"He said by two--he's had to go over to see someone in connection with the Richards case."
"Good. You should pop out for something to eat, Sandra."
"Thank you, Miss." Sandra placed a brown cloth cover over her typewriter; gathered her hat, jacket, and gloves; and left the office. "I'll see you in half an hour, then. Would you like me to bring you something, Miss?"
"No, not to worry--I'll go out myself later; there'll be something at the dairy that takes my fancy." Maisie smiled at Sandra. "What time will you be leaving to go to the Partridges?"
"Not until later on today, but he wants me to stay on for a while this evening, if I can. He says he's got a deadline."
When Sandra had left the office, Maisie picked up the paper knife on her desk and slit open the large envelope. She'd already received similar communications, in plain envelopes at her request, from several building firms--Taylor Woodrow, George Wimpey, and John Laing among them. This letter, from a smaller company building new houses in the Borough of Woolwich, "within easy commuting distance of the City," opened with thanks for her inquiry and stated that the "show home" on an estate of new family houses in which she had expressed interest--Tudor-style semidetached properties complete with indoor plumbing and gardens front and back--was now ready for viewing. It went on to add that Eltham was a wonderful town for family life, offering the Eltham Park Lido and numerous parks. Just one pound down and twenty-five pounds at completion of contracts would secure a home for "today's family." A personal note added that her specific question regarding a greater deposit to reduce mortgage repayments had been noted, and on a separate sheet she could peruse the figures, which made home ownership a possibility "for almost any modern family."
"And that's a downright lie!" said Maisie aloud to herself, as she thought of the many men she saw on the streets each day, walking from factory to factory, from the docks to the building sites--men wearing out shoe leather looking for work. But there was only one family she had in mind for a new house, a family about to add one more mouth to feed, a family with a father too proud to accept "other people's charity." She had been the recipient of great generosity when her mentor, Dr. Maurice Blanche, died; in his will he had left her almost his entire estate. She was now in a position to help her assistant. But until she had worked out how she might open the discussion with Billy once again, she would have to keep her plans to herself.
Settling into her new lodgings and college life came more easily than Maisie expected. Her preparations served her well, and at the end of the first week--during which time she had taught three classes each day, and had been able to reintroduce herself to other members of staff during morning coffee and afternoon tea in the staff room--she was summoned to a meeting with Greville Liddicote. When she arrived at his secretary's office, she could hear Rosemary Linden speaking on the telephone, so she stepped back to wait in the corridor. Sound echoed from the office, which had frosted glass windows atop dark wood wainscoting facing the corridor.
"I am terribly sorry, Professor Larkin, but Dr. Liddicote couldn't meet with you this morning after all." There was a pause. "Yes, I know it's urgent, and I have conveyed your message that you wish to see him at his earliest convenience . . . Yes . . . yes, indeed, sir, I will most certainly . . . of course . . . Dr. Liddicote is completely aware of the urgency of the sit--Thank you, I'll tell him."
The call having ended, Maisie waited a moment, then knocked on the office door.
"Ah, yes, Miss Dobbs," said Rosemary Linden. "Dr. Liddicote is in conference at the moment, so you'll have to wait outside--he'll be finished soon, I daresay, and it's the best place to wait to avoid someone else weaseling in before you. Everyone seems to think that what they have to say is urgent today." The previously dour secretary seemed to have softened somewhat, now that Maisie was a member of staff. Though she wasn't what might be termed "pally," she appeared more inclined to greet Maisie with a "Good morning" and a smile.
There was a plain, dark oak settle with needlepoint cushions outside Liddicote's office, and Maisie waited here for his meeting to end. She took four exercise books from her new leather briefcase and began to read through essays submitted by the morning class, but became distracted when the mumble of voices from Liddicote's office became louder and more urgent. She could not make out the cause of the argument, only the harsh tones as two men argued.
"You're a fool, Roth, if you think that--"
"Dr. Liddicote, far be it from me to say this, but it is you who are the fool."
As the voices were raised, Miss Linden emerged from her office and walked briskly to Liddicote's door, knocked, and stepped just inside the room. Maisie kept her eyes on her work.
"Miss Dobbs is waiting for you, Dr. Liddicote."
"Yes, of course. Roth, do not do anything until I have considered this further."
Maisie heard a sound that she thought was Roth snapping his heels as he emerged from the room, ignoring Maisie as he walked along the corridor and out into the grounds. It took no special observation skills to see that Roth held within him both anger and disappointment, for there were tears in his eyes.
"Come in, Miss Dobbs." Linden waved Maisie into the room, with a brief suggestion of a smile as she closed the door behind her.
"Thank you for your time, Miss Dobbs. Please sit down." Liddicote nodded towards the visitor's seat.
When they were both seated, Liddicote leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment as if to banish the previous conversation. His face seemed flushed, and he placed a hand against his chest as if to settle his heart. Maisie was about to ask if he felt unwell, when he opened his eyes and gave a forced smile.
"How are you faring?"
"I think the first week has gone well so far." Maisie offered no more, waiting for Liddicote's lead.
"I've heard on the college grapevine that the response to your lessons is good, and other lecturers have noted your professionalism in your role. We are happy to have you here at St. Francis."
"Thank you, Dr. Liddicote."
"And in case you're wondering, it's customary for me to have a meeting such as this with new members of staff towards the end of their first and second weeks in particular."
"Yes, of course. I understand." She was relieved to see that that the conversation was calming Liddicote.
He paused, allowing silence to enter the space between them before speaking again.
"Tell me about the existence of God, Miss Dobbs."
Maisie was taken aback by the abrupt instruction, but countered her surprise with a question.
"In what context, Dr. Liddicote?"
He smiled. "Ah, not one to assume anything." He paused again before continuing. "As a college where the concept of peace underpins so much of our curriculum, the nature of God is crucial to our dialogue. We have students of several faiths here; we have those who have seen much in their young lives, and who are inclined to question the existence of God--and of course it is a fundamental question in terms of philosophical discourse. Therefore, Miss Dobbs, speak to me of God. Does he exist?"
Maisie cleared her throat. "It was Saint Anselm of Canterbury who laid down the question, 'Does God exist?' He then gave the example of the artist who has a picture of the not-yet-executed masterpiece in his mind's eye. Can the painting be said to be real because the painter can see it? Or is it only real when the masterpiece is finished for all to see? Anselm gave the argument for supporting the existence of God; however, the essence of his deliberation is in the question itself."
"Another question, then, and one of particular resonance to your generation. If there is a God, then why does he allow war to continue?"
Maisie inspected her hands as she considered the question, then looked up as she framed a response. Liddicote was waiting for her to speak, his chin resting on his steepled hands.
"With this question," said Maisie, "I sense that you have asked for an answer that reflects my personal experience of the world. I confess that during the war--and many times sin
ce--I have asked this same question, and to be frank, at times with many tears and a deep pain in my heart. But I have allowed the question to exist, to remain, because there is no answer to satisfy when one has lived through the tumult of war. On a simple level, one can only hope--can only trust--that if there is one single omnipotent God, then he knows what he is doing." She stopped speaking.
Liddicote did not press her, knowing that she had more to say.
"I think, therefore . . . ," Maisie went on, "that it is admissible to say that God exists, even if we have no rational means of proof. But if that is so, we must also assume that evil exists. As far as my teaching is concerned, I believe there to be a richness of debate when we discuss what is meant by good and evil, and how the philosophical dialogue is reflected in the human experience."
Liddicote nodded. "Good answers, Miss Dobbs, and thoughtful. I anticipate joining one of your classes next week--I think perhaps on Wednesday afternoon, when you teach the more senior students."
"I look forward to it, Dr. Liddicote."
"One more thing, Miss Dobbs, then I will release you to the staff room, for it's almost time for morning coffee." He took out his pocket watch and checked the hour. "It has been suggested that we apply to join a debate among students from the Cambridge colleges, on the fragile nature of peace and our position regarding Germany, particularly in light of political developments in that country. Such a debate is bound to attract the attention of a broader audience--not least the press. Certain members of staff are in favor of accepting the invitation, some against. What side of the fence would you choose?" He cupped his hand around his ear and leaned forward, as if to ensure he caught every word of her reply.
"I would like to have more information on the two positions suggested for debate--Is one for a resumption of conflict? Is this a result of the Peace Conference and the mood in Germany as a result of the outcome of the conference? Or is the debate inspired by the limitations of the League of Nations? In principle, I am in favor of any benign argument that has as its purpose the discovery of a means to sustain peace--but I have some reservations regarding the debate's genesis."
"Good enough, good enough. Now then, I have another appointment on the hour."
"Of course." Maisie gathered her briefcase and papers and left the room. Francesca Thomas was waiting as Maisie emerged from Liddicote's office. Her tailored costume of navy-blue jacket and matching skirt enhanced a natural elegance, and seemed to draw attention to her angular features, her wide eyes set off by high cheekbones. She greeted Maisie, and as she moved, the navy-blue-and-magenta silk scarf at her neck shifted and a faint scar was revealed on her neck. Either Dr. Thomas had undergone a serious surgical procedure, or she had been the victim of an attack. In either event, at some point in her life, a blade had penetrated her delicate skin in a most vulnerable area.
As Maisie continued along the corridor, Miss Linden emerged from her office with Delphine Lang, and sighed when she saw Francesca Thomas close the door behind her as she entered Greville Liddicote's office.
"I'm afraid you'll have to wait now--he's going to be a while, I would say." She nodded as Maisie passed, turning to the pale teaching assistant to suggest that she come back after morning coffee.
Touching her own neck as she walked up to the staff room, Maisie reflected on the fact that the school's founder seemed particularly busy on that morning; now she had just enough time for a cup of coffee before her next class. Perhaps the warm, though barely palatable, liquid would temper the tingling sensation that seemed to have settled on the skin at her throat.
There were no bells rung to announce the end of a lesson; instead the clocks in corridors and classrooms were synchronized by the caretaker each morning. When she checked the time and brought the first class of the afternoon to an end, Maisie gathered her books and made her way to the staff room. As usual, she was one of the last to arrive; several students had remained to ask questions following the lesson, and she had gladly given of her time. Already she was planning to hold an informal conversation salon on one evening each week, when students could--she hoped--feel more at liberty to ask questions that they might not put to her during the formal lesson period. Now, as she walked towards the staff room, she relaxed, knowing that her teaching was finished for the day and she could use the final period after tea for marking essays.
The staff room was busy, though the line to be served tea and cake had diminished, and the lecturers now clustered in groups, some discussing classes, others talking about the end of the working week. Maisie joined Matthias Roth, who had just come into the room and was now in conversation with Dr. Alan Burnham, the topic being the World Peace Conference in Vienna, which had convened on September 4. Another group of lecturers was discussing the situation in Germany, where talks had broken down between the Chancellor and Adolf Hitler, who had garnered a significant number of votes and had demanded to be made Chancellor. The conversations buzzed around her, some of matters beyond the college, others in connection with the behavior of certain students and their performance.
Maisie was about to make a comment on the peace conference when she was distracted by Miss Linden's entering the room, clearly in search of someone in particular. No one else seemed to have noticed the young woman, though Maisie sensed immediately that something was wrong. And at that moment she felt as if time itself stood still as she, too, took stock of the room--Matthias Roth expounding on the outcome of the conference; Alan Burnham nodding his head, poised to counter the argument. Delphine Lang was moving towards the window, and Francesca Thomas turned from her conversation with a teacher of world politics, Mr. Osbourne--who was discussing the recent Olympic Games in Los Angeles, where an Argentinian had won the marathon--to stare at Miss Linden. Then time righted itself as Greville Liddicote's secretary moved towards Maisie, and motioned her to step aside.
"Would you come with me, please, Miss Dobbs? It's urgent."
"Of course."
Maisie set down her cup and saucer, stepping away from Roth and Burnham, neither of whom seemed to take account of her departure.
"Is it Dr. Liddicote?" asked Maisie, as she kept pace with Rosemary Linden. Already she felt the weight of foreknowledge across her heart.
The young woman nodded but said nothing. Soon they came alongside Liddicote's office. Linden took a deep breath, unlocked the door, and entered, turning the key again as Maisie stepped across the threshold.
It was clear to Maisie, even before she pressed the first two fingers of her right hand to his neck, where she should have felt the rhythm of Liddicote's carotid artery, that he was dead.
Chapter Five
Having established that the young woman was in command of her emotions--as much as could be expected--Maisie instructed Miss Linden to return to her office and to continue as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place. And if people asked, she should inform them that Dr. Liddicote had left the college for the day; she didn't want a series of callers waiting on the settle in the corridor.
Maisie took the key and locked the door as Linden left the room. She checked Liddicote's pulse once more, lifted his eyelids, and took note of the narrow threads of blood that had emerged from his mouth and nose. Pulling a clean handkerchief from her shoulder bag, she covered her fingers, picked up the telephone receiver, and asked Miss Linden for a line. She then dialed a number she had learned by heart.
"Detective Chief Superintendent MacFarlane, please. It's Maisie Dobbs, and it's urgent."
The wait was short.
"Maisie, tell me the worst--if you say it's urgent I know you're not crying wolf!"
"Greville Liddicote has been murdered. I have secured the room where his body was discovered--his office--and thus far the only people who know are his secretary and myself. I have not questioned her, as I wanted to call you first."
"That's all we bloody need! Cause of death?"
"Liddicote's neck has been broken. In my estimation, he's been dead for less than an hour."
&n
bsp; "Silly question, but I have to ask--"
"No, it wasn't an accident, Robbie, and it wasn't natural causes. And more than that, I would say the murderer was a professional--few people can just break someone's neck. This could be the work of an assassin."
"I'll have to inform Huntley, but expect me there by about half past five. I'll bring Stratton--we could do with a former murder squad man on this one. We'll alert the local constabulary, in our own good time--and don't worry, when we arrive, we'll go about it all very 'softly-softly' so as not to alarm the natives. I want that college going about its business, and I want you there as Miss Dobbs, intrepid teacher."
"Robbie."
"Yes."
"The secretary came to me first. She could have gone to anyone in the staff room, but she came to me--I'm not sure, but my position here could be compromised."
"Question her."
"Just you and Stratton to start with, Robbie. I'll find a way to bring in the pathologist and to exit with the body."
"I'll telephone Huntley now."
Maisie began her examination of the room. The curtains were partially drawn against the late-afternoon sun, and on one side the drape of material flapped back and forth. She used the handkerchief to pull the French door back towards the frame, securing the lock and closing the curtains before going back to Liddicote's desk. There were two neat piles of papers, one relating to proposed architectural alterations to the college, another concerning catering arrangements. A folder marked "Debate" was open. Maisie closed the file and placed it to the side to read before MacFarlane arrived.
She left the room, locked the door, and walked towards Miss Linden's office.
"I am terribly sorry, Dr. Roth, but Dr. Liddicote has left the college for the day and I am not sure whether he intended to go directly home or not." Rosemary Linden was pale and her voice trembled as she spoke to Roth.
"I was supposed to meet with him! How could he forget such a thing?"
Linden shrugged. "I'll let him know you came--perhaps tomorrow morning?"
A Lesson in Secrets Page 6
