"Not really, Miss. I'd 'eard of 'im, but, y'know, poetry's not
up my alley, to tell you the truth."
Maisie smiled and continued. "Priscilla has three boys. She
calls them ‘the toads' and says they are just like her brothers, always up to
something. She's back in London to look at schools for them for next year. She
and Douglas have decided that the boys are growing up and need to have a British
education."
Billy shook his head. "Don't think I could part with my
nippers—oh, sorry, Miss." He pressed his hand to his mouth, remembering that
Frankie Dobbs had sent Maisie to work as a maid in the home of Lord Julian
Compton and his wife, Lady Rowan, when her mother died. At the time, Maisie was
barely thirteen years old.
Maisie shrugged. "That's all right, Billy. It's well past now.
My father was doing what he thought best for me, and no doubt that's what
Priscilla is doing. Each to their own—we've all got to part one day, haven't
we?" Maisie shrugged. "Let's just get these bills finished and go home."
For the past year, Maisie had lived at Lord and Lady Compton's
Belgravia home. The accommodation had been offered to Maisie in the context of a
favor to Lady Rowan, who wanted someone she trusted living "upstairs" during her
absence—Maisie was now an independent woman with her own business, since her
mentor and former employer, Maurice Blanche, retired. So instead of a lowly bed
in the servants' quarters at the top of the mansion—her first experience of life
in the household—Maisie occupied elegant rooms on the second floor. The Comptons
were spending more time at Chelstone, their country home in Kent, where Maisie's
father was the groom. It was generally thought that the Belgravia property was
now retained only to pass on to James, the Comptons' son who managed the
family's business affairs in Canada.
For most of the time, Maisie was alone in the house but for a
small complement of servants; then at the end of summer, Lady Rowan would sweep
into town to take up her position as one of London's premier hostesses. However,
extravagance had been curtailed since last year when Lady Rowan, with a
compassion uncommon among the aristocracy, declared, "I simply cannot indulge in
such goings-on when half the country hasn't enough food in its belly! No, we
will draw in our horns and instead see what we can do to get the country out of
this wretched mess!"
Upon arriving at Ebury Place that evening, Maisie brought her MG
to the mews behind the mansion and noticed immediately that Lord Compton's
Rolls-Royce was parked alongside the old Lanchester and that George, his
chauffeur, was in conversation with Eric, a footman who took charge of the motor
cars when George was in Kent.
George touched his forehead and opened Maisie's door for her.
"Evening, m'um. Very nice to see you."
"George! What are you doing here? Is Lady Rowan in London?"
"No, m'um, only His Lordship. But he's not staying. Just a
business meeting and then to his club."
"Oh. A meeting at the house?"
"Yes, m'um. And if you don't mind, he's said that as soon as you
returned he'd like you to join him in the library."
"Me?" Maisie was surprised. She sometimes thought that Lord
Compton had merely indulged his wife in her support of her in the early years of
her education, though he had always been nothing less than cordial in his
communications.
"Yes, m'um. He knows you're going out later, but he said to say
it wouldn't take long."
Maisie nodded to George and thanked Eric, who stepped forward
with a cloth to attend to the already shining MG. Instead of entering through
the kitchen door, an informality that had become her custom, she walked quickly
to the front entrance, whereupon the door was immediately opened by Sandra, the
most senior "below stairs" employee in the absence of the butler, Carter, who
was at Chelstone.
From Pardonable Lies by Jacqueline Winspear. Copyright Jacqueline Winspear 2005. All rights reserved. No part of this book maybe reproduced without written permission from the publisher.
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