“Well, it seems to be doing you a lot of good. I saw you walk across the stable yard with barely a limp.”
“The main thing is that the pain ain’t what it was. Of course I ’ave to go over for these little chats with Dr. Blanche, and then there’s Dr. Dene, who comes up to see me every now and again, you know. And of course, ’e sees yer dad as well.”
Maisie felt her face flush, and she looked at the ground. “I would have thought that Dad didn’t need any more checkups from Dr. Dene, not with the doctor coming up from the village.”
Billy secured a lead rein to the mare’s halter, and they walked outside into the sunshine.
“I think Dr. Dene likes to see Dr. Blanche, so ’e drops in on yer dad. Asks about you every now and again, ’e does.”
“Asks about me?” Maisie shielded her eyes.
Billy grinned, then looked around as tires crunched on the gravel and a new Austin Swallow came to an abrupt halt at the far end of the courtyard, close to the Groom’s Cottage.
“Well, talk of the devil, there’s Dr. Dene now.”
“Oh!”
“Miss Dobbs. How very nice to see you here. And Mr. Beale, still making good progress, I see.”
“Yep, doing very nicely, thank you, Dr. Dene. Wasn’t expecting to see you today.”
“No, I’m on a flying visit to see Maurice.” He turned to Maisie. “Stroke of luck meeting you, Miss Dobbs. I’ve to come up to London soon, for a meeting at St. Thomas’s. I wondered if you would join me for supper, perhaps a visit to the theater.”
Maisie blushed again. “Um, yes, perhaps.”
“Righty-o, I’ll get on the dog-and-bone when I’m up there.” Andrew Dene shook hands with Billy again, executed a short bow in front of Maisie, then turned and sprinted in the direction of the Dower House.
“Don’t mind me sayin’ so, Miss, but ’e’s a bit of a cheeky one, ain’t ’e, what with the old rhymin’ slang and all. Where did ’e learn that then?”
Maisie laughed. “Bermondsey, Billy. Dr. Dene’s a Bermondsey boy.”
Now that her father was well on the way to a full recovery, and Billy’s sojourn in Kent almost at an end, it was time for Maisie to complete the ritual of bringing a major case to a close in the way that she had learned from Maurice. In visiting places and people pertinent to the case, she was honoring her teacher’s practice of a “full accounting” so that work could move on with renewed energy and understanding. First she visited Hastings again, spending time with Rosamund Thorpe’s housekeeper, who was busy packing belongings now that the house had been sold.
“I’ve found a very nice little cottage in Sedlescombe,” said Mrs. Hicks. Maisie had declined to come into the house, respectful of the task of packing up to begin a new life. Now she strained to hear the woman’s soft voice which was drowned by the seagulls wheeling overhead. “Of course, I’ll miss the sea, people always do when they leave the Old Town, not that many do.”
Maisie smiled and turned to leave, but Mrs. Hicks reached out to her.
“Thank you, Miss Dobbs. Thank you for what you did.”
“Oh, please, don’t—”
“You know, I always thought that I’d see Mrs. Thorpe’s killer hang and not feel a shred of pity about it. But, I feel terrible for that woman. Terrible. They say she probably won’t hang, that they’ll send her away. Mind you, if it was me, I’d want to be dead. I’d want to be with my family.”
Later, when Maisie pulled up outside the Bluebell Avenue house in Coulsden, which John Sedgewick had shared with his wife, Philippa, a ‘For Sale’ sign was flapping back and forth in the breeze, and Sedgewick was working in the garden. He brushed off his hands and came to greet Maisie as soon as he saw her opening the gate.
“Miss Dobbs, I am so glad to see you!”
“Mr. Sedgewick.” Maisie held out her hand, which Sedgewick took in both of his.
“How can I ever thank you?”
“Please, there’s no need.”
“Well, thank you for finding out the truth.” Sedgewick placed his hands in his pockets. “I know that what Pippin did was wrong, but I also know that she was a good person. She tried to make up for it.”
“Of course she did, Mr. Sedgewick. I see you’re moving.”
“Oh, yes. Time for a complete change, a very complete change. I’ve accepted a position in New Zealand. There’s a lot of building going on there, so chaps like me are rather welcome.”
“Congratulations. It’s a long way, though.”
“Yes, it is. But I had to do it, make a clean break. It’s time to go, no good staying here and moping. In any case, this is a street for families, not widowers. They say that change is good for you.”
“Good luck, Mr. Sedgewick. I’m sure you’ll find happiness again.”
“I hope so, Miss Dobbs. I do hope so.”
Though she walked by the mews house owned by Lydia Fisher, she did not ring the bell. The upper windows were open, and she could hear a gramophone playing at a volume that showed no consideration for neighbors. A woman laughed aloud, and even from the street below Maisie could hear the clink of glasses. She thought of the vaporous loneliness that had seeped into every piece of furniture, every fabric in Lydia Fisher’s home, and whispered, “May she rest in peace.”
The red brick of Camden Abbey seemed almost aflame against a seldom-seen blue sky that graced the Romney Marshes, but a chill breeze whipped across the flat land to remind all who came that this was pasture reclaimed from the sea. Once again Maisie was led to the visitor’s sitting room where, instead of tea, a small glass flagon had been placed on a tray with some milky white cheddar and warm bread. Dame Constance was waiting for her, smiling through the grille as she entered.
“Good afternoon, Maisie. It’s lunchtime, so I thought a little of our blackberry wine with homemade bread and cheese might go down well.”
Maisie sat down opposite. “I don’t know about wine, not when I have to get behind the wheel again soon. I think I should beware of your Camden Abbey brews.”
“In my day, Maisie—”
Maisie raised a hand. “Dame Constance, I confess I wonder how they ever let you in, what with the things you did in your day.”
The nun laughed. “Now you know the secret of the cloister, Maisie, we only take people who know the world. Now then, tell me how you are. We are not so isolated that we know nothing of the news here, you know. I understand that your investigations met with success.”
Maisie reached toward the flagon and poured a small measure of translucent deep red wine. “I find the word ‘success’ difficult to apply to this case, Dame Constance. Yes, the murderer has been brought to justice, but many questions linger.”
Dame Constance nodded. “People assume that we have a head start on wisdom in a place such as this, where women gather in a life of contemplation, a life of prayer. But it isn’t quite like that. Wisdom comes when we acknowledge what we can never know.”
Maisie sipped her wine.
“I have come to wonder, Maisie, if our work really is so different. We are both concerned with questions, are we not? Investigation is part of both our lives, and we are witnesses to confession.”
“When you put it like that, Dame Constance—”
“We both have to avoid making personal judgments and we are both faced with the challenge of doing and saying what is right when the burden of truth has been placed on our shoulders.”
“My job is to look hard for the clues that evade me.”
“And you have learned the lesson, no doubt, that while looking hard for clues in your work, you may be blind to the unanswered questions in your own life. Or you may be providing yourself with a convenient distraction from them.”