Leaving Everything Most Loved

by Jacqueline Winspear

  “You don’t?” Maisie could not hide her surprise.

  The woman shook her head. “No. I don’t care for such ostentation and the impressing of power upon others, but knowing my husband shares my essential way of thinking, I know he believes he is reflecting something important in his work—which is quite apart from his lecturing at the Imperial College, you understand.” She paused, looking at Maisie, who was stirring her tea. “That is something to think about, Maisie. If you are looking at marriage, or something akin to it.”

  “Lakshmi, I want to ask you something, if I may. You know I was involved in the murder case of a young woman who had come to this country to work as a governess, and also of her friend?”

  “Go on,” said Lakshmi.

  “Well, here I am, preparing to leave this country, to leave my father, my new stepmother; to leave James, my dearest friends, my business—to leave everything behind. Yet though I feel brave enough, I feel quite astonished at myself, as if I have made a decision to go away from all that I love. I wondered—when I learned more about those women, and when I met you—I wondered, how that felt, and how you mustered your resources to, well, I suppose, to get through the distance, the leaving—even if it was your choice.”

  The woman looked at Maisie with her deep brown eyes.

  “I’ll tell you this. Leaving that which you love breaks your heart open. But you will find a jewel inside, and this precious jewel is the opening of your heart to all that is new and all that is different, and it will be the making of you—if you allow it to be.”

  Maisie could feel her eyes fill with tears.

  The woman before her, serene in her confidence, continued. “It is like the fracture of a delicate blue egg, when the bird-chick is ready to face the world. Such a struggle, such a rent in the casing that has most protected the small creature; but look what awaits—the learning to fly, and the grand adventure of migration. Yes, there is the risk of death, the sorry promise of starvation, of exhaustion, but that struggle is unavoidable. For you, the mystery of departure awaits.”

  “Yes, I understand—I think,” said Maisie.

  Lakshmi Chaudhary Jones smiled. “Perhaps. But you might not begin to understand until you are on that ship. I came here as a young bride, and I thought I would never, ever be part of this country—but it is now as much part of me as my home, India.” She reached to pour more tea. “Perhaps you must leave to come home to yourself—and you must experience this exile before you can return, forever, to your James.”

  “Yes. You may be right,” said Maisie.

  The women talked on, and when it came time for Maisie to leave, it came as no surprise that Lakshmi Chaudhary Jones ignored her proffered hand and instead reached to kiss her on either cheek.

  “I will welcome you to my home again, Maisie. Of that I am sure.”

  Epilogue

  It was with little ceremony that Maisie handed over the keys to the Fitzroy Square office to the landlord and met Billy at the front of the building, where he waited with Sandra.

  “All done, Miss?”

  Maisie nodded.

  “Right, better get this finished, eh?”

  Billy stepped towards the brass plaque to the side of the door, and took a screwdriver from his pocket. Maisie and her two employees looked at the plaque with its polished engraving: Maisie Dobbs, Psychologist & Investigator.

  “Better than your first business name, eh, Miss?” said Billy.

  “Trade and Personal Investigations? Yes, it’s a bit more professional,” said Maisie.

  “I think I like that better, actually,” said Sandra.

  Maisie laughed. “It’s done now, anyway.”

  Billy unscrewed the brass fitting and held the plate out towards Maisie. “Want to keep this?”

  “Yes, I think I’ll take it.” She reached for the plaque and placed it in her document case.

  “Might need that again, isn’t that so, Miss Dobbs?” said Sandra.

  “You know, I might. Anyway, now that’s done, we’re going to have a bite to eat; something a bit different,” said Maisie.

  “Celebration?” asked Billy

  “Yes, a celebration. I thought we would go to Veeraswamy. The food is reputed to be very good,” said Maisie.

  Billy crinkled his nose, and Sandra almost followed suit, but instead smiled at Maisie.

  “He has no imagination, Miss. Well, I’m up for it, anyway. I’ll brace myself,” said Sandra.

  Billy laughed. “Oh, all right then. As long as I don’t get Delhi belly, I’ll be all right—bet Doreen’ll have something to say about it, though.”

  “She doesn’t have to know,” said Sandra.

  “Oh, she’ll know all right,” countered Billy.

  “Come on, you two—this is our last day, and we’re going to see it off in style,” said Maisie. “Each of us is moving on to fresh pastures, so let’s sample something new while we’re at it.”

  Having discharged all final responsibilities in connection with her business, Maisie turned her flat over to Sandra, had her personal belongings removed to The Dower House at Chelstone, and spent the remainder of her time with James in London, and at Chelstone, though there was little for her to do in preparation for her father’s forthcoming marriage. The cook at Chelstone Manor was planning the wedding feast for what seemed to be a much larger gathering than at first anticipated. Not only would staff at Chelstone be in attendance, but a goodly number of Frankie Dobbs’ old friends from London, and a few of Mrs. Bromley’s family members, plus villagers who had come to know them both. Priscilla and her family would be traveling down from London for the event, and the Compton family would of course be present. Frankie and Mrs. Bromley had spoken to the vicar about a slight change in the ceremony, to account for the fact that—as Maisie’s future stepmother pointed out—“There would be no giving away, and no best man fumbling for a ring! We’ll walk up the aisle as we will walk for the rest of our lives—together.” For Maisie, the only pall on the day was the fact that James was due to leave the following morning, and had decided that he would travel to Southampton alone—there would be no tearful dockside good-byes in anticipation of his departure. Maisie would embark upon her journey four days later, although her father, together with the new Mrs. Dobbs, plus Billy and his family, Sandra, and Priscilla and Douglas and their sons, had decided that they would be there to bid her farewell. She was dreading it, and thought James’ determination to board ship without accompanying relatives and friends was a very good decision after all.

  On the day of the wedding, Mrs. Bromley, who had bought a new dress of peach silk for the day, together with a matching coat and hat, was at The Dower House preparing for the wedding, while Frankie was at his cottage. At precisely half past ten, he would walk to The Dower House, where the couple would be taken to the church by the Comptons’ chauffeur. Already staff were at The Dower House, preparing the dining room for the reception. Maisie had bought a dress of pale violet silk with beading to the hem, neckline, and waist, and wore a new hat to match, with a brocade band and rosette at the side. Her shoes were of deep violet, and she wore a light cashmere wrap in case it became too cold. It was soon clear that she was not needed in The Dower House, so she made her way down the path towards her father’s cottage home.

  “Dad, how are you getting on?”

  “Bloody tie. Never wear the things, and all of a sudden, here I am, having to wrestle with this bit of cloth.”

  Maisie regarded her father, standing before her, fidgeting in the new bespoke suit she had persuaded him to wear for his wedding. Jook stood to one side, her ears envelope-flapped in anticipation of something unusual in the air.

  “Did you think your old jacket, your corduroy trousers, and a red neckerchief would make Mrs. Bromley swoon?” said Maisie.

  “Now then, before you start, my Maisie, come and help me with this tie.”

  Maisie stood before her father, took the two ends of the tie, then pulled one longer than the other. Her fat
her spoke again as she lifted his chin and began to work to achieve the perfect knot.

  “I won’t forget your mother, you know,” said Frankie.

  “No, Dad. I know you won’t. But you’ve been lonely for long enough,” replied Maisie.

  “Broke my heart, you know, losing her. And losing you.”

  “You never lost me, Dad,” said Maisie, stepping back to check the tie. “Don’t ever regret anything you did, because you had my best interests at heart when you found me a job in service. And it all worked out the right way in the end, didn’t it? Even better than we could ever have imagined.”

  “Maisie,” said Frankie. “I know you loved Dr. Blanche, and I know I could never have given you all that he gave you—the education, the books, and the learning. But did I do right by you?”

  Maisie placed her hands on her father’s shoulders. “You did everything right for me, Dad. Everything. And you did everything right for Mum. She loved you more than anything else, and you loved her to the end of her days.”

  “And beyond,” said Frankie. “And beyond.”

  “But it’s time to walk up that hill now. Your future awaits, and I think Mum would have been so very happy for you. I know I am.” She leaned forward and kissed her father on the cheek. “May I escort you to meet your bride?”

  “Jook’s coming, too, you know.”

  Father and daughter walked the path to The Dower House, followed by the cross-bred dog with a large white bow around her neck. James joined them to wait for Mrs. Bromley to walk down the staircase into the hall.

  Frankie Dobbs smiled as his bride stepped onto the landing above.

  “Would you care to come to the church with me and be my wife, Brenda?” said Frankie.

  “Yes,” said Mrs. Bromley. “I would be honored, Frank.”

  James took Maisie by the hand. “We’d better get going, Maisie. We don’t want to get there after the bride and groom, do we?”

  As James drove away from The Dower House and towards the church, Maisie opened her mouth to say something, but stopped, for she realized she didn’t know what to say. James filled in the silence.

  “March 31st, Maisie. You need say nothing until March 31st.”

  The chauffeur came to collect James before dawn the following morning. The house was silent, and before the crunch of tires was heard on the gravel driveway, Maisie and James had been sitting in the kitchen, where Maisie prepared a breakfast of tea and toast.

  “Write, James. Tell me how things are faring. And—I know this sounds trite—please, do please be careful. I don’t trust aeroplanes at the best of times, and—”

  “Don’t, Maisie.” James placed his hand on hers. “I am involved with John Otterburn’s plans to test new fighter aircraft, and I must see this through because I believe in what he is trying to do. I won’t take unnecessary chances, and believe me, much of my work will be on the ground—I’ve not the reflexes of the younger aviators. I’m too much of an old graybeard, I’m afraid.”

  “I know all that, but—”

  “But nothing.” Approaching headlamps cast a light across the ceiling. “That’s my transport, Maisie. Now, you must take care, too. You’re the one going off into the unknown, and you’re the one who must write with news.”

  “I promise.”

  “Good. Now, let’s get this over with, shall we?” He stood up and pulled Maisie to him, holding her tight. “I love you, Maisie. I love you and I will miss you.”

  “You too. Yes, you too, James.”

  They drew apart. “Right then, better be off now, before we both get maudlin,” said James.

  Maisie waited by the door while luggage was loaded onto the motor car—a trunk had already been dispatched to Southampton.

  James looked back one more time before taking his seat in the motor car.

  “It’s been a good time, James. Really. To be loved so much . . . it’s been a very good time,” said Maisie.

  “That’s what it was meant to be, Maisie. I wanted us always to have a good time.”

  He waved, and as the vehicle turned and drove away, then through the gates of the Chelstone Manor estate, Maisie felt herself overcome, and at once fearful of the future.

  “Godspeed, James. Take care, and Godspeed,” she whispered into the chill morning air.

  Southampton was a teeming mass of people. Relatives kissing loved ones, passengers lining up to go through the disembarkation area, and others looking up at the ship to give a final wave. Maisie said good-bye to everyone who had gathered to see her off, and was even kissed and held by her eldest godson, who had reached an age when such affection did not come easily.

  “You’re honored, I must say,” said Priscilla. “Those kisses stopped finding a way to my cheek about two months ago—it happened far too quickly for my liking.”

  “You have men in the making, Pris, not boys anymore,” said Maisie.

  “I’m trying to keep my youngest innocent. I might bind his feet and feed him only broth.”

  Maisie saw that her friend was fighting back tears.

  “Pris?”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Maisie. I’m all right. Now then, let’s all say what we have to say and do what comes next. This ship will leave without you if you don’t get a move on.”

  Maisie looked at those gathered, and decided it might be a good idea to go now—eyes were red and watering wherever she looked. She hoped Frankie would not crumble as he and Brenda accompanied her to her cabin.

  “This is a very nice cabin, Maisie,” said Frankie, setting her small leather case inside the door. “First class and supper at the Captain’s table, I would imagine—very posh.”

  “I remember, when we crossed the Channel over to France, in the war, I was dreadfully sick—so I thought I’d splash out for some comfort.”

  “Hardly a troop ship, is it?”

  “No, but I’m going a lot further than France.”

  “The bed seems comfortable enough, Maisie,” said her stepmother, pressing down on the mattress. “When will your luggage be brought up? Do you know?”

  “Soon, after we’re under way, I would imagine,” said Maisie.

  “You’ve packed enough books with you, in any case,” said Frankie.

  “A few of Maurice’s diaries are in there, too—I can travel with him, retrace his footsteps.” Maisie had not told her father that in the trunk of books and belongings that would be brought to her cabin, she had also packed a wooden box containing the ashes of Maya Patel, which she would return to the land of her birth.

  Frankie nodded, and was about to say something else when a horn sounded to alert guests that they must leave the ship before she began her voyage toward the first port of call—Gibraltar.

  “That’ll be us, Bren,” said Frankie.

  “Oh dear. Just when I’ve got a daughter, I’m losing her.” Brenda Dobbs grasped a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes.

  Maisie first held her father, then kissed the new member of the family on the cheek. “I love you both. I will write. I will be safe, and I will be back before you know it.”

  “Promise?” asked Frankie.

  “I promise,” replied Maisie.

  “Better go.”

  “Yes, better go, Dad.”

  Maisie came back to the rail to watch her father and his wife leave the ship, joining the others on the dockside. Priscilla’s boys were whooping and calling out to her, while Billy’s sons seemed more subdued, almost overwhelmed by the number of people waving and shouting. Billy held up his baby daughter, taking her hand to effect a wave. Another deafening sound came from the ship’s horn, and a rumble seemed to escalate from the depths of the vessel.

  People cheered and waved even more furiously. At once, Priscilla began singing, and soon it seemed the crowd on the dock had picked up the verse from the wartime song and gave voice in unison, all the while trying to keep their loved ones in sight as the ship began to move.

  Goodbye-ee, goodbye-ee,

  W
ipe the tear, baby dear, from your eye-ee,

  Tho’ it’s hard to part I know,

  I’ll be tickled to death to go.

  Don’t cry-ee, don’t sigh-ee,

  There’s a silver lining in the sky-ee,

  Bonsoir, old thing, cheer-i-o, chin, chin,

  Nah-poo, toodle-oo, Goodbye-ee.

  And Maisie did wipe her tears, and though they could not possibly hear her, she shouted out that she would write and so must they. The children cheered, and she saw Priscilla wave to the point of jumping. Her father put his hand to his forehead in mock salute, and she knew he would think of her constantly, stopping the postman every single day looking for her letter. And at once she remembered her new friend, Lakshmi Chaudhary Jones, and her words on a sunny afternoon over tea, as the autumn light came in shafts to reflect against the colors of her silk sari. She had told her that in leaving everything most loved, Maisie would break her own heart. In fact, she could feel it now, this much-wounded heart that she had worked so hard to protect from the dragon of her memories—that she had cradled gently so it might not be broken, again, by love—was, as she waved and called out, being fractured by her own desire for something more, something different. But she trusted Lakshmi’s counsel, her assurance that, in leaving, she would shatter this precious part of her to open it again—and in so doing, she would cast aside all fears and instead claim the colors and scents, the sounds and minds of other places that would fashion who she might now become, and fill her anew.

  How long might she be away? Might she decide to linger at her first port of call, then return home? At what point would she have seen enough of the world, for now? And what would she do, come next March 31st? There was a frisson of excitement in the fact that she had no ready answers to her own questions.

  Again the ship’s horn sounded, and a whooping came from the throng on the dock, who, she realized, were becoming smaller and smaller with distance, faces indistinguishable until they became one. She felt the waves catch the ship, the engines roar again, and the propeller taking her forward. Gulls swooped overhead as she turned, pulling up her collar and clinging to the guardrail while trying to find her sea legs. She began to make her way along the deck, her hair catching in the wind, her face already tingling against salt air. She had no idea what might lie ahead. But she was sure of one thing: She would be back. Yes, she would be back.