Maisie Dobbs

even in the half-light. Maisie ran to Frankie and was swept up into his arms.

'My Maisie, home from the university. My word, you're a sight for your dad.'

'It's grand to be back with you, Dad.'

'Come on, let me have that case and let's get going.'

As they drove back to the house in darkness, dim lanterns set at the front of the cart swinging to and fro with each of Persephone's heavy footfalls, Maisie told Frankie her news and answered his many questions. Of course she mentioned the meeting with Enid, although Maisie left out all mention of James Compton.

'The arsenal, eh? Blimey, let's 'ope she wasn't there this afternoon.'

'What do you mean, Dad?'

'Well, you know 'is Lordship is with the War Office and all that. Well, 'e gets news before even the papers, you know, special messenger, like. He's very well--'

'Dad, what's happened?'

''is Lordship received a telegram late this afternoon. The special part of the factory went up this afternoon, the place where they 'andle the 'eavy explosives. Just as the new shift came on. Twenty-two of them munitions girls killed outright.'

Maisie knew that Enid was dead. She did not need the confirmation that came the next morning, as Lord Compton told Carter that Enid had been among the young women killed and that he should take care of informing the staff in a manner that he saw fit. Not for the first time, Maisie considered how so much in life could change in such a short time. Priscilla enlisting for service, the wonderful evening, meeting Simon Lynch--and Enid. But of the events that had passed in just three days, the picture that remained with Maisie Dobbs was of Enid, swishing back her long red hair and looking straight at Maisie with a challenge. A haunting challenge.

'You worry what you can do for these boys, Maisie. You worry about whatever it is you can do.'

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Maisie caught sight of the London Hospital in the distance and did not take her eyes off its austere eighteenth-century buildings until the bus had shuddered to a halt, allowing her to clamber down the steps from the upper deck to the street below. She looked up at the buildings, then at the visitors filing in, people leaving, many in tears, and the ambulances drawing alongside to allow their wounded and bloody cargo to be taken to the safety of the wards.

Maisie closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as if about to jump from a precipice into the unknown.

''scuse me, Miss, comin' through. You'll get run over if you stand there, young lady.'

Maisie opened her eyes and moved quickly to allow a hospital porter through carrying two large boxes.

'Can I 'elp you, Miss? Look a bit lost to me.'

'Yes. Where do I enlist for nursing service?'

'You bloomin' angel, you. You'll be just the medicine some of these poor lads need, and that's a fact!'

Positioning his left foot awkwardly against the inside of his opposite shin, the porter held the boxes steady on his knee with one hand, pushed back his flat cap, and used his free hand to direct Maisie.

'You go through that door there, turn left down the long green-tiled corridor, turn right at the end to the stairs. Up the stairs, to the right, and you'll see the enlisting office. And don't mind them in there, love--they pay them extra to wear a face as long as a week, as if a smile would crack 'em open!'

Maisie thanked the man, who doffed his cap quickly before grabbing the boxes, which were about to fall to the ground, and then went on his way.

The long corridor was busy with people lost in the huge building, and others pointing fingers and waving arms to show them the way to reach a certain ward. Taking her identification papers and letters of recommendation out of her bag, Maisie walked quickly up the disinfectant-cleaned tile staircase and across the landing to the enlisting office for nurses. The woman who took Maisie's papers glanced at her over her wire-rimmed spectacles.

'Age?'

'Twenty-two.'

She looked up at Maisie again, and peered over the top of her spectacles.

'Young-looking twenty-two, aren't you?'

'Yes, that's what they said when I went to university.'

'Well, if you're old enough for university, you're old enough for this. And doing more good while you're about it.'

The woman leafed through the papers again, looking quickly at the letter with the Compton crest that attested to Maisie's competence and age. There would be no questions regarding the authenticity of documents that bore not only an impressive livery but the name of a well-known figure at the War Office, a man quoted in newspapers from the Daily Sketch to The Times, commenting on dispatches from France.

Maisie had taken the sheets of fine linen paper from the bureau in the library at Chelstone, and written what was needed. Emboldened by Enid's challenge, she had felt only the shallowest wave of guilt. She was going to do her part for the boys, for those who had given of themselves on the fields of France.

'You've done what? Are you mad, Maisie? What about your university learning? After all that work, all that . . . .'

Frankie turned his back on Maisie and shook his head. He was silent, staring out of the scullery window of the groom's cottage, out toward the paddocks where three very healthy horses were grazing. Maisie knew better than to interrupt until he had finished.