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 examinations, meeting her early at Liverpool Street Station for the journey to Cambridge, then on to the small village of Girton, home of the famous ladies' college of Cambridge University. She remembered watching from the train window as the streets of London gave way to farmland that was soft in the way that Kent was soft, but instead of the green undulating hills of the Weald of Kent, with hedges dividing a patchwork quilt of farms, woodland, and small villages, the Cambridgeshire fens were flat, so that a person could see for miles and miles into the distance.
The grand buildings of Cambridge, the wonderful gardens of Girton College two miles north of the town, the large lecture hall, being taken to a desk, the papers put in front of her, the hours and hours of questions and answers, the nib of her pen cutting into the joint at the top of the second finger of her right hand as she quickly filled page after page with her fine, bold script, were unforgettable. Thirst had suddenly gripped at her throat until she felt faint for lack of breath as she left the hall, whose ceiling now seemed to be moving down toward her. Her head was spinning as she leaned on Maurice, who had been waiting for her. He steadied her, instructing her to breathe deeply, as they walked slowly to the village teashop.
While hot tea was poured and fresh scones placed in front of them, Maurice allowed Maisie to rest before asking for her account of each question on the examination papers, and her responses to them. He nodded as she described her answers, occasionally sipping tea or wiping a crumb from the corner of his mouth.
"I believe, Maisie, that you have done very well."
"I don't know, Dr. Blanche, sir. But I did my best."
"Of course. Of course."
"Dr. Blanche. You went to Oxford, didn't you?"
"Yes, indeed, Maisie--and I was only a little younger than you at the time. Of course, as I am male, a degree could be conferred upon me. But there will be a time, I hope before too long, when women will also earn degrees for their advanced academic studies."
Maisie flicked the long braid of jet black hair from her shoulder and felt its weight along her spine as she sat back in her chair to listen to Maurice.
"And I was also fortunate to study in Paris at the Sorbonne, and in Edinburgh."
"Scotland."
"I'm glad to see that you have a grasp of geography, Maisie."
Maurice looked over his spectacles at Maisie and smiled at her."Yes, the Department of Legal Medicine."
"What did you do there, Dr. Blanche?"
"Learned to read the story told by a dead body. Especially when the person did not die of natural causes."
"Oh . . ." said Maisie, temporarily bereft of speech. She pushed away the crumbly scone and took a long sip of the soothing tea. Maisie slowly regained energy after the ordeal of the past few hours, which she had endured along with several dozen other hopeful students." Dr. Blanche. May I ask you a question?"
"Of course."
"Why did you want to learn about the dead?"
"Ah. A good question, Maisie. Suffice it to say that sometimes one's calling finds one first. When I first came to Oxford it was to study economics and politics; then I went to the Sorbonne to study philosophy-- so you see we have similar interests there--but it was as I traveled, seeing so much suffering, that medicine found me."
"And legal medicine? The dead bodies?"
Maurice looked at his watch."That is a story for another time. Let us now walk over to the college again, where no doubt you will be studying later this very year. The gardens really are quite lovely."
The Comptons had gathered a coterie of important and influential guests, not only to sample the delights of a July weekend in the country but for animated discussion and conjecture upon the discord that had been festering in Europe since June, when the Austrian archduke was assassinated in Serbia. It was predicted that the conflict, which had started two years earlier, in 1912, in the Balkans, would become general war, and as the Kaiser's armies reportedly moved into position along the Belgian border, fear of its escalation grew. Dread stalked Europe, snaking its way from the corridors of government to the households of ordinary people.
Carter was in full battle mode for the onslaught of visitors, while Mrs. Crawford held her territory in the kitchen, blasting out orders to any maid or footman who came within range of her verbal fire. Lady Rowan swore she could hear Cook's voice reverberating through every wooden beam in the medieval manor house, though even she declined to intervene at such a time.
"Rowan, we have the very best cook in London and Kent, but I fear we also have the one with the loudest voice."
"Don't worry, Julian, you know she'll pipe down when everything's in its place and the guests start to arrive."
"Indeed, indeed. In the meantime, I wonder if I should tell the War Office about her, in advance. She could put a seasoned general to shame--have you seen how she marshals her troops? I should have every new subaltern serve in Cook Crawford's battalion for a month. We could overcome the Hun by launching meat pies clear across France and into the Kaiser's palace!"
"Julian, don't be absurd--and don't be so full of certainty that Britain will be at war," said Lady Rowan. "By the way, I understand that our Miss Dobbs received a letter from Girton this morning."
"Did she, by Jove? Well, not before time, my dear. I don't think I could bear to look at those nail-bitten fingers holding onto the tea tray any longer."
"She's had a hard life, Julian." Lady Rowan looked out of the windows and over the land surrounding Chelstone Manor. "We can't presume to imagine how difficult it has been for her. She's such a bright girl."
"And for each Maisie Dobbs, there are probably ten more that you can't save. Remember, we may not have done her any favors, Rowan. Life can be very difficult for someone of her class at Cambridge."
"Yes, I know, Julian. But times are changing. I am glad that we were able to contribute in some way."
She turned from the window to look at her husband."Now then, shall we go downstairs to see what news the letter from Girton has brought? I don't know if you've noticed, but it has gone awfully quiet in the house."
Lord and Lady Compton went together to the large drawing room, where Lord Julian rang the bell for Carter. The impeccably turned-out and always punctual butler answered the call within a minute.