interesting to see them. I have leafed through the remaining sketchbooks, so I would be curious to see the work that your father considered worthy of keeping. Your brother’s art is compelling, to say the least.”

Noelle gave a half laugh. “As you know, I’m not an artist, though one cannot live under the Bassington-Hope roof and be completely untouched. Yes, as you’ve seen, my brother touched a fuse every time he lifted his brush or wielded a charcoal. If you saw his work, you saw what he was thinking, how he saw the world. He wasn’t afraid.”

“I know. But were there others who were afraid?”

“Good question, Miss Dobbs. Yes, others were afraid.” She paused again, taking a biscuit from the tray and breaking it in pieces, which she fed to the Labrador one by one before turning back to Maisie. “Look, I know Georgina has told you that I’m a tweedy old widow before my time, but I am not without eyes. I have seen people come to shows where Nick’s work was exhibited, only to reveal absolute relief not to see their own faces somewhere on a canvas. As I said before, I thought he took chances, really he did. You never knew when someone might get bloody-minded about it. On the other hand, look at those landscapes, the mural work. I admired him enormously—and make no mistake, Miss Dobbs, I admire my sister as well. Georgina is terribly brave, though we don’t always agree. But she should never have come to you, there is nothing suspicious about Nick’s death and this dredging up of the past can only prevent us from coming to terms with the fact that he’s gone.”

“Yes, of course, but—”

“Oh, look, here’s Piers.” Noelle went quickly to the doors that led into the garden and opened them for her father to enter. Maisie realized that when she had seen Piers and Noelle on her previous visit, Georgina and Emma were there. She had not seen the patriarch alone with his eldest daughter before, and was immediately struck by the concern and affection demonstrated between them. In the moments that followed, as the dog barked a greeting, and Noelle took her father’s coat and handed him a much-worn cardigan that had been draped across the corner of a chair, she understood the place that each held in the other’s world. Maisie remembered, years ago, a book. Why had she read that book? Perhaps it was given to her by Maurice, or had she taken it up herself, drawn, perhaps by the author’s reputation? What was it? The Rainbow, yes, that was it, the novel by D. H. Lawrence. There was one image that remained with her, had caused her to think about her own life and wonder, How might it have been if…yes, it was The Rainbow. Hadn’t the father, Will Brangwen, taken the eldest child, Ursula, as his own when more children were born? And hadn’t the girl sought out Will to be both mother and father to her? Was that what she saw now, in Piers and Noelle? When the twins were born, Emma Bassington-Hope had perhaps immersed herself in the new babies, leaving Noelle to turn to her father for comfort. Piers loved all his children, of that there was no doubt, but it was Noelle, sensible Noelle, whom he had taken under his wing.

Was it her father who comforted her when she learned of her widowhood? Maisie imagined his suffering as he held the grief-stricken young bride, the daughter whose hand he had placed in the hand of the kindly Godfrey Grant, the words “Who giveth this woman?” echoing in his ears. Had Piers stepped forward as her protector, even as she pushed despair to one side to care for the injured Nick when he came home from France? And now Noelle had taken on the responsibility for her aging parents, knowing that there would never be another marriage, there would never be children and that if she was to be of account in her own eyes, she must make something of herself in her community.

“Lovely to see you again, Maisie, my dear. Emma has stopped in the studio, a pressing need to immerse herself in her work.” Piers turned to Noelle as she passed a cup of tea to him with one hand, while shooing a warmth- seeking Labrador away to the corner with the other. “Thank you, Nolly.”

“I hope you don’t mind me dropping in to see you, I was passing through town,” Maisie explained.

Piers leaned back. “Remember, our children’s friends are always welcome, Maisie, though I do wish Georgie hadn’t got you involved in questioning Nick’s accident.”

“That’s what I said.” Noelle offered cake to Piers, who raised an eyebrow as if taking forbidden fruit and helped himself to a slice. She placed a plate on his knee, along with a table-napkin. “Though I am sure Maisie has come to