light the fire.
Each weekday morning Maisie rose at three to visit the library. Sometimes a party at the house would keep the Comptons up until the small hours, and the change in routine made the library expeditions a risk she could not afford. She was liked in the house, though she had been spoken to by Lord and Lady Compton only once, when she had first arrived.
Half past two. Maisie crept out of bed. It was earlier than usual, but she couldn't sleep. She had gone to bed early, so it would be just as well to get up now. Enid slept soundly, which hardly surprised Maisie as the girl hadn't been in bed long. She was becoming a late one, that Enid. As late as Maisie was early. One of these days we'll meet in the doorway, thought Maisie. Then we'll have to do some talking.
The house was silent; only the ticking of clocks accompanied her to the library. Now when she entered the room it was as if she were falling into the arms of an old friend. Even the tentacles of cold receded as she turned on the light, placed her notebook and pencil on the desk, and went to the bookshelves. She took down the book she had been reading for the past three days, sat at the desk, found her place, and commenced.
Frankie Dobbs always said that when she was reading Maisie had 'cloth ears.' She always seemed instinctively to know the time and when she would need to stop reading to run an errand or complete a chore, but as far as Frankie was concerned, 'Those ears don't even work when you've yer nose in a book!'And he loved her all the more for it.
Lord and Lady Compton were caught up in the midst of the London season, which Lady Rowan loved for its energy, even if she did have to tolerate some people she considered to be 'light.' Fortunately late nights usually fell on weekends, but this invitation, in the middle of the week, was not to be missed: an intimate yet sumptuous dinner with one of London's most outspoken hostesses.
'Thank God there's someone with a bigger mouth than mine,' Lady Rowan confided to her husband.
Guests were to include some of the leading literary lights of Europe. It was an opportunity for sparkling conversation, definitely not to be missed. Maurice Blanche would accompany them, a rare event, as he was known to shun society gatherings.
After-dinner conversation drifted past midnight. It was only as Maisie Dobbs crept downstairs to the library that Lord and Lady Compton, along with Maurice Blanche, bade their hostess adieu, thanking her profusely for a wonderful evening. They arrived home at three in the morning. Carter had been instructed not to wait up, but an evening supper tray had been left for them in the drawing room. Lady Rowan was still in fine argumentative fettle as Lord Julian led the way.
'I tell you, Maurice, this time you are mistaken. Only last week I was reading--where was I reading--oh yes, that new book. You know, Julian, what was it called? Anyway, I was reading about a new hypothesis that utterly controverts your position.'
'Rowan, could we please--' interrupted Lord Julian.
'Julian, no, we couldn't. Pour Maurice a drink. I'll find the book, then you'll see!'
'As you will, Rowan. I am very much looking forward to seeing what you have read. One always welcomes the opportunity to learn,' said Maurice Blanche.
While the men settled by the embers of the drawing-room fire, Lady Rowan stormed upstairs to the library. Maisie Dobbs was deep in her book. She heard neither footsteps on the stairs nor the approach of Lady Rowan. She heard nothing until Lady Rowan spoke. And she did not speak until she had watched Maisie for some minutes, watched as the girl sucked on the end of her single braid of thick, black hair, deep in concentration. Occasionally she would turn a page back, reread a sentence, nod her head, then read on.
'Excuse me. Miss Dobbs.'
Maisie sat up and closed her eyes tightly, not quite believing that a voice had addressed her.
'Miss Dobbs!'
Maisie shot up from the chair, turned to face Lady Rowan, and quickly bobbed a curtsy.'Sorry, Your Ladyship. Begging your pardon, Ma'am. I've not harmed anything.'
'What are you doing, girl?' asked Lady Rowan.
'Reading, Ma'am.'
'Well, I can see that. Let me see that book.'
Maisie turned, took the book she had been reading, and handed it to Lady Rowan. She stepped back, feet together, hands at her sides. Bloody hell, she was in trouble now.
'Latin? Latin! What on earth are you reading Latin for?'
Lady Rowan's surprise stemmed questions that another employer might have put to the young maid.
'Um . . . well. Um . . . I needed to learn it,' replied Maisie.
'You needed to learn it? Why do you need to learn Latin?'
'The other books had Latin in them, so I needed to understand it. To understand the other books, that is.'
Maisie shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Now she needed to pee. For her part Lady Rowan was regarding Maisie sternly, yet she felt a strange curiosity to know more about the girl she had already thought unusual.
'Which other books? Show me,' demanded Lady Rowan.
One by one Maisie took down the books, her hands shaking, her legs turning to jelly as she moved the library steps from one shelf to another. Whatever happened next, it was sure to be bad. Very bad. And she had let down her dad. How would she tell him she had been sacked? What would she say?
Maisie was so scared that she did not notice that, in her curiosity, Lady Rowan had forgotten the formality with which she would ordinarily address a servant. She asked Maisie about her choice of books, and Maisie, taking up her notebook, recounted what she had learned in her reading, and what questions had led her to each text in turn.
'My, my, young lady. You
