Jacqueline Winspear - The Mapping of Love and Death

"How are you keeping?"

"I'm doing much better, Miss Dobbs. Dr. Masters helped me with, you know, how to get on without Lizzie. And now I'm back on the mend, so we'll be all right, me and Billy and the boys. Yes, we'll be all right." She passed a cup of tea to Maisie with two hands, but still managed to spill some in the saucer. "Oh, I am sorry, here-"

"Not to worry. I'm always doing the very same thing. That's why I get Billy to serve tea to our clients when they visit!" The lie came easily. "Pour yourself a cup and sit down with me, Doreen."

Doreen Beale brought a second cup of tea, again held with two hands, and sat in the chair in which Maisie had seen her sleeping.

"Are you managing, Doreen?" Maisie thought there was no point in any conversational subterfuge, for she had visited Doreen when she was in hospital, and had seen her after she had been subjected to a violent procedure. Maisie had subsquently pulled strings to have the woman transferred to another, more humane psychiatric institution.

Doreen nodded. "Like I said, Miss Dobbs, I'm doing better. I'm taking in some needlework again, and I'm managing to finish a dress or alteration without forgetting about it. Billy's mother comes around every morning after the children go to school, and we have a chat and she helps me. I know it's not right, a woman of that age helping the likes of me, but she's very good. She makes sure I eat some of her broth. I don't always feel like eating, you see, so I forget, and she reminds me. Yes. I'm getting better."

The neat hair pulled back in a bun and a trace of color in her cheeks, were further evidence of a slow recovery. Maisie remembered her visit at Christmas, when the usually meticulous Doreen-the want of money had never stopped her caring for her appearance-wore clothes in need of repair and laundering; her complexion had been rough and gaunt, and her hair ill-kempt.

"Are you getting out, Doreen? You could do with some fresh air, you know."

"That's hard to find here in Shoreditch, Miss Dobbs. I'm a Sussex girl, you know, I didn't come up to London until I married Billy. I don't know that the air ever feels fresh to me."

The conversation went on for another fifteen minutes or so, and when Maisie announced it was time to go, she carried the two teacups into the kitchen while Doreen took the tray with teapot and milk. The kitchen, though small, was spotless, and while they continued talking, Maisie picked up a tea towel and dried the crockery as Doreen placed each washed item on the draining board. She put the things away in a cupboard, and while she was still talking to Maisie-about the boys, about Billy's dream of going to live in Canada-Maisie noticed her wiping down every surface in the kitchen time and again. Then she washed her already clean hands once more, shook them dry, and wiped the draining boards for the umpteenth time to absorb droplets of water.

"That was a lovely cup of tea, Doreen. It's a treat to see you looking so well."

"Thank you, Miss Dobbs."

"Let Billy know when you're up to taking on more work. I'm fed up with the blinds in my flat and would like some curtains. I don't think I'd trust anyone else to make them for me, so when you're ready-"

"I've got a few things to finish, but in about a fortnight I reckon I could take them on."

The two women exchanged pleasantries at the door, and soon Maisie was on a bus traveling away from Shoreditch. Throughout the journey, which took her along the narrow streets of the City and then in the direction of Fitzroy Square, her deliberations were firmly on the Beales and their future. Doreen's behavior had revealed a tendency towards obsession, which was not unusual in a case such as hers. It gave her a sense of control over her environment and what happened in her life. Maisie wondered if she should say something, or whether certain fixations might diminish as Doreen grew stronger. Billy's fierce pride had recently been put aside so many times to accept help from Maisie, and there was only so much more she could do. She had not the resources to offer more money, but she felt it incumbent upon herself to provide support where she could, so that at the very least, Billy knew that someone cared enough to help them find a way through their barren desert of despair to something approaching a better way of life.

The shank of the afternoon was giving way to dusk as Maisie ran from the bus stop on Tottenham Court Road, and when she entered the square from Fitzroy Street, she could see a light on in the first-floor office. The business week extended until Saturday afternoon, and in their line of endeavor, it was not unusual to work on a Sunday, but she was still surprised to see that Billy had not left for home at this time on a Friday. It was as she walked closer to the front door that she saw the reason-a chauffeured motor car was parked outside, indicating that visitors had arrived and were waiting for her.

As she reached the top of the staircase, the door to the office opened, and Billy stepped out onto the landing.

"I heard the front door go, Miss."

"Who do we have the pleasure of seeing so late in the day?"

"It's Mr. Clifton-the son, that is. And his friend, Dr. Charles Hayden."

"Oh, Charles-" She opened the door and entered the room.

Billy had offered the men chairs in front of Maisie's desk, and as she walked in, her cheeks flushed, they came to their feet.

"Charles, how lovely to see you again."

"Maisie!" He took her hands in his own and kissed her on the cheek in greeting.

Charles Hayden was tall, with broad shoulders, and if he carried any extra weight, it served only to make him seem more of a contented man, happy in his family and a success in his profession. His ready smile made Maisie feel as if she were part of an inner circle. While still holding her hands, he turned to Teddy Clifton.

"Teddy, I met this young lady when she was just-what was it, Maisie? Eighteen years of age?"

Maisie smiled and gently pulled her hands away so that she could welcome her guest.

"Mr. Clifton, it is such a pleasure to meet you, though I wish with all my heart that the circumstances were less tragic."

"Thank you, ma'am. Charles has told me a lot about you."

"What news of your parents?"

"My father is much better. Charles examined him today and went through some tests-the doctors accommodated us-so we are pleased with his progress. My mother has regained consciousness, but it will be a few more days before we know what sort of lasting damage there might be."

"I'm optimistic, though," added Hayden.

"And I feel better knowing Charles is over here now-not that there's anything wrong with your doctors."

"I understand, Mr. Clifton." Maisie pulled her chair from behind her desk so that the coming conversation might be more open, less businesslike. Maurice had often cautioned her that the desk could be seen as barrier to honest dialogue, and if she had control of the situation, and if the circumstances warranted it, she should never let the desk come between herself and her clients, or anyone she was interviewing. It was one of many nuggets of advice she had taken to heart.

"Have you had tea?"

"Mr. Beale has filled us with tea and-what do you call those things? Biscuits?" Charles Hayden laughed as he asked the question.

"'No better than hardtack.' That's what you said once, when we were all in France." She took her seat and invited Billy to bring his chair over to join them. "My assistant has been actively helping me with this case," she explained to the men.

Maisie did not know how much Charles Hayden had brought Teddy Clifton into his confidence regarding his suspicions upon reading the postmortem report on Michael Clifton's remains. She looked at Hayden and nodded, a signal that she wanted him to begin their meeting.