had worked. Frankie was alone with his girl now, and he was afraid. Afraid that he couldn't do well by her, that he had nothing left to give her. No, it was settled. He had to find a place for Maisie.
It seemed to Frankie that even Persephone, his old mare, had lost pride in her step. Frankie always made sure his horse and cart were well turned out; it made a difference to business. He might be a costermonger, but there was no excuse for looking shabby. With trousers pressed under the mattress each night, a clean white collarless shirt, fresh brightly colored neckerchief, his best woolen waistcoat, and a cloth cap set jauntily on the side of his head, Frankie himself was always well turned out. 'Just because I use me 'ands to make a livin' doesn't mean to say I can't do with a bit of spit and polish,' Frankie had been heard to say.
And as he climbed up onto the driver's seat of his cart, Frankie was more than proud of his shining horse and the gleaming leather and brass traces. Persephone, a Welsh cob, trotted proudly down the street, lifting her hooves high as if she knew how good she looked. But since the death of Maisie's mother, Frankie's inner malaise was felt keenly by Persephone, who now trotted in a desultory manner, as if the family's grief had added several hundredweight to her load.
In the kitchen of the house in Belgravia, Carter and Lady Rowan's cook, Mrs. Crawford, were deep in conversation about the morning's meeting to discuss the week's dinner plans.
'What time will Mr. Dobbs be here, Cook? You'll need to have a complete list of fresh vegetables for Lady Rowan, and your menu planned for the week.'
Cook rolled her eyes. Just what she loved, being told how to do her job.
'Mr. Carter, menu suggestions are in hand. I asked Mr. Dobbs to stop by again today to give me a list of what is best at market this week. He is going out of the way to be at our service, poor man.'
'Yes indeed, Cook. Mr. Dobbs certainly has his hands full. I quite agree.'
Outside the rear entrance of the house, a horse and cart came to a halt. They could hear Frankie Dobbs talking to Persephone, putting on her nosebag of oats, telling her he wouldn't be long, then setting off down the stairs that led to the back door of the kitchen.
'That'll be him now.' Cook wiped her hands on a cloth, and went to answer the door.
'Mr. Dobbs,' she said, standing aside so that Frankie Dobbs could enter the large warm room. As he removed his cloth cap, Mrs. Crawford cast a glance at Carter, frowned, and shook her head. Frankie Dobbs looked pale and drawn.
'Good morning, Mr. Dobbs. How are you?'
'Very well, all things considered, Mr. Carter. And you?' It was a thin response, and both cook and Carter glanced at each other again. This was not the jovial, robust Frankie Dobbs they were used to doing business with. 'I've brought a list of the best vegetables and fruit this week. If I take the order today, I can deliver tomorrow morning. The broccoli and sprouts are looking very nice indeed, and of course there's some hearty cabbage at the market. I know Her Ladyship is partial to a nice bit of cabbage.'
'She certainly is, Mr. Dobbs.' Cook took the rough piece of paper from Frankie, and ran a finger down the list of vegetables. 'I think we'll need something of everything this week. Full house, you know.'
'Right you are.' Standing uneasily in the kitchen, Frankie fingered his cap.'I was wondering, Mr. Carter, if there was something I might discuss. With both yourself and Mrs. Crawford here.'
'Of course, Mr. Dobbs, sit down at the table. Cook, a cup of tea for Mr. Dobbs. What can we do for you?'
Carter faced Frankie across the heavy pine table.
'Well, it's about my girl. She's a bright lass, very bright . . .' Frankie faltered, looked at his shining boots and twisted his cap. 'Since 'er mother died, well, we was going to send 'er on to the big school . . . and she got a scholarship and all . . . but there's the money for the special clothes and books, and what with the doctor's bills . . .'
Cook placed a cup of tea in front of Frankie, leaned toward him, and covered his hand with hers. 'You're a good man, Mr. Dobbs. You'll do right by young Maisie.'
Frankie shrank at his daughter's name, afraid of what he was about to ask.'I was wonderin' if you had a place for my Maisie 'ere, like. In service. She's a good girl. 'ard worker. Very bright. You won't need to tell 'er anythin' twice. She's well mannered and speaks nicely--'er mother, God rest her soul, saw to that. I thought that after a while, she could go back to night school, you see. Take up where she left off. Loves learnin', does Maisie.'
Carter and Cook glanced at each other once again, and Carter spoke quickly.'Mr. Dobbs, it seems you have come at the right time, and in answer to a prayer, hasn't he, Mrs. Crawford?'
Cook looked at Carter and nodded her head in agreement. She had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.
'One of our more junior maids recently left service. Help is needed. Have your girl come to the house at five o'clock today--she can pick up the order for tomorrow's delivery. I think you have to check quantities, don't you, Mrs. Crawford?'
Cook nodded agreement, and looked at the list of vegetables again. They both knew that Frankie Dobbs never had to be told quantities, and always delivered exactly what was needed. Carter continued,'I'll interview her, just to make sure that she is right for the position.'
Frankie breathed a sigh of relief.
'Thank you, Mr. Carter, Mrs. Crawford. I'll be getting on now. Maisie will be here at five sharp.'
The grieving man left quickly, and before leading his horse away, put his head against the Persephone's soft nose and wept. 'It's for the best,' he whispered. 'It's for the best.'
It was the nearest he had come to having 'words' with his daughter. As Frankie broke the news to Maisie--that times were difficult, that he was only thinking of her, that he wanted her to be safe, and that the Compton household was a fine place to work--he watched the tears well up in her eyes, her jaw tighten with the effort of not giving in to the pressure to cry, and her fine, long-fingered hands clench into fists held firmly by her sides.
'But Dad, you know you need me here. I can help. I helped when Mum was ill. I can get another job, I can even do this job and come home at night, Dad.'
