Jacqueline Winspear - Maisie Dobbs

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."

Ten 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 Enid. 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.