health was still so fragile, carrying the baby brought with it a risk of miscarriage or stillbirth.
'Reckon it'll be an October baby-she's about three months gone now.' He blushed. 'The doctor said we had to be careful, and I know she's not very happy about it, but it's not like we meant it to happen, and Doreen-'
Maisie reached out and placed her hand on his arm. 'I am sure everything will be all right, Billy.'
'I reckon so. Doreen's really perked up, though she's a bit off-color of a morning.' He smiled again. 'Well, this won't do, will it? I'd better get on with some work today. Cuppa tea?'
'I'd love one, Billy.'
As he left the room with the tea tray, Maisie walked to the window to look out across Fitzroy Square. Daffodils nodded their golden heads in a light breeze, reminding Maisie of a column of excited schoolchildren in yellow uniforms. A few clouds scudded across the sky, and she thought there might be some rain before the day's end. Her heart was full with Billy's news, and with all that had happened in the past weeks. Maurice's funeral was just two days away and, in truth, she dreaded the moment when she would have to say a final good-bye.
The day of the funeral was bright but not too warm. Once again Maisie dressed in her black day dress, a black cloche, and black shoes, and longed for the day to be over. When they arrived at Chelstone village church, she could barely believe the number of people who had come to pay their respects. Among those she knew-Lord Julian, Lady Rowan, James Compton, Maurice's housekeeper, Billy Beale, Andrew Dene-were several men whom she recognized to be government ministers. Richard Stratton and Robert MacFarlane from Special Branch were there, wearing black armbands to signify they were mourners. She was somewhat surprised to see the famous pathologist Sir Bernard Spilsbury, along with various men and women of letters, some of whom she had met years ago, when she was Maurice's eager student.
As she moved towards the church with her arm linked through her father's, she felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Brian Huntley, whom she had met through Maurice almost two years before. He was with the Secret Service.
'Miss Dobbs. Allow me to express my condolences. He will be greatly missed.'
'Yes, he will, Mr. Huntley. It was good of you to come today.'
'He was a most trusted servant. I learned much from working for him.' He cleared his throat, and lowered his voice to a whisper. 'I am sure we will meet again soon, Miss Dobbs.'
'I'm sorry, Mr. Huntley, I-'
Huntley gave a brief smile, and turned to enter the church.
'All right, love?' asked Frankie.
'Yes, Dad. Don't worry. It's time now-we'd better go in.' She increased her hold on her father's arm as they followed the snake of black-clad mourners.
The service was simple and without ostentation, according to Maurice's last wishes, and following the round of prayers and hymns, he was laid to rest under the boughs of an oak tree in a far corner of the ancient churchyard. Maisie joined James and his parents to shake the hands of mourners, and was surprised when Lady Rowan insisted Maisie be first in line.
'He had no family, Maisie-I am sure he would have wanted you to stand for him.'
She stood as instructed by Lady Rowan, and when her ankles and back began to ache, wanted nothing more than to go back to her father's house to rest in a comfortable armchair with her feet up. There would be no opportunity for such repose until after a reception with light fare for invited guests at The Dower House. For his part, Frankie Dobbs preferred to return home, and had already informed Maisie, 'I'd rather sit in my kitchen and pay my respects to the old boy with my memories, if it's all the same to you.'
She had been at the reception about an hour when guests began to depart, and she thought it would not seem too soon for her to take her leave. Part of her wanted to walk through The Dower House, for she had known the property intimately, having been but a girl when she lived there as companion to the old dowager in the months before she passed away. It was after her death that Maurice had purchased The Dower House, along with a substantial acreage of land that had belonged to the property when it was first built several centuries earlier. But it was too late to take that final look now. Maurice had gone and, like her father, she wanted to honor him with her memories. She bid farewell to several guests, and informed James Compton of her leaving. They'd had precious little time to speak in recent days, and Maisie was still smarting from her conversation with Lady Rowan.
'Would you let your mother and father know that I've left? I'd rather like to sneak out, if I may-I need some fresh air.'
He took her hand. 'May I see you tomorrow, before you leave?'
'Yes, of course. A walk across the fields would clear the cobwebs a bit.'
'I couldn't tempt you onto a horse, could I?'
'Another time, James. I'd prefer to be on firm ground at the moment.'
'All right. I'll telephone in the morning.'
'See you then.'
As Maisie turned away, a man dressed in a black pinstripe suit stopped her and held out his hand in greeting.
'Miss Dobbs? We haven't met. My name is Bernard Klein, and I am Dr. Maurice Blanche's solicitor. I do hope you weren't planning to leave.'
'Actually, yes, I was. Is something wrong?'
'I have already spoken to Lord Julian and Lady Rowan, and to Dr. Andrew Dene, as well as Dr. Blanche's housekeeper-I require your attendance at a short meeting to discuss Maurice's last will and testament.'
'Oh well-it never occurred to me. Am I to be a witness to something?'
'No, not quite. Well, in a way, yes.' He consulted his watch. 'I have suggested we meet in about a quarter of an hour, in the dining room. There's a large table there for me to spread out some papers. I have two clerks waiting for us, and I've asked for tea to be served.'
'Thank you, Mr. Klein-I know I could do with a cup.' Maisie looked around the room. The last few guests were departing, so for a short time she feigned interest in a conversation between James and Andrew Dene about the latest motor cars on the market.
All too soon the house was quiet once more, and a small group comprising the Compton family, Andrew Dene, Mrs. Bromley, and Maisie filed into the dining room, where Bernard Klein stood at the head of the table, reading through a clutch of papers. He looked up over his half-moon spectacles and held out his hand towards the chairs set around a deep mahogany table. He did not speak until they were all seated.
'Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for convening here today at a time of great sadness. Maurice Blanche was a close friend to everyone around this table, including myself, so it is with heavy heart that I am now tasked with conveying the details of his last will and testament.'
Maisie looked down at her lap. She supposed that Maurice might have left her a small bequest, and perhaps some books. It occurred to her that she had never even thought about such things. She had been so caught up with a desire for his recovery that all thoughts of his passing focused on how much she would miss him. Now she was sitting here at this table with his solicitor, she thought he might he have left her his papers-perhaps that was why Huntley wanted to see her.
The senior clerk handed one set of documents to Klein, and he studied them, pushing his spectacles higher on his nose. She suspected he knew the contents by heart, but needed to consider how he should frame his words to those who loved Maurice.
'First, I will deal with the issue of Dr. Blanche's clinics. It was his wish that the work continue as long as there is a need for such medical services. If that need should diminish-as you know, he believed that it is a weak country that does not take care of its own, and he hoped for developments in that regard-he has outlined plans for the closure of the clinics, with any funds remaining to form bequests to a series of charitable concerns listed in his instructions, which form a codicil to the will.' He nodded to the junior clerk, who handed out a clutch of pinned papers to each person present. 'As you will see, Dr. Andrew Dene is to be brought onto the Board of Governors, which will now be set on a firmer footing. Miss Dobbs will also join Lord Julian and Lady Rowan Compton and Viscount James Compton as members of the board. I will not go into the necessary details at this point, but suggest a board meeting within the week so that all parties can peruse my notes, and discussion can be embarked upon at a time when we are refreshed by time and rest. However, there is a bequest to Dr. Dene of two thousand pounds, in addition to an annual stipend in recognition of his work on behalf of the clinics-an amount of two hundred pounds per annum.'
