Leaving Everything Most Loved

by Jacqueline Winspear

  Usha Pramal’s room at the top of the house seemed hollow without her books and other personal belongings arranged on shelves—they had been gathered and placed in a box by the door; Maisie would have them collected and given to her brother. There was now barely any sense that she had lived in this room in the eaves of a Georgian house so far from her beloved home. Maisie closed her eyes and at once saw the image of a woman with fine features, her olive-brown skin and almond eyes rimmed with kohl; her stride full as she walked tall along the street, her sari caught by a summer’s breeze.

  Maya Patel’s room had also been emptied of her belongings—just her Bible remained in a cupboard by the bed. Maisie took out the leather-bound book, and noted it was a type with each gospel indented. A ribbon had been laid through the book of Exodus. She suspected the room had been cleared with some speed, probably only the day before; perhaps the police had finally given permission. It was interesting that no one else had noticed the marked place and gauged its potential importance. In pencil, lines had been drawn through one of the Commandments, indicating that Maya Patel had considered what it meant to possess graven images of any other deity considered to be at home in heaven above, and had found it wanting. She had circled two others of the Ten Commandments: Though Shalt Not Kill and Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery. Maisie took the Bible, placed it in her bag, then looked around the room once more and stepped towards the door. She smiled. What would it mean to the Paiges if they knew that a woman named Maya—a queen, no less—had been the mother of Gautama, the Buddha? Maisie, who had been reading more books about her chosen destination of late, also remembered that Maya was the goddess of illusion, which she thought interesting. She believed Maya Patel had been keeping a secret for her friend Usha Pramal. And it was beginning to dawn on Maisie what that secret might be.

  Paige was waiting for Maisie at the bottom of the stairs, a well-filled envelope in his hand.

  “Here you are, Miss Dobbs. Everything owed to Miss Patel and Miss Pramal, with an explanatory note pertaining to the amounts held on account for them.” He held a book with another piece of paper laid out on top. “You can sign for it here.”

  Maisie did not rush to count the money, and took her time in checking the amount on the receipt. She signed the paper, and asked for a second copy to be produced, for which she had to wait while the rat-tat-tat of a typewriter disturbed an otherwise silent house. She took a certain pleasure in making Paige work to be rid of her. He returned ten minutes later.

  “Good, this is progress, is it not, Mr. Paige? I do not expect to darken your door again, though I will send a messenger to collect the remaining belongings of your two late residents.” She turned to leave, but as Paige was about to close the door, she called to him. “By the way, Mr. Paige—just as an aside, did you know that the name Usha means ‘daughter of heaven’? I thought you would find that interesting.”

  He slammed the door, and Maisie went on her way, though she could have sworn she felt a silken breeze alongside her hand as she walked.

  Having hidden the envelope under the seat of her MG, then donned her walking shoes, Maisie locked the motor car and set off towards the common land behind Addington Square. As she was striding through the knee-high grass, she saw a group of children playing, a large golden retriever bounding around them, chasing sticks and generally trying to keep some sense of order among his charges. She waved to the children, who stood still and watched her approach. They were a motley group, the three girls in summery dresses and cardigans that looked as if they had been passed down a few times, while the two boys—clearly they were all siblings—held sticks with which they hit out at the grass. The dog stood in front of the children and barked.

  “What a lovely dog you have,” said Maisie as she approached.

  “His name’s Nelson. He looks after us,” said the eldest girl.

  Maisie could see now that the dog’s coat hid the fact that he probably lived on scraps from the table and little else, and though the children were as well turned out as a harried mother with little money could keep them, they all seemed as if they could do with a good meal.

  “Do you play here a lot?”

  “After school, before my dad gets home and only when we’ve done our jobs in the house and the garden so he can have a bit of peace.”

  “I see.” Maisie could imagine the mother giving her children tasks and errands to keep the house quiet when a hardworking father returned from work, and perhaps shouting at them to allow him a “bit of peace.”

  “Have you seen anyone camping here?”

  The children looked at one another.

  The eldest boy looked at his siblings. “Well, there’s sometimes tramps, people who’ve got nowhere to live and no money. But it’s cold at night ’cos of the river. There’s other places what are better.” He pointed beyond the field. “Like under the railway arches, that’s where a lot of tramps are.”

  “Oh, I see. So you haven’t seen a boy here, a bit older than you, living out, camping?”

  They looked at one another again, as if to see who might know the answer. Then the taller of the girls spoke, pointing into the distance. “We’re not supposed to go over there, because our mum can’t see us from the bedroom windows, but there’s trees—see them? And under the trees all the grass has gone flat, like there was someone sleeping there.”

  “But we was a bit scared to look,” said the youngest boy.

  “No we wasn’t.” The eldest boy shoved his younger brother. “We ain’t scared. None of us is scared.”

  “No, I should think you’re all very brave, and you have a good big dog, don’t you?”

  “He’s braver than all of us. He barks at that funny vicar, the one what comes over here sometimes.”

  “Oh, does he?” said Maisie. “That’s a really brave dog!” She smiled upon the retriever, who was now laying in front of the children, somewhat less on guard, but still with his eyes on Maisie. “Why’s he a funny vicar?”

  “My mum says he comes from a church that’s not right. She says that it’s not your C of E, so she won’t have anything to do with it,” said the older boy.

  “But we don’t go to church anyway,” added a younger boy. His middle sister nudged him.

  “So, you come over here all the time, then. You must know this place very well.” Maisie looked at the children, especially the older boy and girl.

  “We don’t get told off over here, and me mum says we could get killed on them roads, if we play on them. We aren’t allowed near the canal, though. It’s too dangerous,” said the girl.

  “It most certainly is dangerous, so it’s best you and your dog play right here,” said Maisie. “Well, I think I’ll go and have a look by those trees.”

  “On yer own?” asked the middle girl.

  “Yes, on my own.”

  The girl’s eyes grew, and she pressed a finger to her lips. “You better be quiet then, in case you wake the giant what lives there.”

  “What giant?”

  “Joey said there was a giant, and if we didn’t behave—”

  “I did not!” said Joey—the older boy.

  “You did,” said the older girl.

  “Look, let’s not have a row about it—I’ll look out for anyone bigger than me. It’s probably time for you all to be getting home.” She pulled half a crown—a small fortune for the children—from her purse. “Here, stop at the butcher’s and get your dog a bone—in fact, he should give you one for nothing, but if you have to pay, don’t give more than a farthing for it and make sure there’s meat on the bone. Give the rest of the money to your mum. Be sure to tell her it wasn’t a nasty man who gave you the money, but a lady who you helped. All right?”

  “We was told not to talk to strangers,” said the smallest child, a girl.

  “Then you were told right. Keep that dog fed and his coat shining, and don’t talk to any more strangers today.” Maisie moved to walk away, and waved to the children. “Bye!”

  She did no
t look around, but could feel the group watching her as she made her way towards a clump of trees with low-hanging branches, a mixture of willow and birch, and with buddlea growing up here and there. Upon reaching the spot described by the children, it was easy to see what they meant—the grass was flattened, as if someone had been sleeping there. Maisie stepped around and in between the trees, then noticed a mound of grass at the foot of a birch tree. Investigating further—something the children had probably been scared to do, despite the brashness of their talk—she discovered a knapsack and blanket had been pushed in between the twin trunks of the tree and covered with grass. She looked around, then at the foot of the tree. She pulled out the knapsack and unbuckled the flap. Inside was a jacket, a woolen Guernsey-style pullover, and a water bottle of the type used by soldiers in the war. The name on the inside of the knapsack, clearly marked in indelible ink: Captain Arthur Payton. Maisie sat back on the grass, and looked around again. Who on earth was Captain Arthur Payton? Was she so completely out of her depth in this case that she had never come across a Captain Arthur Payton? Or on the other hand—why should she? A boy named Martin Robertson had discovered Maya Patel’s body, and he might never have been here and might have nothing to do with Jesmond Martin. This could be the hiding place for a man who had no work, perhaps a man wounded in the war and with no roof over his head except the sky. She looked up as tiny leaves fell from the birch trees. She didn’t need a dog to let her know that she could well have been barking up the wrong tree from the very beginning. And now it was getting later, and on a Friday. So much of the precious information she needed to uncover would have to wait until the following week. Surely records had to exist for Arthur Payton. And while she was at it, for Jesmond Martin, too.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Maisie and James drove to Chelstone together, stopping on the way in the village of Westerham for lunch at an inn. It was a pleasant interlude, with James detailing plans for his travel to Canada, a journey that was fast approaching. Ostensibly, his absence would be only for a month or two—he expected to be home at Chelstone for the Christmas holiday, though he spoke of his dread of spending the festive season without Maisie, if she indeed chose to leave England at the same time.

  “I can’t believe that this time last year the builders were working on Ebury Place. I was so excited about us spending our first Christmas together there—and we just scraped in, didn’t we, though the upper rooms weren’t all finished.”

  “I know, James, and it was a lovely time—waking up in a house that seemed so familiar, yet new and important, then driving down to Chelstone on Christmas morning. I like the feeling of driving home for Christmas on the very day.”

  James nodded. “Wonder where you’ll be, come December.”

  Maisie reached for his hand. “Let’s not become sad, James. Wherever I am, I know I will have Chelstone, snow, and you in my thoughts, even though I may be in sunshine or showers.”

  “You’re excited about it, aren’t you? I can see it in your eyes: a different sort of sparkle I haven’t seen before.”

  Maisie smiled. “I am a bit, though scared, too—it’s a strange feeling, embarking upon something so new, so deliberately different. And I haven’t booked my passage yet.”

  “You’d better get a move on then, Maisie—I would do it on Monday, if I were you.”

  “You too, I would have thought.”

  “Yes, me too.” James looked out of the window. “We’d better be on our way. It’s looking like rain and I’d like to be home before the clouds open.”

  James came into The Dower House with Maisie and had a cup of tea in the kitchen. He had become more used to Maisie’s informality at the house—sipping tea in the kitchen while Mrs. Bromley, the housekeeper, buzzed around, cleaning and cooking. Even though they had just had lunch, James was able to polish off a few homemade ginger biscuits, a favorite treat.

  “You’re light on your toes this afternoon, Mrs. Bromley,” said James.

  “Am I, sir? Well, it’s a nice day and there’s a lot to be done.” She set down a pan, and turned to James and Maisie, untying her floral apron and retying it around her body, with a knot at the front of her waist. She pressed her hand to her hair, which—Maisie noticed—seemed to be tied back in a different style, which framed her face more favorably. “Now, I think I will just pop into the conservatory and plump up the cushions—they do settle so, and I know you like sitting in there first thing in the morning, Miss Dobbs.” Mrs. Bromley dashed from the kitchen.

  “Nice day?” said James, shrugging his shoulders as he looked across at Maisie. “It’s pouring with rain out there, and it’s getting dark.”

  “She is acting a bit strange, isn’t she? Sort of jumpy. I’m glad she’s staying here this evening—she likes to go back to her cottage in the village most nights, but stayed on because she knew we were coming home late.”

  “Perhaps your father knows what’s wrong with her—they are quite pally, after all.”

  “Gosh, I hope she’s not working up to telling me she’s leaving, just when I need her most to keep an eye on the house. Maurice left her very well provided for, so I’ve always felt very fortunate that she wanted to stay on. I don’t know what I would do without her.”

  “Speaking of your father—he usually walks up to see you as soon as he hears your motor car in the driveway. Wonder where he is.”

  “You know, why don’t you drop me off at the Groom’s Cottage when you go down to the manor. It’ll save me walking down the hill. I want to see if he’s all right.”

  Maisie collected the cups and set them in the large, square sink. She called to the housekeeper on her way out.

  “Mrs. Bromley! I’m just popping down the lane to see my father—we’ll both be back later. All right?”

  “Yes, Miss Dobbs. Mind that weather, won’t you?”

  “Not such a ‘nice day’ now, is it?” whispered James as they left the house.

  It was hardly any distance down to the Groom’s Cottage, but Maisie was glad to be taken by car, as the rain was coming down even harder now. Frankie Dobbs had heard the motor car’s tires on gravel, and came to the door, his lurcher dog, Jook, at heel.

  Maisie kissed James on the cheek, stepped from the motor car, and ran towards her father.

  “Dad, I’ve missed you!”

  They both waited on the step, waving to James as he reversed out of the lane and turned his motor car towards the manor house.

  Frankie put his arm around Maisie. “It’s lovely to see you, girl. Come on in out of this rain.”

  Soon they were in the kitchen, where Frankie put a pot of tea and two mugs on the table.

  “Oh, Dad, I just had a cup up at the house. Mrs. Bromley had made James some of his favorite ginger biscuits. I thought he would demolish the whole plate.”

  “Is that so. Well, she makes nice biscuits.”

  Maisie looked at her father and noticed his hand shake as he reached to lift up his mug.

  “Dad, is everything all right? Are you ill?”

  Jook sat up from her bed—an old eiderdown folded in the corner—and came to Frankie’s side. She lay her head on his knee.

  “Dad, there’s something you’re not telling me, but it’s written on your face, and even Jook can tell you’re upset. Come on—no secrets between us.”

  Frankie’s once-jet-black hair was liberally threaded with gray now, and his face told of a life lived through good times and bad. Having suffered the death of his beloved wife when Maisie was still a girl, he had struggled with the responsibility of preparing her for womanhood, and in his despair decided that the best place for her was in service—and so Maisie went to work in the Ebury Place mansion of Lord and Lady Compton. It was while a lowly kitchen maid that she found solace in the library. Being discovered in that book-lined room by her employer in the early hours of the morning had been the catalyst for enormous change in Maisie’s life—though she would never forget her roots.

  “It’s like this, Ma
isie . . .” Frankie’s voice tailed off. Jook whimpered and looked up at him, her head cocked to one side.

  “Dad, if there’s something wrong with you, I want to know now. I can get the very best doctors, you know that, it doesn’t have to be like Mum, you know. Things are different now—”

  “I’m getting married.”

  “You’re getting married?” Maisie leaned towards her father. “Married?”

  Frankie looked up at his daughter while resting a hand softly upon his dog’s head. “I’ve asked Mrs. Bromley if she would do me the honor of becoming my wife.”

  Maisie noticed how Frankie had squared his shoulders to give her the news. “Oh, Dad—were you scared to tell me?” She took his free hand in hers. “I am shocked—but I am very, very happy for you. Come on, let me congratulate you properly.”

  Maisie pulled away her hand, stood up, and leaned over to embrace her father as he sat at the table. “You’ve been alone for so long, Dad. Mrs. Bromley has given you your old laugh back—and it’s been a joy to hear.”

  Frankie began to laugh, and as his delight was evident, so was the bittersweet memory of his long-dead wife. “I’ll never replace your mother, and I’m not looking to do such a thing—not at our age, anyway. And Brenda—Mrs. Bromley—her husband died years ago of a terrible stomach infection when they’d only been married a year, and because of the distress of it all, she lost the baby she was carrying. So she went back into service to keep herself—she reckons that it was only when she went to work for Dr. Blanche that she started to feel like she belonged somewhere again.” He paused. “Anyway, so what with one thing and another, and us having our lunch and a bit of supper together every day, and a laugh about this and that, it seemed a nice thing for both of us, you know, to have someone to rub along with when the days get shorter.”