Maisie looked up from her work.
"Let me see."
"Whoopee! M. Dobbs to the rescue."
Priscilla got up from her place on the old armchair, where she had been sitting sideways with her legs dangling over the arm, while Maisie sat on the floor on a cushion.
"I'm going out now, and to hell with Miss What's-Her-Name downstairs' curfew."
"Priscilla, what if you get caught? You're not supposed to be out late. You could be sent down for this."
"Dear Maisie, I will not get caught, because I will not be coming in late. If anyone asks, I know you will say that I've taken to my bed. And of course, when I come in at the crack of dawn tomorrow--well--I needed the early morning fresh air to clear the mind after myindisposition."
Minutes later Priscilla reappeared, dressed from head to toe in evening wear, and carrying a small bag.
"One thing you have to admit about war, darling--there's nothing quite like a man in uniform. See you at breakfast--and for heaven's sake do stop fretting!"
"Good Lord, Maisie Dobbs, where do you think you are going with those books?"
Priscilla Evernden was leaning out of the window of Maisie's room, and turned back to draw upon the cigarette she gamely smoked through a long ivory holder. It was the end of her second term at Girton, and Maisie was packing to go back to Chelstone for Easter.
"Well, Pris, I don't want to fall behind in my work, so I thought it wouldn't hurt--"
"Tell me, Maisie, when do you ever have fun, girl?"
Maisie reddened and began to fold a cotton blouse. The intensity of her movements as she ran the side of her hand along the creases and patted down the collar revealed her discomfort.
"I enjoy reading, Priscilla. I enjoy my studies here."
"Hmmm. You'd probably enjoy it a lot more if you went out a bit. You were only away for a few days at Christmas."
Maisie smarted, remembering her return to a depressed household at the end of her first term. The war had not ended by Christmas-- as predicted--and, though nothing was said, Maisie felt that others found her studies frivolous at a time when so many women were volunteering for jobs previously held by men who had enlisted to serve their country.
Holding a woolen cardigan by the shoulders, Maisie folded it and placed it in her case before looking up at Priscilla. "You know, Priscilla, life is different for some people. I don't go back to my horses, cars, and parties. You know that."
Priscilla walked toward the armchair and sat down, folding her legs to one side. Once again she drew heavily on the cigarette, leaned her head back, and blew smoke rings toward the ceiling. Then, holding her cigarette to one side, she looked at Maisie directly. "For all my strange, peculiar privileged ways, Maisie, I am quite acute. You wear your sackcloth and ashes a little too proudly at times. We both know that you will do terribly well here. Academically. But I tell you this, Maisie--we are all a long time dead when we go, if you know what I mean. This is our only ride on the merry-go-round."
She drew again on the cigarette and continued. "I have three brothers in France now. Do you think I'm going to sit here and mourn? Hell, no! I'm going to have fun enough for all of us. Enough fun for this time on earth. And just because it took a tremendous leap for you to be here doesn't mean that you can't enjoy life along with all this--this--studying." She waved a hand toward the books.
Maisie looked up from her packing."You don't understand."
"Well, perhaps I don't. But here's what I do know. You don't have to rush back to wherever it is you are rushing back to. Not this evening, anyway. Why not go tomorrow? Come out with me tonight. We may not have a chance again."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, look at me, Maisie. I really am not cut out for all this. I received a severe reprimand when I arrived back here after my last evening out, and was reminded that when I took up my place, I had denied another, more deserving young woman the opportunity to study. Which is true, no getting away from it. So, I'm leaving--and quite frankly, I'm sick of sitting on the sidelines either listening to crusty old dons or knitting socks when I can do something far more useful. And who knows, I might even have an adventure!"
"What are you going to do?"
Maisie walked over to the chair and sat on the arm, next to Priscilla.
"Got to find yourself a new person to share rooms with, Maisie. I'm off to France."
Maisie drew breath sharply. Priscilla was the last person she thought would enlist for service."Will you nurse?"
"Good Lord, no! Did you see my church hall bandages? If there's one thing I cannot do, it's walk around playing Florence Nightingale in a long frock--although I will have to get a First Aid Nursing Certificate. No, I have other arrows to my bow."
Maisie laughed. The thought of the dilettante Priscilla having skills that could be used in France was worthy of mirth.
"You may laugh, Maisie. But you've never seen me drive. I'm off to be a Fannie!"
"A what?"
"Fannie. F-A-N-Y. First Aid Nursing Yeomanry. An all-women ambulance corps. Actually they are not in France yet--although from what I understand, it might not be long, as Mrs. McDougal--she's the head of FANY--is planning to ask the War Office to consider using women drivers for motor ambulances. Apparently you have to be twenty-three to go to France, so I am extending the truth a little-- and don't ask me how, Maisie, please."
"When did you learn to drive?"
"Three brothers, Maisie." Priscilla leaned forward to take the cigarette stub from the holder, and to press in a fresh cigarette, which she took from an engraved silver case drawn from her pocket."When you grow up with three brothers you forget your cuts, scrapes, and bruises, and concentrate on your bowling arm, on coming back in one piece from the hunting field, and on not being run over by the lugworms when they come to the table. And unless you show that you are as good at everything as they are, you find that you spend virtually all your time running behind them screaming like a banshee, 'Me too, me too!'"
Priscilla looked over her shoulder to the gardens beyond the window and bit her bottom lip. She turned and continued telling her story.
"The chauffeur taught us all to drive. At first it was only going to be the boys, but I threatened to tell all if I was not included. And now the fact is, my dear, I simply cannot have them in France without me. It's 'Me too, me too!'"
Priscilla wiped the hint of a tear from the inner corner of her left eye and smiled.
"So, what do you say to a party this evening? Despite my dismal record, I have permission to go out--probably because they will soon see the back of me, and also the hostess this evening is a benefactor. How about it, Maisie? You can go back to wherever it is you go to wash the ashes from your sackcloth tomorrow."
Maisie smiled and looked at Priscilla, sparkling in defiance of what was considered good behavior for young women at Girton. There was something about her friend that reminded her of Lady Rowan.
"Whose party?"
Priscilla blew another smoke ring.
"Given by family friends, the Lynches, for their son, Simon. Royal Army Medical Corps. Brilliant doctor. Always the one who remained at the bottom of the tree just in case anyone fell from the top branches, when we were children. He leaves for France in a day or two."
"Will they mind?"
"Maisie, I could turn up with a tribe and no one would turn a hair.
The Lynch family are like that. Oh, do come. Simon will adore it. The more the merrier for his send-off."
Maisie smiled at Priscilla. Perhaps it would do her good. And Priscilla was leaving.
"What about permission?"
"Don't worry, I'll take care of that--and I promise, all above board. I'll telephone Margaret Lynch to make the necessary arrangements."