Jacqueline Winspear - The Mapping of Love and Death

"Did he?" Ella frowned. "How extraordinary."

"What's so extraordinary?"

"No, nothing." She shrugged. "There were chaperones, you know, so that when the nurses went away for some well-earned rest, they didn't get into any troubling situations, if you know what I mean."

"Yes, I think I do," said Maisie.

"You see, that's one of the things people never talk about afterward-or even when it's all happening-that these events lead people to do things, take chances that they might never take if they didn't think they were going to die, or were afraid that they might lose someone they loved. There's always that last good-bye, that final kiss, that promise of a future spoken in the heat of the moment and in the fear of dying, that leads to all manner of problems later. The girl who is left with a broken heart when her sweetheart returns to his fiancee in Australia, the young man who discovers that the woman who pledged to wait for him cannot face him when he returns with terrible wounds-and after those earlier fervent protestations of never-ending love. Then there are the children, the innocent fatherless children."

"I understand." Maisie spoke quietly, aware that her voice was barely more than a whisper. Too many of her own memories converged into the present, along with a more recent encounter that gave weight to the opinions of the woman before her. "Eighteen months ago, my best friend met her niece for the first time. The child was born in the war, in France. My friend's brother had been killed, and the child's mother was shot by the occupying German army. The girl is the image of her aunt, my friend. Fortunately, they now enjoy summers together, and are close."

"Ah, a story with a happy ending. Not all are so fortunate."

"Is that why you came back and set up the homes for unwed mothers?"

"More or less. I saw no reason why such women had to be branded as wanton. There had to be a means by which they could be with child without disapproving eyes upon them, and we also provided additional care when the children were adopted. There is so much to account for here." She laid a hand on her chest. "One cannot abandon a girl in that situation, one can only look after her and then set her on the path of life again-a good path, a path that might lead her forward to a reasonable future, and not the gutter."

"Did you start the first home during the war?"

She shook her head. "Before the war, actually. But with all those soldiers flooding into the country from all over the world, I asked my husband if he would help me support another two homes for girls in trouble." She looked up at the charcoal drawing. "He was a wonderful, most generous man. One in a million."

Maisie cleared her throat. "So, going back to the issue of our English nurse, you don't think she was one of your employees?"

Lady Ella shook her head again. "They were a fine group of young women, all of them, and I am sure they were pursued by many a soldier, but I am equally sure I would have heard through the grapevine if an American was involved. I worked in the unit too, you know. Of course, I wasn't there all the time-otherwise my husband and I would not have had our darling Tuffie! But I did my bit. I don't believe in asking someone to do something you couldn't or wouldn't be willing to do yourself." She smiled. "The staff here know I would be quite capable of turning my hand to any job in this household, if it came to it. And there's a certain strength in that, my dear."

"Lady-Ella, I understand you kept very precise records of your staff. Would it be an imposition for me to peruse them? I don't doubt your conclusion that 'Tennie' was not one of your nurses, but I would like to see the files, if possible. Just in case anything resonates with other evidence I've gathered."

Lady Ella smiled, put her hands on her knees, and stood up. "Let me take you to the library, where I have a cabinet containing a dossier on each of the women-both doctors and nurses. We can go through them together."

"Thank you, I appreciate your help."

"Not at all." She waved a hand as if to brush away any concern regarding the intrusion. "As I said, it's good to be in the company of someone who was there-and you were there, weren't you, my dear? I have spent a considerable amount of time with nurses. I can tell one a mile off, even if she is doing something quite different now." She beckoned Maisie to follow her. "Let's go to the library."

The women spent another hour together, with Maisie seated alongside as Ella passed the records to her one by one, supplementing the notes with her own recollections: "She was a lovely girl, Cornish farming stock, and this one-so committed to her work, she's a matron now, you know… Ah, this girl married her sweetheart. He's in a wheel-chair, but that hasn't stopped them having three children, and this one has really done well for herself, she's a secretary to someone terribly important…"

Maisie made notes on index cards, and tried to commit to memory the images set in front of her. A photograph of each employee was attached to the top right-hand corner of a dossier containing her personal information and employment history, and it seemed that Ella Casterman remembered every single one of her nurses.

When they had gone through the files, the two women remained seated at the table exchanging stories of the war, and their thoughts about life since the Armistice. Maisie had just pushed her chair back to stand up when the door to the library opened with a thump that caused it to bounce back against the wall.

"Mama, you will never guess-oh, I am terribly sorry, I didn't know you had a visitor." The boy-man who had just entered was still dressed as if for an afternoon's rowing. His brownish blond hair looked as if it would benefit from an appointment with a barber, and his ungainly long arms and legs were an indication of his age. Maisie knew without being informed that this was Christopher.

"Tuffie, how many times do I have to tell you-"

He turned to Maisie, his smile wide and with no trace of embarrassment. "Do forgive me, madam. That entrance did nothing to support my claim to be the gentleman my mother always hoped I would be."

Maisie laughed. "You're forgiven, young man, though I suspect your ear might be in for a chewing when I depart."

Ella nodded. "It will indeed. Do run along, darling, and change out of those clothes-you reek of river."

Christopher Casterman nodded, with a grin and a mischievous twinkle in his eye. He bowed to Maisie, kissed his mother on the cheek, and was gone, slamming the door behind him.

"If you ever have a son, be advised, that age represents the best of times and the worst of times. I am sure we will all come through it in one piece, though I am not sure about every door in the house, or indeed the bathroom floor."

Maisie smiled. "I think I'm getting on a bit to worry about that."

"Nonsense! I was thirty-seven when Tuffie was born. Elizabeth Barrett Browning was forty-three when she had her first child, and she was not only far from being a picture of health, but also rather fond of opiates."

"Well, anyway…" Maisie held out her hand. "You were most kind to allow me so much of your time. With your family and your charitable work, you are a busy woman."

"And about to be busier-we have a new baby due soon, my first grandchild."

"Many congratulations, Ella."

"Do let me know if I can be of further assistance."

"I will. Most certainly."

As Maisie walked towards the bus stop, in her mind she replayed different stages of her conversation with Lady Petronella Casterman as if she were reading chapters in a book. She would go back over a sentence, a look, a gesture in response to a question, a comment. And when she saw a bench, she sat down and took out her index cards to make notes while the memory was still fresh in her mind. She liked Petronella- Ella, to her friends -and found herself drawn to the woman's honesty when questions were put to her. She was sure she had a solid family life, with children she loved and who loved her. When she recalled the photographs atop the piano, it was clear that they all resembled their mother more than their father. Yes, Ella had responded with straight answers throughout their meeting. But then, it was also true that Maisie had drawn back from asking two or three questions that occurred to her, because she thought she already had the answers.