“I’m still taking them back, though. We can catch the London train in Tonbridge and be home by ten, I would imagine.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to think about it? You should see the billeting officer, and the children’s teacher, at the very least,” offered Maisie.
“They’re my sons, and I don’t have to get permission from anyone.” She looked out of the window. “That looks like them now, coming up the hill with the old boy.”
“That’s my father, Mrs. Preston,” said Maisie. “And he can handle your lads quite smartly.”
The woman grinned in a sheepish manner, as if to apologize for an error that, in truth, she found quite amusing. “Could you let me know where I can change the baby? I’ll let the boys have a bite of their tea, and we’ll be on our way.”
Maisie drew breath to offer an alternative when the woman spoke again.
“You know, it wouldn’t surprise me if that old girl hadn’t been on her way to a hospital. She had a bag with her, and it crossed my mind that she was going somewhere too. Probably somewhere to die, if the state of that cough was anything to go by.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Preston. We might find Anna’s family yet. Now then, let me show you to the bathroom—I’ll get you a fresh towel, and you can take all the time you need.”
“Thank you, Miss Dobbs—it is Miss, isn’t it?” As she followed Maisie, Preston added, “I wouldn’t let that big dog near one of my children. German thing, you never know where its teeth might end up.”
Maisie bit her lip. She had learned that sometimes it was best to let words die of their own accord, rather than fight them.
“She’s out there in the garden with those two dogs now—went out there as soon as she’d had her breakfast. All in her own little world, isn’t she? And I know those lads only went last evening, but it’s not as if she appears to miss the company of other children.” Brenda joined Maisie and her father at the kitchen table. “She has a way about her—like a fairy child. What do they call them? She’s like a changeling.”
“I think she’s probably been used to a quiet life,” said Maisie. “I’m speculating here, but from what we know, it seems she was brought up by an elderly lady, and therefore the house was probably quite quiet. She hadn’t started school, and perhaps the woman kept her in a lot, to save worrying about her playing with other children out on the street.”
“I wouldn’t be too concerned,” said Frankie. “You were a bit like that, as a girl. I mean, you had your little friend around the corner—what was her name? Susie? Yes, that’s it, little Susie Acres. But after her people upped and left in a moonlight flit and we never saw her again, you kept to yourself a bit more. Always had your nose in a book.”
Maisie looked out of the window. “Susie Acres. I haven’t thought about her for years.”
Frankie put down his cup. “Right, this won’t do, sitting about of a morning. What time do you want to set off?”
Maisie looked at the clock above the fireplace. “I’m going over to see Robert Miller now, so let’s say about eleven.”
“And you’re sure about it, Maisie? You know I don’t hold with this cock-eyed plan of yours.”
“I think it might help—both of them, actually.”
Maisie arrived at the manor house, and was shown into the drawing room by Simmonds, the butler. Simmonds had previously worked for James and Maisie at their Ebury Place house—James had taken over the property when his parents decided they no longer wanted to come into town for the Season, and were happy to remain at their country estate. Lady Rowan’s most recent butler had left their employ, so it was fortuitous that Simmonds was able to take the position.
“You’re looking very well, Your Ladyship,” said Simmonds.
“Thank you—I’m feeling much better these days,” said Maisie. The fact that Simmonds always addressed her by the title bestowed upon her by marriage made her cringe. It had never suited her, and felt like a piece of ill-fitting clothing whenever someone used the form of address. In Canada, James had much preferred to be known as Mr. Compton, and Maisie was happy to be plain Mrs. Compton. He had told her, “I can get away with it here—no one pays attention to my title anyway.” Although their life together was far from ordinary, being in Canada seemed to give them a greater sense of freedom to do and be who they pleased. And along with that freedom came such happiness and contentment—until the day James was killed, having broken a promise to Maisie that he would not fly, not with a baby on the way.
“The nurse is bringing Mr. Miller into the drawing room. It really was better for him to be accommodated on the ground floor. This is a very old house, and with all the beams, it would have been a struggle to get him up and down the stairs each day.”
“Of course. I am sure he is just glad to be away from any sort of institution,” said Maisie.