The writers said nothing of love when the first letter, from Simon to Maisie, was sent and received. But in the way that two people who are of one mind on any subject move closer, as if their heads were drawn together by thoughts that ran parallel toward a future destination, so the letters of Simon and Maisie became more frequent, one hardly waiting for the other to reply before setting pen to paper again. Bearing up under exhaustion that weighed on their backs and pushed like a fist between their shoulder blades, Simon and Maisie, each in a tent several miles apart, and each by the strained light of an oil lamp, would write quickly and urgently of days amid the detritus of war. And though both knew that war, and the ever-present breath of despair might have added urgency to their need to be together again, they began unashamedly to declare their feelings in the letters that were passed from hand to hand. Feelings that, with each shared experience and story, grew deeper. Then Simon wrote:
My Dearest Maisie of the Blue Silk Dress,I have been on duty for 30 hours without so much as sitting down for five minutes. Wounded started coming in again at eleven yesterday morning. I have bent over so many bodies, so many wounds that I fear I have lost count. I seem to remember only the eyes, and I remember the eyes because in them I see the same shock, the same disbelief, and the same resignation. Today I saw, in quick succession, a man and his son. They had joined up together, I suspect one or both lying about their age. And they had the same eyes. The very same. Perhaps what I see in each man is that no matter what their age (and by golly, some of them shouldn't be out of school), they seem so very old.I am due for a short leave in three weeks. I will receive orders soon. I plan to go back to Rouen for two days. I remember you said that you would be due for leave soon, too. Would it be too presumptuous for me to ask if we might possibly meet in Rouen? I so long to see you, Maisie, and to be taken from this misery by your wonderful smile and inspiring good sense. Do write to let me know.
Iris had leave at the same time as Maisie, providing Maisie with a female companion. The journey to Rouen seemed long and drawn out, until finally they reached the Hotel St. Georges.
'I swear I cannot wait to get into that bath, Maisie Dobbs.'
'Me too, Iris. I wonder if we can get our dresses cleaned. I've another day dress with me that I haven't worn. How about you?'
'Yes, me too. Not supposed to be out of uniform, but for goodness sake, this dress will walk to the laundry if I don't take it.'
Maisie and Iris hurried immediately to their assigned room. The ceilings seemed extraordinarily high and there was chipped paint on the walls and doorframe. The room itself was small and simple, containing two single beds and a washstand, but after several months of living with the roof of a leaking tent barely six inches above their heads, they saw only grandeur. Two bathrooms were situated along the red-carpeted corridor, and the ever vigilant Iris immediately checked to see whether either was already occupied.
'One already gone, I'm afraid, and he's singing at the top of his voice.'
'Golly, I am just aching for a nice hot bath,' said Maisie.
'Tell you what. I'll put on my day dress and see if I can get our laundry done, while you draw a bath. We can top and tail it--check for the dreaded lice at the same time. It'll save waiting. Did you see the officers coming in after us? Bet they'll be bagging the bathrooms a bit sharpish.'
'Don't some officers get rooms with bathrooms?'
'Oh, yes. Forgot that. Privilege and all that.'
Iris and Maisie had discarded their uniform dresses quickly, and Iris gathered the laundry and walked toward the door.
'Never know, Maisie, p'raps your Captain Lynch will let you use
'Iris!'
'Only joking, Dobbsie. Now then, go bag us a bathroom.'
The bathtub easily accommodated the two women, who lay back in the steaming water and audibly allowed the tension of the past few months to drain away.
'Bit more hot water, Maisie. Another five minutes and we'll swap ends.'
'And about time!'
Maisie turned on the hot tap and pulled the plug to allow some of the cooler water out at the same time. After wallowing for another five minutes, they swapped ends, giggling as they moved, and continued to linger in the soothing steamy heat.
'Maisie,' said Iris, as she leaned back, trying to comfortably position her head between the heavy taps,'Maisie, do you think your Captain Lynch will ask you to marry him, then?'
'Iris--'
'No, I'm not kidding you on now. I'm serious. What with the war and all. Makes you a bit more serious, doesn't it? Look at Bess White--gets a letter from her sweetheart, says he's going home on leave, she goes on leave, and boom! There they are--married, and him back at the front.'
Maisie leaned forward, dipped her head in the water and sat up, sweeping back the long dark tresses.
'Here's what I do know, Iris. I know that when this is over, when the war is done with, I'm going back to university. That's what I know. Besides, when the war's over, I don't know if I'll be . . . well, Simon comes from a good family.'
Iris looked at Maisie, then sat up and took hold of her hand.
'I know exactly what you are just about to say, Maisie, and let me tell you this, in case you haven't noticed. We are living in different times now. This war has made everything different. I've seen the letters from your dad, and from that Carter and Mrs. Whatsername with the pies. Those people, Maisie, are your family, and they are every bit as good as Simon's. And you are every bit as good as anyone Captain Simon Lynch will ever meet.'
Maisie held on to Iris's hand, bit her bottom lip, and nodded. 'It's just that--I can't explain it, but I have a feeling here,' she held her hand to her chest,'that things will change. I know, I know, Iris, what you're going to say, 'It's the war. . . .' But I know this feeling. I know it to be true. And I know that everything will change.'
'Come on. This water's going to your head, Maisie Dobbs. You are a grand nurse, Dobbsie, but I tell you, sometimes I wonder about all your wondering.'
