by Unknown
"Oh, Dad .. " Maisie stood up and, clutching the jar of money with one hand and her father with the other, held him to her.
(AAugust 1914 people still went about their business, and war seemed to be something that had nothing to do with ordinary life. But then a boy she knew in the village was in uniform, and certain foods were just a little more difficult to find. A footman at the Belgravia house enlisted, and so did the grooms and young gardeners at Chelstone. Then one weekend Maisie was called to Lady Rowan's sitting room at Chelstone.
"Maisie, I am beside myself. The grooms have all enlisted, and I am fearfully worried about my hunters. I have spoken to all sorts of people, but the young men are going into the services. Look, I know this is unusual, but I wonder, do you think your father might consider the position?"
"Well, M'Lady, I don't really know There's Persephone, and his business"
"There is a cottage in the grounds for him if he wants it.You'll be able to see him when you are not at Girton, of course, and his mare can be stabled here. They will both be well looked after"
The next day Maisie traveled by train to London to see her father. To her complete surprise, Frankie Dobbs said he would "think about it" when she told him of the offer from Lady Rowan. "After all, I'm not getting any younger, and neither is Persephone. She could do with a bit o' the old fresh country air. And 'er Ladyship's been very good to you, so come to think of it, if I 'elped 'er out, it'd be only right. It's not as if I'm a stranger to Kent, 'aving been down there picking the old 'ops every year when I was a bit of a nipper meself."
Frankie Dobbs and Persephone moved from Lambeth on a misty, unseasonably cold morning in late August 1914, to take up residence in the groom's cottage and stables, respectively, at Chelstone Manor. Instead of rising at three o'clock to take Persephone to Covent Garden market and then setting out on his rounds, Frankie now enjoyed a lie-in before rising at five o'clock to feed Lady Rowan's hunters and Persephone, who seemed to be relishing her own retirement. In a short time Frankie Dobbs was being feted by Lady Rowan as the man who knew everything there was to know about the grooming, feeding, and well-being of horses. But it was a deeper knowledge that would endear him to her for the rest of her life.
Only days remained before Maisie was to leave for Cambridge, so time spent in each other's company was of prime importance to Maisie and her father. They had resumed the ritual of working together in making a fuss of Persephone as often as possible. It was on such an occasion, while they were working and talking about the latest war news, that Lady Rowan paid a surprise visit.
"I say, anybody there?"
Maisie snapped to attention, but Frankie Dobbs, while respectful, simply replied, "In 'ere with Persephone,Your Ladyship"
"Mr. Dobbs. Thank goodness. I am beside myself"
Maisie immediately went to Lady Rowan, who always claimed to be "beside herself" in a crisis, despite a demeanor that suggested otherwise.
"Mr. Dobbs, they are coming to take my hunters-and possibly even your mare. Lord Compton has received word from the War Office that our horses are to be inspected for service this week. They are coming on Tuesday to take them. I cannot let them go. I don't want to be unpatriotic, but they are my hunters"
"And they ain't taking my Persephone either,Your Ladyship"
Frankie Dobbs walked toward his faithful old horse, who nuzzled at his jacket for the treat she knew would be forthcoming. He took sweet apple pieces from his pocket and held them out to Persephone, feeling the comforting warmth of her velvety nose in his hand, before turning back to Lady Rowan.
"Tuesday, eh? You leave it to me"
"Oh, Mr. Dobbs-everything depends upon you. What will you do? Take them somewhere and hide them?"
Frankie laughed. "Oh no. I think I might be seen running away with this little lot,Your Ladyship. No, I won't have to run anywhere. But here's one thing-" Frankie Dobbs looked at Maisie and at Lady Rowan. "I don't want anyone coming in these stables until I say so. And, Your Ladyship, I'll come to the 'ouse on Tuesday mornin' and tell you what to say. But the main thing is, whatever you see or 'ear, you're not to mind or to say anything else, other than what I tell you. You've got to trust me"
Lady Rowan stood taller, regained her composure, and looked directly at Frankie Dobbs. "I trust you implicitly."
Maisie's father nodded, tipped his cap toward Lady Rowan, and then smiled at Maisie. The stately woman walked toward the stable door, then turned around. "Mr. Dobbs. One thing we spoke about only briefly when you first came to Chelstone. I seem to remember that you were at a racing yard as a boy."
"Newmarket, Your Ladyship. From the time I was twelve to the time I came back to 'elp my father with the business at nineteen. Bit big for a jockey, I was"
"I expect you learned quite a thing or two about horses, didn't you?"
"Oh yes,Your Ladyship. Quite a thing or two. Saw a lot, good and bad"
The men from the War Office came to Chelstone at lunchtime on Tuesday. Lady Rowan led them to the stables apologizing profusely and explaining, as she had been instructed by Frankie Dobbs, that she feared her horses might not be suitable for service as they had contracted a sickness that even her groom could not cure. They were met by Frankie Dobbs, who stood in tears by Sultan, her jet black hunter.
The once-noble horse hung his head low as foam dropped from his open mouth. His eyes rolled back in his head as he struggled for breath. Lady Rowan gasped and looked at Frankie, who would not meet her alarmed eyes with his own.
"By God, what is wrong with the beast?" asked the tall man in uniform, who held a baton under his arm. He stepped carefully toward Sultan, avoiding any soiled straw that might compromise the shine on his highly polished boots.
"Not anything I've seen for years. Caused by worm. Bacteria," Frankie Dobbs replied, and spoke to Lady Rowan directly. "I'm sorry, Your Ladyship. We'll probably lose them all by tomorrow That old cart 'orse will be first. On account of 'er age"
The men stopped briefly to glance into Persephone's stall, where Frankie Dobbs's faithful horse lay on the ground.
"Lady Compton. Our sympathies. The country needs one hundred and sixty-five thousand horses, but we need them to be fit, strong, and able to be of service on the battlefield."
Lady Rowan's tears were genuine. She had been primed by Frankie as to what she should say, but had not been prepared for what she would see. "Yes ... yes ... indeed. I wish you luck, gentlemen."
The two men were soon gone. After seeing them off, Lady Rowan ran immediately to the stables once again, where Frankie Dobbs was working furiously to pour a chalky liquid down Sultan's throat. Maisie was in another stall, feeding the liquid to Ralph. Persephone and Hamlet were on their feet.
Lady Rowan said nothing, but walked over to Hamlet, and touched the pale, drawn skin around his eyes.As she brought her hand away she noticed the white powder on her gloves and smiled.
"Mr. Dobbs, I shall never ask what you did today. But I will remember this forever. I know what I asked of you was wrong, but I just couldn't bear to lose them"
"And I couldn't bear to lose Persephone,Your Ladyship. But I 'ave to warn you. This war is far from over.You keep these 'ere horses on your land. Don't let anyone outside see them, just them as works 'ere. Times like these changes folk. Keep the animals close to 'ome."
Lady Rowan nodded and gave a carrot to each horse in turn.
"Oh, and by the way, Your Ladyship. I wonder if Mrs. Crawford could use two and a half dozen egg yolks? Terrible waste if she can't."
Je household staff sat down to dinner at the big table in the kitchen at Chelstone Manor on Maisie's last night before leaving for Cambridge. She was on the cusp of her new life. The Comptons were in residence, so the servants whom Maisie loved from the Belgravia house were there to see her off.
Carter sat at the head of the table in the carver's chair, and Mrs. Crawford sat at the opposite end within easy striking distance of the big cast-iron coal-fired stove. Maisie sat next to her father and opposite En
id. Even Enid, who had been summoned from the London house to assist with late-summer entertaining at Chelstone, joined in the fun and looked happy: She had brightened up considerably since Mr. James had returned from Canada.
"Gaw lummy, I think the world's spinnin' even faster these days. What with the war, Master James coming home, Maisie goin' to Cambridge-Cambridge, our Maisie Dobbs! Then there's all the important people coming tomorrow to meet with Lord Compton," said Cook, as she took her seat after a final check on the apple pie.
"All arrangements are in order, Mrs. Crawford.We will make a final round of inspection after our little celebration here. Now then . .
Standing up, Carter cleared his throat and smiled. "I'll ask you to join me in a toast."
Chairs scraped backward, people coughed as they stood up and nudged one another. The entire complement of household staff turned to face Maisie, who blushed as all eyes were upon her.
"To our own Maisie Dobbs! Congratulations, Maisie. We've all seen you work hard, and we know you will be a credit to Lord and Lady Compton, to your father-and to us all. So we've got a small token of our affection. For you to use at the university."
Mrs. Crawford reached under the table and took out a large flat box, which she passed down the table to Carter with one hand, while the other rubbed at her now tearful eyes with a large white handkerchief.
"From all the staff at Chelstone Manor and the Compton residence in London-Maisie, we're proud of you"
Maisie blushed, and reached for the plain brown cardboard box. "Oh, my goodness. Oh, dear. Oh-"
"Just open it, Mais, for Gawd's sake!" said Enid, inspiring a scowl from Mrs. Crawford.
Maisie pulled at the string, took off the lid, and drew back the fine tissue paper to reveal a butter-soft yet sturdy black leather document case with a silver clasp.
"Oh ... oh ... it's ... it's ... beautiful! Thank you, thank you. All of you"
Carter wasted no time in taking his glass and continuing with the toast. "To our own Maisie Dobbs .. "
Voices echoed around the table.
"To Maisie Dobbs"
"Well done, Mais"
"You show `em for us, Maisie!"
"Maisie Dobbs!"
Maisie nodded, whispering, "Thank you ... thank you ... thank you.
"And before we sit down," said Carter, as the assembled group were bending halfway down to their seats again. "To our country, to our boys who are going over to France. Godspeed and God save the King!"
"God save the King"
v he following day Maisie stood on the station platform, this time with an even larger trunk of books that far outweighed her case of personal belongings. She clutched her black document case tightly, afraid that she would lose this most wonderful gift. Carter and Mrs. Crawford had chosen it, maintaining that Maisie Dobbs should not have to go to university without a smart case for her papers.
On her journey up to Cambridge, when Maisie changed trains at Tonbridge for the main service to London, she was taken aback by the multitude of uniformed men lining up on the platform. Freshly posted handbills gave a hint of things to come:
LONDON, BRIGHTON & SOUTH COAST RAILWAYS
MOBILIZATION OF TROOPS
PASSENGERS ARE HEREBY NOTIFIED THAT IT MAY BE NECESSARY
TO SUSPEND OR ALTER TRAINS WITHOUT PREVIOUS NOTICE
It was clear that the journey to Cambridge would be a long one. Sweethearts and the newly married held tightly to each other amid the crush of bodies on the platform. Mothers cried into sodden handkerchiefs; sons assured them, "I'll be back before you know it," and fathers stood stoically silent.
Maisie passed a father and son standing uncomfortably together in the grip of unspoken emotion. As she brushed by, she saw the older man clap his son on the shoulder. He pursed his lips together, firmly clamping his grief in place, while the son looked down at his feet. A small Border collie sat still between them, secure on a leash held by the son. The panting dog looked between father and son as they began to speak quietly.
"You mind and do your best, son.Your mother would have been proud of you"
"I know, Dad," said the son, moving his gaze to his father's lapels.
"And you mind you keep your head out of the way of the Kaiser's boys, lad. We don't want you messing up that uniform, do we?"
The boy laughed, for he was a boy and not yet a man.
"All right, Dad, I'll keep my boots shined, and you look after Patch"
"Safe as houses, me and Patch. We'll be waiting for you when you come home, son"
Maisie watched as the man pressed his hand down even harder on the young man's shoulder. "Listen to that.Your train is coming in. This is it, time to be off.You mind and do your best."
The son nodded, bent down to stroke the dog, who playfully wagged her tail and jumped up to lick the boy's face. He met his father's eyes only briefly, and after passing the leash to the older man, was suddenly swallowed up in a sea of moving khaki. A guard with a megaphone ordered, "Civilians to keep back from the train" as the older man stood on tiptoe, trying to catch one last glimpse of his departing son.
Maisie moved away to allow the soldiers to board their train, and watched the man bend down, pick up the dog, and bury his face in the animal's thick coat. And as his shoulders shook with the grief he dared not show, the dog twisted her head to lick comfort into his neck.
C H A P T E R F I F T E E N
upon arrival at Girton College, Maisie registered with the Porter's Lodge and was directed to the room that had been assigned to her for the academic year. Assured that the trunk of books would be brought up to her room in due course, clutching her bag, she began to leave the lodge, following the directions given by the porter, who suddenly called her back. "Oh, Miss! A parcel arrived today for you. Urgent delivery, to be given to you immediately."
Maisie took the brown paper parcel and immediately recognized the small slanted writing. It was from Maurice Blanche.
Few women were already in residence when Maisie arrived, and the hallways were quiet as she made her way to her room. She was anxious to unwrap the parcel, and paid hardly any attention to her new surroundings after opening the door to her room. Instead she quickly put her belongings down by the wardrobe and, taking a seat in the small armchair, began to open the package. Under the brown paper, a layer of tissue covered a letter from Maurice, and a leather-bound book with blank pages. Inside the cover of the book, Maurice had copied the words of Soren Kierkegaard, words that he had quoted to her from memory in their last meeting before her journey to Cambridge. It was as if Maurice were in the room with her, so strong was his voice in her mind as she read the words: "There is nothing of which every man is so afraid, as getting to know how enormously much he is capable of doing and becoming" She closed the book, continuing to hold it as she read the letter in which Maurice spoke of the gift:
In seeking to fill your mind, I omitted to instruct you in the opposite exercise. This small book is for your daily writings, when the day is newborn and before you embark upon the richness of study and intellectual encounter. My instruction, Maisie, is to simply write a page each day. There is no set subject, save that which the waking mind has held close in sleep.
Suddenly the loud crash of a door swinging back on its hinges, followed by the double thump of two large leather suitcases landing one after the other on the floor of the room next door, heralded the arrival of her neighbor. Amplified by the empty corridor, she heard a deep sigh followed by the sound of a foot kicking one of the cases.
"What I wouldn't give for a gin and tonic!"
A second later, with wrapping paper still between her fingers and her head raised to follow the audible wake of her neighbor, Maisie heard footsteps coming toward her room. In her hurry to open the parcel from Maurice, she had left her door ajar, allowing the young woman immediate access.
A fashionably dressed girl with dark chestnut hair stood in front of her, and held out her finely manicured hand. "Priscilla Evernden. Delighted to meet y
ou-Maisie Dobbs, isn't it? Wouldn't happen to have a cigarette, would you?"
01-7t seemed to Maisie that she lived two lives at Cambridge. There were her days of study and learning, which began in her room before dawn, and ended after her lectures and tutorials with more study in the evening. She spent Saturday afternoons and Sunday mornings in the college chapel, rolling bandages and knitting socks, gloves, and scarves for men at the front. It was a cold winter in the trenches, and no sooner had word gone out that men needed warm clothes than every woman suddenly seemed to be knitting.
At least Maisie felt that she was doing something for the war, but it was her studies that were always at the forefront of her mind. If anything, the endless talk of war seemed to her a distraction, something that she just wanted to be over, so that she could get on with her life at Cambridge-and whatever might come after.
There were times when Maisie was thankful that a very bright spark was resident in the next room. Priscilla seemed to gravitate toward Maisie and, surprising Maisie herself, appeared to enjoy her company.
"My dear girl, how many pairs of these infernal socks must one knit? I am sure I have kitted out an entire battalion."
Another sharp observation from Priscilla Evernden. In truth Maisie loved Priscilla's theatrical tone as much as she had loved Enid's down-to-earth wit, and she was only too aware that, though miles apart in their upbringing, the two girls shared a ready exuberance that Maisie envied. Despite her early fumblings with the language of the aristocracy, Enid was sure of who she was and sure of what she wanted to be. Priscilla was equally sure of herself, and Maisie loved the sweep and flourish of her language, punctuated as it was by exaggerated movements of her hands and arms.
"You seem to be doing quite well, really," said Maisie.
"Oh, sod it!" said Priscilla as she fumbled with her knitting needles, "I fear, dear Maisie, that you are clearly made of knitting stock, one only has to look at that plait hanging down your back. Good Lord, girl, that plait could be a loaf at Harvest Festival! Obviously you have been bred for knitting"