Maisie stood up straighter, twisted a handkerchief around the sore finger, and brought her hand to her side.
"The Dowager Lady Compton has only a small staff," said Lady Rowan, "as befits her needs. Aside from her personal maid and a nurse, household staff do not live at the dower house but at the manor. When we are in residence, as you know, Carter and Mrs. Crawford travel to Chelstone to join the staff. However, Mrs. Johnson, the housekeeper, is in sole charge of the household at Chelstone while we are in London."
Lady Rowan paused for a moment, walked to the window, and crossed her arms. She took a moment to look out at the garden before turning back into the room to continue.
"Employment with my mother-in-law will allow you some--let us say 'leeway'--to continue your work with Dr. Blanche. In addition you will not be subject to some of the scrutiny that you have experienced in recent weeks, although you will report to Mrs. Johnson."
Maisie looked at her feet, then at Carter, Lady Rowan, and Dr. Blanche, all of whom seemed to have grown several inches while Lady Rowan was speaking.
Maisie felt very small. And she was worried about her father.
As she remained silent, Carter raised an eyebrow, indicating that she should speak.
"Is there a bus so I can get back to London to see my father on Sundays?"
"There is a train service from the village, on the branch line via Tonbridge. But you may wish to make the visits to Mr. Dobbs farther apart, since the distance requires several hours of travel," replied Maurice Blanche.
Then he suggested that Maisie be given a day to consider the offer.
"You will see Mr. Carter with your decision tomorrow at five o'clock in the afternoon, Maisie?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir--and thank you, Your Ladyship, Mr. Carter."
"Right you are. I will bid you goodnight."
Carter bowed to Lady Rowan, as did Dr. Blanche, while Maisie bobbed a curtsy, and put her hand back in her pocket, lest the company see her handkerchief bloodied from the bitten hangnail.
"I think, Mr. Carter, that Maisie should continue with her household responsibilities this evening, rather than her assignments from me. Such endeavors will be a useful accompaniment to the process of coming to a decision.'
"Right you are, sir. Maisie?"
Maisie curtsied again, then left the room to return to her duties.
Blanche walked over to the window and looked out at the gardens. He had anticipated young Maisie's challenges, which had come later than he might have expected. How he despised wasted talent! He knew that the move to Kent would be a good one for her, but the decision to pursue her opportunity was one Maisie alone would have to make. He left the house, wending his way to familiar streets south of the Thames.
It surprised the staff when Frankie Dobbs came unsummoned to the back door of the kitchen the next morning, to report that some very nice lettuces and tomatoes had just been brought in from Jersey, and would Mrs. Crawford be needing some for the dinner party on Friday night?
Usually Frankie would not see Maisie when he came to the house to deliver fruit and vegetables each week, but on this occasion Mrs. Crawford took no time at all to summon Maisie to see her father, for she knew that the motive for Frankie Dobbs's appearance extended beyond urgent notification of what was best at Covent Garden 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.