generous helping of fresh clotted cream. After dinner Maisie and Lady Rowan returned to the drawing room, to sit beside the fire until Lady Rowan announced that it was past time for her to be in bed.
Maisie made her way to the guest room that had been prepared for her visit. Nora had already unpacked Maisie's small bag and laid out her nightclothes on the bed. Later, as she snuggled closer to the hot water bottle that warmed the sheets, Maisie remembered, as she always did when she slept at the Compton residence, the nights she'd spent in the servants' quarters at the top of the house.
She left before breakfast the next morning, stopping quickly to drink tea with Carter and Mrs. Crawford, and to collect the apple pie. Billy Beale would love that apple pie, thought Maisie. She might need it when she asked him if he would take on a very delicate task for her. In fact, as the plans began to take shape in her mind, she might need more than apple pie for Billy Beale.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
' Right then. Watch carefully, miss. 'Ere's how you start 'er up.'
The young chauffeur walked around to the front of the 1927 MG 14/40 two-seater roadster, and put his hand on the engine cover.
'You've basically got your five steps to starting this little motor, very straightforward when you know what you're about, so watch carefully.'
George enjoyed the attention that came as a result of his expertise in the maintenance and operation of the Compton's stable of very fine motor cars.
'First you lift your bonnet, like so.'
George waited for Maisie to nod her head in understanding before continuing with his instructions, and as he turned his attention once again to the MG, she grinned with amusement at his preening tutorial.
'Right. See this--you turn on your fuel. Got it?'
'Yes, George.'
George closed the engine cover, and indicated for Maisie to move away from the side of the car so that he could sit in the driver's seat.
'You set your ignition, you set your throttle, set your choke--three moves, got it?'
'Got it, George.'
'You push the starter button--on the floor, Miss--with your foot and--'
The engine roared into life, perhaps somewhat more aggressively than usual, given the enthusiasm of George's lesson.
'There she goes.'
George clambered from the seat, held open the door, and, with a sweep of his hand, invited Maisie to take his place.
'Think you've got all that, Miss?'
'Oh yes, George. You explained everything very clearly. As you say, it's very straightforward. A lovely motor.'
'Oh, nice little runner, to be sure. 'Cording to them at Morris Garages, this one can do sixty-five miles an hour--up to fifty in the first twenty-five seconds! 'Er ladyship goes out of 'ere like a shot out of a gun, doesn't know where she's going, but goes like a shot anyway. Comes back all red in the face. Worries me with them gears though. Talk about crunch! Makes me cringe when I 'ear it. Thank 'eavens for us all that she don't get out in it much anymore. Now, then, sure of your way?'
'I'm sure, George. Down the Old Kent Road, and just keep on from there, more or less. I've done that journey many a time when I was younger.'
''Course, you was at Chelstone, wasn't you? Mind you, if I were you, I'd go out onto Grosvenor Place, then along Victoria Street, over Westminster Bridge, St. George's Road, and just the other side of the Elephant and Castle. . . .'
'I think I can remember the way, George, and thank you for the advice.'
George walked around to the back of the MG and dropped Maisie's bag into the car's rear luggage compartment, while she made herself comfortable in the rich claret leather seat. He checked once again that her door was closed securely before standing back and giving her a mock salute.
Maisie returned the wave as she eased the smart crimson motor car out into the mews. It wasn't until she was across the Thames and past the Elephant and Castle that Maisie felt she could breathe again. At every turn she sat up straight and peered over the steering wheel, making sure that each part of the vehicle was clear of any possible obstruction. She had learned to drive before returning to Cambridge in 1919, but took extra care as it had been quite some time since she'd had an opportunity--although she did not want to admit as much to George. In fact, she did not change from first gear until she was well out of George's hearing, fearing a dreadful roaring as she reacquainted herself with the intricacies of the double-de-clutch maneuver to change gear.
It was a fine day in early June, a day that seemed to predict a long hot summer for 1929. Maisie drove conservatively, partly to minimize chances of damage to the MG and partly to savor the journey. She felt that she only had to smell the air and, blindfolded, she would know she had arrived in Kent. And no matter how many times she came back to Chelstone, every journey reminded her of her early days and months at the house. As Maisie drove, she relaxed and allowed her mind to wander. Memories of that first journey from the house in Belgravia came flooding back. So much had happened so quickly. So much that was unexpected yet, looking back, seemed so very predictable. Ah, as Maurice would say, the wisdom of hindsight!
Drawing to a halt at the side of the road to pull back the roadster's heavy cloth roof, Maisie stood for a moment to look at the medley of wildflowers that lined the grass verge. Arrowheads of sunny yellow charlock were growing alongside clumps of white field mouse-ear, which in turn were busily taking up space and becoming tangled in honeysuckle growing over the hedge. She leaned down to touch the delicate blue flower of the common speedwell, and remembered how she had loved this county from the moment she first came to work for the dowager. It was a soft patchwork-quilt land in which she found solace from missing her father and the Belgravia house.
