Jacqueline Winspear - The Mapping of Love and Death

"They're at St. George's Hospital-but don't count on seeing them yet. Mrs. Clifton is in a critical condition, and her prognosis isn't good. Teddy is arriving in a few days." Maisie sighed, then smiled. "James, I had better be going. See you on Saturday, then."

James Compton smiled in return and patted the roof of the MG. "Drive carefully. Oh, and remember to dress for the cold and mud-Brooklands is hardly the place for one's finery, not if you really want to see the action." As Maisie pulled away, she looked back to see him watching her motor car drive off, the dogs now sitting at his feet. She put her hand out the window and waved once. He returned her wave, and when she looked back upon reaching the Chelstone road, she saw him wave once more, then begin to walk back across the lawns. She began to accelerate and reflected upon Maurice's words-" a lonely man in crisis ."

As soon as Maisie arrived at her flat in Pimlico, she knew she wanted to speak to Thomas Libbert at the earliest opportunity. She needed to see him for herself, to gauge the measure of the man. She unpacked her small case and went out once more, this time walking along the road to the telephone kiosk, where she placed a call to the Dorchester. Thomas Libbert was not available, so she left a message, asking him to telephone her on Monday morning. With luck they would meet that day. She was just about to leave when she changed her mind and dialed Priscilla's number. The housekeeper answered, and soon Priscilla came to the telephone.

"Darling, you can't let me down. If you leave now, you can join us for supper. Slight change of plan. The boys have had theirs-they are eating us out of house and home-so it's only the grown-ups." She lowered her voice. "And Douglas has a visitor, a charming man. Bit of a writer, but frankly, it looks as if money is no object-you know how some of them always look as if they could do with a meal, well, this one appears to be rather well-heeled for a change. Do come, I think you should meet him."

"Oh, Pris, please stop playing with Cupid's bow, I'm sure he has a much better aim than you."

"Not if you read your Shakespeare, he doesn't."

Maisie changed the subject. "I thought I would see if you'd made any progress with the little task I put your way."

"Little task, my eye! If I tell you what I've found out, will you come?"

"Blackmailer."

"Call your detective friends and shop me. Do I hear a yes?"

Maisie sighed, but smiled at her friend's subterfuge. "Yes, I will. Against my better judgment."

"Where men are concerned, Maisie, you haven't the experience to have garnered judgment. Anyway-" She paused. "I just happen to have my little dossier by the telephone, and here's what I have for you-and I will be brief, because I can tell you more later and give you my notes. Makes up for all the times I filched your essays at Girton." Maisie heard the rustle of paper, then Priscilla continued speaking. "Now, as you know, not all nursing contingents would have been able to go to Paris for the odd day or two off. You went to Rouen, if my memory serves me well, and if you had longer, then you went on leave back to Blighty. The American and Canadian nurses tended to have more time in Paris-and remember, even though the Yankee boys weren't at the front until the tag end of 1917, they sent out medical contingents right from the outset. Having said that, by hook or by crook, I have made a list-by no means complete-of the British units that allowed leave in Paris for their nurses. This gets very confusing, because 'British' means from the Empire."

"Oh, dear." Maisie sighed, not for the first time realizing the enormity of the task.

"And you have to consider something else, Maisie."

"Go on."

"This nurse may have been English, originally, but she might have been an immigrant to Canada, or Australia, or America. After all, so many young men went out to the lands of opportunity before the war, but enlisted to help the old country as soon as war was declared-many of the Canadians were born in Britain. Might be the same with the nurses. Your English nurse could have been with a Canadian contingent, or Australian." Priscilla paused again, and Maisie heard the raspy breath as she inhaled from her cigarette, doubtless affixed to the long holder she favored. "If she wasn't with a private nursing contingent, one of those sponsored by Lady This or the Duchess of That, I bet she was a Canadian. Australia is a bloody long way to go, after all."

"Thank you, Pris. I'll look at your notes later."

"Oh, and there was this one unit, quite a few nurses, paid for by a very wealthy woman, Lady-can't find her name, where is that piece of paper?"

Maisie felt the skin at the base of her skull tingle. "What about the unit, Pris?"

"Well, it was called, simply, 'The English Nursing Unit.' Bit of a cheek, if you ask me, I mean, what did it matter where you came from, as long as you were there? Anyway, the nurses wore these badges with the coat of arms of Lady Whatever-her-name-was, and the name of the unit. All a bit elitist, in my opinion."

Maisie nodded. "I'll just go home and dress for dinner, and I'll be over as soon as I can."

"Changed your mind about the writer?"

As was so often her wont, Maisie stood in front of the open doors of her wardrobe and regarded the contents. Knowing Priscilla and Douglas, dining would not be a formal affair if only one other guest was to join them, and one of Douglas' writer friends at that. But on the other hand, Priscilla might want to bring a level of sophistication to the proceedings if she were in a matchmaking mood, so evening dress might be appropriate-she could just imagine Priscilla wearing a pair of her signature wide silk trousers and a loose silk top with a broad sash drawn around her hips. On her feet would be a pair of satin mules embellished with an oriental design, and her thick hair would be drawn back into a chignon with a crystal-studded clip. Though Maisie had been the grateful recipient of several of Priscilla's cast-off gowns, she did not feel that such a choice would be appropriate for her this evening, so instead took out her black day dress, which could be given something of a flourish by adding the fine cashmere wrap that Priscilla had given her in France almost two years earlier. It wasn't quite warm enough yet to wear the matching silk trousers-Priscilla might dress as if she were still living on the Riviera, but it would not feel right to Maisie.

Maisie, dear, if it weren't for the fact that I would be sending you home naked, I have a good mind to confiscate that dress. Even I'm getting sick to death of it, and I'm not the one wearing it."

Priscilla had brought Maisie to her upstairs sitting room while Douglas and their guest were in the library putting the finishing touches on a joint literary endeavor.

"Just as well my enemies don't comment on my attire, with friends like you to set me right!"

"Oh, come on, you know what I mean. Where's that lovely red dress, the one you dyed yourself? And what happened to that vibrant color phase you were going through, when you'd taken up those arty classes with that Polish woman-Magda, or whatever her name was."

"Marta." Maisie sighed as she corrected the name. Priscilla was right, and she knew it. After a flirtation with color and texture, she had slowly retreated to the comfort of the more familiar items in her wardrobe.

"Well, I know when I'm right, because you don't argue with me," said Priscilla. "I can tell what's happened-you've been buried in your work, and you've forgotten about yourself again. Here, let me look at you." Priscilla stood up and pulled Maisie to her feet. "That dress is very well cut, I'll give you that, but let's cheer it up a bit, shall we? Oh, and before you say that work should come first, we can talk about my little investigative endeavor after supper-we'll leave the men to their port and engage in our own important business. In the meantime, I think we'll brighten up that dress with a splash of gold-though perhaps we should choose a wrap that really brings out those eyes of yours, something sort of deep violety midnight blue."