Maurice nodded. “The pain of being reminded is a sharp sword. But there’s more, isn’t there?”
“Yes. Yes, I suppose there is.” Maisie swallowed deeply. “He sent me away, didn’t he? To Ebury Place. And I know, I know, it all worked out for the best, and I wouldn’t be where I am today if he hadn’t, but—”
“But you can’t forget.”
“No.”
“And what of forgiveness?”
“I love my father, Maurice.”
“No one is questioning your love. I ask again: What of forgiveness?”
“I suppose . . . yes, I suppose some resentment still lingers. When I think about it, even though we made up and he would do anything for me. I . . . I suppose I am still upset, in a deep part of me, right in here.” Maisie placed her hand against her ribs.
Silence filtered into the air around them once again, drowning out the echoes of Maisie’s whispered confession until Maurice spoke again. “May I make a suggestion, Maisie?.”
She nodded and replied quietly, “Yes.”
“You must speak with your father. Not to him, but with him. You must create a new path. You do not need me to tell you that, strong as he is, your father is not getting any younger. This accident will have weakened him, though I expect he will enjoy a full recovery. I observed you enter this ward dragging your guilt, regret, and—yes—fear with you, fear that you might have lost your chance. But you haven’t lost it at all. Use your training, Maisie, your heart, your intuition and your love for your father to forge a new, even stronger, bond.”
Maisie watched Maurice as he spoke.
“I feel so . . . weak, Maurice. I should have known better than to allow the situation to continue.”
“Should have? Should, Maisie? Fortunately you are a human being, and it is recognizing our own fallibility that enables us to do our work.” Blanche stood up from his chair and rubbed his back and neck. “Now then, it’s getting late.”
“Oh I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kept you.”
Blanche held up his hand to silence her. “No, I wanted to remain here until you arrived. But now, I must report back to Lady Rowan. I suspect that our patient will improve with your presence.”
“Thank you, Maurice.”
Blanche inclined his head, and took up his coat and hat, which had been placed on the back of the chair.
“Maurice, I wonder if I might speak with you tomorrow about a case.”
“Waite?”
“It’s gone a bit further than that, really. I’m now convinced that the Coulsden and Cheyne Mews murders, and perhaps one more, are connected with the Waite case.”
“You will need to return to Chelstone later, perhaps after doctor’s rounds tomorrow morning, or before if Matron learns that you are here. Come to the Dower House when you are ready.”
“Thank you.” Maisie looked at her father again, then turned back to Maurice. “You know, it’s strange, but I believe the murders have to do with being reminded, and remembering . . . and, now that I think about it, with forgiveness, too.”
Blanche smiled and drew back the screen to leave. “I am not at all surprised. As I have said many times, my dear, each case has a way of shining a light on something we need to know about ourselves. Until tomorrow.”
Maisie took Maurice’s seat at her father’s bedside, ready to continue the vigil until he regained consciousness. In the distance she heard a receding footfall as her mentor left the ward. She was alone with her thoughts, and though she held on to her father’s hands firmly, and made a commitment to better times together in the future, she was wondering about the murdered women, and about Charlotte.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Maisie opened her eyes as dawn was just visible through the tops of rectangular paned windows beyond the screens. How long had she slept? She moved her head to look at her father and sat up carefully so that she would not disturb him.
“Dad! Dad—you’re awake!”
Frankie Dobbs forced a smile. “Been awake for a while, love. Just didn’t want to unsettle you.”
“Oh, Dad, I’m so glad.” Maisie leaned across the bed to embrace her father, then sat back.
“And I’m glad you came, love.”
“Straightaway, as soon as I heard.”
Frankie squeezed his daughter’s hand in his own broad palm. “To tell you the truth, for a moment I thought you were your mother. Fair took my breath away, it did, seeing you there. Thought I’d been taken, I did, and was with ’er again.”
Maisie checked her father’s pulse and touched his forehead with her slender fingers.
“Always checking something, my girl. Always making sure, eh?”
Father and daughter were silent for a while. Maisie knew she must use the door that Maurice had opened, in speaking of her mother.
“We don’t seem to talk of Mum any more do we, Dad?”
Frankie tried to move toward Maisie, and grimaced. “No, love, we don’t. Kept my memories to myself, and I s’pose you did, too.”
“Oh, Dad—”
“And I was thinking, as I was watching you ’ave a kip, that we’ve let a few things get between us, ’aven’t we?”
“I know—”
With a low screech the metal feet of the screen were pulled across the floor, and the nighttime Staff Nurse interrupted their conversation.
“I thought I heard voices. Good to see you awake, Mr. Dobbs. Had us all worried there. Doctor will be along to see you soon, and Matron will have a fit if she finds you here, Miss Dobbs. I’ll be going off duty directly doctor has finished, but you’d better be off, Miss.”
“Yes, I’d better. Dad, I’ll be back later today, during visiting hours.” Maisie reached down to kiss her father, then left the enclosure to step out into the ward. Morning sunlight was filtering in, warming patients and nurses alike.
Walking toward the exit, Maisie turned to the nurse.
“What’s the prognosis?”
“Well, Miss—”
“I was a nurse myself, so I have some understanding of the situation.”
“I’m not supposed to say, but I can tell you this—of course, we’ll know more after Doctor sees him this morning—but he sustained a serious concussion, plus he’s cracked both tibia. Not complete fractures, but something to watch all the same. I suspect he will need at least two or three months of rest, considering his age, and they will probably advise convalescence where he can receive adequate care.”
“I see.”
“But we’ll be able to say more when you come back this afternoon. Go home, have a nice cup of tea and a good sleep. Your father needs you in tip-top health!”
As Maisie drove, she thanked any unseen entity or power that might have had a hand in the events of the past hours, for openings that seemed to have materialized in several directions. It occurred to her that helping out with the horses in her father’s absence would be a real job for Billy. He would be close enough to be guided by Maurice, to receive instruction from Gideon Brown, and to be monitored by Andrew Dene. Her father wouldn’t rest until he knew the horses were being cared for by someone he knew, and who better than another London man? If her father needed to enter a convalescent home for a month or so, perhaps All Saints’ would be a good choice. Dr. Andrew Dene would understand a man who spoke his own language.
Her brain was in top gear as she sped along the country lanes to Chelstone, a list of things to do growing in her mind.Faster than fairies, faster than witches,