Leaving Everything Most Loved

by Jacqueline Winspear

  Maisie felt a lump in her throat. “I know what you mean, Dad. And I’m glad of it. Truly I am.” She sat back in her chair. “I hope you’ll get married soon, though. Because I’ve some news of my own.”

  She could not fail to see the look of optimism when she spoke, so she was quick to put to rights any foregone conclusions her father might have. “I’ve decided to spend a bit of time abroad, traveling. I’ll be going on my own, but that’s all right. I will be safe and there’s more and more women traveling alone now—the world’s getting smaller. I want to see more of other places. I’ve read Maurice’s diaries and it’s given me a hunger to see more of the world.”

  “I don’t know about that, Maisie. I never liked it, you going off in the war, and I don’t like it now—you never know what you might come home with; they have terrible diseases abroad, what with all that strange food.”

  Maisie took her father’s hand again. “Don’t you worry, Dad. I was a nurse, remember? I know all about diseases, so I reckon I’ll be all right.” She changed the subject to divert her father’s concern. “I think we should put Mrs. Bromley—Brenda—out of her misery. She’s been blushing like a schoolgirl since I walked into the house, and now I know why. And let’s talk to the vicar tomorrow—see if we can get everything arranged and the banns read so you can be married before I leave. I’m not going to miss my own father’s wedding.”

  “All right, then. Put on your mackintosh and rubber boots, and we’ll walk up the hill to your house.” Frankie stopped a moment to catch his breath, his hand on his chest. “This is a fine state of affairs, eh, Maisie? Me asking your housekeeper to be my wife. I don’t know what sort of position that puts you in.”

  “I’m sure we can find a way through it all, Dad. Will you live here at the Groom’s Cottage?” Maisie passed her father his coat.

  Frankie nodded. “I like it here, and so does Brenda. We’ll keep her cottage in the village, on account of the fact that we might like it later, when we retire.”

  “Then we’ll see if she still wants to work for me, and if she does, I’d be happy—I need good staff to look after the house while I’m away—and it would be even better having family in charge.” Maisie reached down to pat Jook. “And you should mind your p’s and q’s, old girl, you’re going to have a mistress who’ll keep you in check.” Maisie turned to her father again. “Well then, let’s go and have a toast to you and your bride—I’ll just telephone the manor.”

  “James?” said Maisie as soon as he picked up the telephone. “James, I’ve at least solved one mystery. I know why Mrs. Bromley was at sixes and sevens. Come up to The Dower House—oh, and could you bring a bottle of champagne?”

  “What are we toasting?”

  “My new stepmother-to-be.”

  “Your what?”

  Maisie laughed. “Lovely, isn’t it?”

  That Saturday and Sunday were two of the best days Maisie had ever spent at Chelstone. It seemed as if everyone’s spirit was elevated by the news of two elders in their small community finding love and companionship. Staff on the estate commented that even Lord Julian was seen to smile consistently—not that he was known as a sourpuss, but he gave the impression that he was the sort of man who squirreled away his lifetime quota of smiles lest they run out too soon. The local vicar was consulted on Saturday, and it was planned that the banns would be read for three Sundays commencing the following week. Maisie’s skin prickled with goose bumps when the date was set—if all went well she would be sailing within days of her father’s marriage. But she was content in the knowledge that he would be alone no longer, and that he had found a place in his heart for new love.

  Maisie and James traveled back to London on the Sunday evening, with Maisie thankful that, to his credit, James did not use the announcement of an impending wedding to press Maisie on the subject of their relationship. They both knew that things were going along well as they were, and that the future, at this point, would remain a mystery to them both—with the exception of their respective plans to leave England.

  Tomorrow she would have a busy day—there would be a visit to see the Allison family at Primrose Hill, then on to see Mr. and Mrs. Singh, where she hoped she would find Pramal.

  The Allisons lived in a spacious Georgian house that seemed as if it would be more at home in the country—though, indeed, Primrose Hill had been as rural as the south downs when the mansion was first built. Maisie was shown into a drawing room at the back of the house, with a deep bow window overlooking long lawns mowed to striped perfection and framed by borders of vibrant shrubbery. It was a most calming scene, with three children—two girls and a boy—throwing a ball and running from an energetic cocker spaniel. How very similar and at once different when compared with the family she found playing in the fields behind Addington Square. This dog was groomed and well fed; the children wore good clothes and sturdy shoes. They seemed to be having every bit as much fun as their less fortunate counterparts, and were doubtless loved equally.

  “Miss Dobbs,” said Allison, entering the room. He held the door open for his wife.

  Maisie looked back from watching the children to be greeted by a well-dressed couple, who showed none of the strains of travel just a day earlier.

  “Ah, Mr. Allison, Mrs. Allison—so good of you to see me and without very much notice.” Maisie held out her hand to the man and his wife in turn, and was invited to take a seat by Mrs. Allison, a slightly built woman with reddish-blond hair.

  “We understand it’s about dear Usha,” said Mrs. Allison. “The police came here—when was it, Gerald?” She turned to her husband, then back to Maisie. “A couple of months ago—yes, that’s right. We were completely shocked to hear of her death, and in such a terrible way—a gunshot.”

  “We couldn’t believe it—she was such a likable young woman. That sort of prejudice is just not on, really. She was an educated woman, not some . . . some flotsam and jetsam just off the boat.”

  “It was a terrible death no matter who she was,” said Maisie, reaching into her document case for an index card upon which to make notes.

  “Yes, quite,” said Allison. “But how can we help? Please, let us know what we can do to assist you—your note of introduction said you were working on behalf of her brother.” Allison rubbed his chin back and forth, as if only just realizing he had not shaved that morning. Maisie thought he must be tired following the long journey from overseas.

  “That’s right—he wanted an independent investigation, so he came to me. I should add that I also work closely with Scotland Yard, so there is no conflict of interest, and they are supporting my inquiry in every way possible.”

  “Glad to hear it,” said Allison. He ran a finger around the edge of the cravat at his neck, as if he could not believe he had been so remiss in his personal care. “As far as I’m concerned, they did precious little in the first place.”

  Maisie was taken aback by his words. She was gaining an impression of the couple’s deep affection for the dead woman, which was at odds with her understanding that Usha had been turned out by the Allisons without due warning or sufficient financial assistance.

  “I wonder if you can tell me something about the relationship between your family and Usha Pramal. When did you first meet her? And when did she join your family as a governess? If you could start there—and please, I must apologize if you’ve already answered these questions, but everyone hears things differently, and I might gain an alternative perspective than the policemen who interviewed you before.”

  “Oh, they were in and out within, what, dear? Ten minutes, all told?” Allison looked at his wife.

  “At the outside, dear, definitely. We talked about it, wondering how deeply they were looking into it. I mean, once they told us why they were here, we thought, definitely, we must help in any way we could—and we thought we were in for a few hours’ worth of questioning—didn’t we, my love?” Mrs. Allison turned to her husband. “You were very angry, weren’t you?”
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br />   “I was, actually. I thought the police were letting us all down—after all, we’re dealing with a very tricky situation over there in India at the moment. Another ten years and I’ll be surprised if we’re over there at all, what with one thing and another—and even though it’s a small case on the world stage, it’s the sort of thing that, if the Indian press got hold of it, it would be all over the place and the next thing you know, you’d have the Mahatma strolling half-clad into Scotland Yard, with a flower-throwing entourage behind him.”

  “Um, yes,” said Maisie, though she thought Allison’s prediction melodramatic. “I wonder, when did Usha first come to work for you, and how did you find her?”

  “Ah, yes,” said Allison. “It must have been about eight or nine years ago—yes, we came back in 1926—I went into the civil service following my military discharge, and we were sent out there for a few years. And a few years was quite enough, I can tell you. Our children were quite young—in fact, the youngest only a matter of months old when we left.”

  “I never made the journey back here to have my children, Miss Dobbs. Most of the women do, you know—it’s safer, but frankly, all that time at sea is just dreadful.”

  “Yes, I would imagine it is.” Maisie turned from Mrs. Allison to her husband. “So, how did you make Usha’s acquaintance?”

  “Recommendation from a colleague. He realized we wanted someone who was not your run-of-the-mill ayah, but a proper governess—and I won’t beat about the bush here, we were able to take on Usha Pramal for just a bit more than you would have paid a semi-illiterate woman who knew how to change a baby’s napkin. The older two were ahead of themselves in their reading, and she—blessedly—had a good accent and could also speak French and German. Of course, she had a bit of that up and down lilt, but the children loved her—and we considered ourselves very fortunate that she wanted to travel. You see, she didn’t have to work, not with her father being quite well off, as far as they are there.” Allison rubbed his chin again, worrying at a particular area of stubble. “Apparently, she wanted to get away—lost love, that sort of thing. A man had come calling for her without paying attention to the protocols of Indian family life—the blithering idiot. Makes things very hard for all of us, a complete disregard for the natives.”

  “The natives?”

  “Figure of speech, Miss Dobbs. Too many years in foreign service. Luckily, I’m no longer a diplomat, though I travel a fair bit.”

  “A diplomat? Really? Well, that is interesting.” She paused, smiling at Allison. “So, Miss Pramal returned to England with you—and you were living here at the time?”

  “No, we rented a house in St. John’s Wood for a while, then bought this when my husband was assigned to another branch,” said Mrs. Allison. “We wanted to settle down a bit, give the children a permanent home—my father was also a diplomat, and I didn’t want them to have the same sort of upbringing, though I must say, I got to see a lot of places, as a child and young woman.”

  “I see. You were living in St. John’s Wood, and then something happened and you asked Usha to leave your employ.”

  The Allisons looked at each other. Mrs. Allison spoke first, followed by her husband.

  “But, Miss Dobbs, you have been misinformed. We did not nor would we have asked Usha to leave our employ.”

  “Our children adored her. They thought the world of her and they learned so much—they were well ahead by the time they went to school.”

  “I thought . . .”

  Allison shook his head. “No, we were astonished when she said she was leaving, truly shocked. We offered to book passage back to India for her, so she wouldn’t be left at a loose end if she really was that homesick, but she declined. She gave no explanation, save for the fact that it was time for her to leave.”

  Mrs. Allison continued. “I confess, we were a bit put out—weren’t we, Gerald? I mean, she was working for us, but we weren’t treating her as if she was some sort of common skivvy—she was a much-valued employee.”

  “She had more or less sole charge of our children, for heaven’s sake!” added Allison. “You were very upset by it all, weren’t you, Margaret?”

  “The children wept, I wept, and I think the dog almost wept. You see—this may sound very odd, but well, here goes—we were entranced by her. The children never had a cold or any of the illnesses other children seem to come down with, from the moment she came to work for us. She made them lovely drinks each morning—nothing you would have found an English governess or nanny making—and they loved them. Spices and fruit and all sorts of things, and they were the healthiest children we knew. But more than anything, you see, we thought she loved them—and then she went. Gone. Just like that.” Margaret Allison snapped her fingers.

  “I know this happened some time ago, but I wonder if you can remember anything about the day she said she was leaving. Was it an ordinary day? Or were the children doing something different, out of the normal routine?” asked Maisie.

  “I was probably at work—darling, do you remember?” Allison turned to his wife.

  “Oh dear, let me see.” Margaret Allison scratched her forehead. “Well, after breakfast, Usha usually began lessons with the children—she always liked to make it a happy time for them, she said they remembered things if there was a game attached to it, which seemed to work very well, so I had no argument with her on that point. After lessons, if the day was fine, she would take the children for a walk and they would come back with all sorts of treasures—a fallen chestnut, or a leaf, perhaps an insect in a glass jar.”

  “And she generally walked around the area where you lived—did she ever take a bus anywhere, for example?”

  “Good lord, no,” said Allison. “We were all for children having lessons in a fairly unconventional manner, but to go out on a bus? No, that sort of thing wasn’t really on.”

  “I see. And where did you live in St. John’s Wood?”

  “Alwyn Gardens. A lovely house, wasn’t it, Gerald?”

  “Rather cramped, I thought, but it sufficed for a while until we found this one.”

  “Which is perfect,” said his wife.

  “If I may come back to Usha,” said Maisie. “What can you tell me about the day she gave notice of her intention to leave your employ?”

  “I was out for most of the day,” said Margaret Allison. “And I returned after tea with friends. The children were in the nursery, and all was well. It was all according to the usual round for the day—Usha bathed the children, read them a story, then they were allowed to read quietly until their father and I came up to say good night. Usha knocked on the door of the drawing room—we were having drinks, if I remember rightly. She came in and said straightaway that she had decided she wanted to leave, that it was nothing to do with us or the children, whom she loved, but she said she had been offered another job and would be leaving the following morning—she specifically wanted to leave before the children were up, so she wouldn’t have to say good-bye to them.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “We were shocked, of course. I mean, we had treated her more than fairly. She could not have found better employers here or in India,” said Allison.

  “You were very angry, Gerald.”

  “Darling, you were rather angry yourself—it left us in the lurch.” Allison turned from his wife to Maisie. “My wife was alone with the children all morning until we were able to cover Usha’s absence. Mind you, despite the hard feelings at her news, we paid her in full and also gave her a bit extra.”

  “Did you have any reason to believe she was lying, or was scared?”

  “I only thought it was so out of character, and it occurred to me that she might have had some sort of shock.”

  “What made you think she’d had a shock—did she seem scared?”

  The couple looked at each other; then Allison spoke. “She was jittery. Nervous. It was as if she had to act with speed.”

  “Did you ask her whether she was all rig
ht, whether she was under some sort of strain?”

  “Of course we did, Miss Dobbs,” said Margaret Allison. “I mean, we deserved more of an explanation, after all we’d done for her. But she just said she was anxious to leave as soon as possible so as not to upset the children. She said that she had made her decision, so now she had to act.”

  “I see.” Maisie looked at her hands, then back at the Allisons. “Is there anything else you noticed before all this happened?”

  The couple looked at each other, and shook their heads in unison.

  “No, not at all,” said Allison.

  “And you never heard from her again,” said Maisie, as a statement to be confirmed, or not.

  “No, we never heard a word from or about her until the detectives came to ask if she had worked for us and when she had left our employ.”

  Maisie nodded. “Right. You’ve been very kind to allow me so much of your time, especially when you must be so tired from traveling.”

  “We wanted to help. Usha may not have left our house as we might have wished, but we would have wanted only the best for her. Please, if you have occasion to communicate our condolences to her family, we would appreciate it,” said Allison.

  The couple accompanied Maisie to the front door, the housekeeper closing it almost in silence as she stepped out into the tree-lined street.

  Usha Pramal had left her employers—with whom she had been happy, despite their lapses in “diplomacy”—one day following a walk around the area of St. John’s Wood. The question of who she might have seen that day to have inspired relinquishing a satisfactory post as governess might be easily answered if one were to consider the obvious coincidence—that Jesmond Martin and his family also lived in St. John’s Wood. But if Usha had reason to leave upon seeing him—or perhaps his wife—why on earth would she have returned to the area to become a cleaner at his home? Unless she could not avoid the situation.

  Chapter Seventeen