Maisie Dobbs

market.

'Dad, . . . Dad!' cried Maisie as she went to her father, put her arms around his waist, and held him to her.

'Now then, now then. What's all this? What will Mr. Carter say?'

'Oh Dad, I'm so glad you came to the house. What a coincidence!'

Maisie looked at her father inquisitively, then followed him up the outside stairs to the street, where Persephone waited, contentedly eating from the nosebag of oats attached to her bridle. Maisie told Frankie about the new position she had been offered with the Dowager Lady Compton.

'Just as well I 'appened by, then, innit, Love? Sounds like just what you need. Your mother and me always wanted to live in the country, thought it would be better for you than the Smoke. Go on. You go, love. You'll still see me.'

'So you don't mind then, Dad?'

'No, I don't mind at all. I reckon bein' down there in the country will be a real treat for you. Hard work, mind, but a treat all the same.'

Maisie gave Carter her answer that evening. It was agreed with Lady Rowan that she should leave at the end of the month. Yet even though he wanted her to see and learn all there was to see and learn, Frankie often felt as if fine sand were slipping through his fingers whenever he thought of his girl, Maisie.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Maisie first came to Chelstone Manor in the autumn of 1913. She had traveled by train to Tonbridge, where she changed for Chelstone, on a small branch line. She'd brought one bag with her, containing clothes and personal belongings, and a small trunk in which she carried books, paper, and a clutch of assignments written in Maurice Blanche's compact almost indecipherable hand. And in her mind's eye Maisie carried a vision. During their last lesson before she left for Chelstone, he had asked Maisie what she might do with this education, this opportunity.

'Um, I don't really know, Dr. Blanche. I always thought I could teach. My mum wanted me to be a teacher. It's a good job for me, teaching.'

'But?'

Maisie looked at Maurice Blanche, at the bright eyes that looked into the soul of a person so that they naturally revealed to him in words what he could silently observe.

'But. But I think I want to do something like what you do, Dr. Blanche.'

Maurice Blanche made a church and steeple with his hands, and rested his upper lip on his forefingers. Two minutes passed before he looked up at Maisie.

'And what do I do, Maisie?'

'You heal people. That is, I think you heal people. In all sorts of ways. That's what I think.'

Blanche nodded, leaned back in his chair, and looked out of the library window to the walled gardens of 15 Ebury Place.

'Yes, I think you could say that, Maisie.'

'And I think you find out the truth. I think you look at what is right and wrong. And I think you have had lots of different . . . educations.'

'Yes, Maisie, that is all correct. But what about that vision?'

'I want to go to Cambridge. To Girton College. Like you said, it's possible for an ordinary person like me to go, you know, as long as I can work and pass the exams.'

'I don't think I ever used the word 'ordinary' to describe you, Maisie.'

Maisie blushed, and Maurice continued with his questions. 'And what will you study, Maisie?'

'I'm not sure. I am interested in the moral sciences, sir. When you told me about the different subjects-- psychology, ethics, philosophy, logic--that's what I most wanted to study. I've already done lots of assignments in those subjects, and I like the work. It's not so--well-- definite, is it? Sometimes it's like a maze, with no answers, only more questions. I like that, you know. I like the search. And it's what you want, isn't it, Dr. Blanche?'

Maisie looked at Maurice, and waited for his response.

'It is not what I want that is pertinent here, Maisie, but what you are drawn to. I will, however, concur that you have a certain gift for understanding and appreciating the constituent subjects of the moral sciences curriculum. Now then, you are young yet, Maisie. We have plenty of time for more discussion of this subject. Perhaps we should look at your assignments--but remember to keep those hallowed halls of Girton College uppermost in your mind.'

The old lady was not too demanding, and there was the nurse to take a good deal of the responsibility for her care. Maisie ensured that the dowager's rooms were always warm, that her clothes were freshly laundered and laid out each day. She brushed her fine gray hair and twisted it into a bun which the dowager wore under a lace cap. She read to the dowager, and brought meals to her from the main house. For much of the time, the old lady slept in her rooms, or sat by the window with her eyes closed. Occasionally, on a fine day, Maisie would take her outside in a wheelchair, or support her as she stood in the garden, insisting that she was quite well enough to attend to a dead rose, or reach up to inhale the scent of fresh apple blossom. Then she tired and leaned on Maisie as she was assisted to her chair once again. But for much of the time Maisie was lonely.

There was little conversation with staff up at the manor, and despite everything, Maisie missed Enid and her wicked sense of humor. The other members of staff at Chelstone would not speak with her readily, or joke with her, or treat her as one of their own. Yet though she missed the people she had come to love, she did enjoy having solitude for her studies. Each Saturday, Maisie walked into the village to post a brown-paper-wrapped package to Dr. Blanche, and each Saturday she picked up a new envelope with her latest assignment, and his comments on her work of the week before. In January 1914 Maurice decided that Maisie was ready to take the Girton College entrance examinations.

In March, Maurice accompanied Maisie to Cambridge for the