“Miss Hartnell will be with you directly. I’ll bring tea in a moment.”
“Oh, that’s not necess—” Maisie began, but was interrupted.
“Miss Hartnell always has a cup of tea at three.” The housekeeper pressed her hands together, nodded, and left the room, closing the door behind her.
Maisie quickly appraised the room. There was no circular table, no heavily fringed lamp that she had seen in the rooms of others plying their trade as mediums and psychics. Instead, two armchairs were set in front of a window, and a low table with just enough room for a tray was positioned at an angle to the chairs. There were no curtains, only blinds partially drawn against a fierce afternoon sun. A vase of lilies had been placed in the corner, and in the air a sweet fragrance lingered for which Maisie could detect no immediate source, for as she leaned toward the blooms, no scent was apparent. Maisie stood in front of the window and closed her eyes. She brought her hands together and imagined a circle. She saw the circle moving toward her before slipping over her head and down the length of her body, enveloping her in a protective shell. As the circle dropped to her feet, she breathed deeply again. She would be safe now.
The door opened.
“Miss Dobbs. Please do take a seat.”
Though she had expected someone younger than the two women visited earlier, Maisie was not prepared for Madeleine Hartnell to be quite so youthful. She appeared to be only about twenty-four years old and was fashionably dressed in a pale blue crepe costume. She was a very attractive woman. Hartnell held Maisie’s initial look with her piercing blue-green eyes, her platinum-blond hair catching a narrow shaft of light that had forced its way through the blinds. She understands exactly why I am here, thought Maisie, as she felt the skin at the nape of her neck prickle again. She would have to take great care with Madeleine Hartnell.
“Mrs. Kemp will bring tea in a moment.” Hartnell held out a hand to indicate the chair just as the housekeeper entered with a tea tray. “Ah, there she is now.” Hartnell smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. Kemp.”
Without first asking, Hartnell poured tea for two, placed a cup in front of Maisie, and leaned back into the chair with her own cup of tea. She sipped once, then turned to her visitor.
“So. You have some questions for me, Miss Dobbs?”
“Yes, I do. And thank you for seeing me.”
Hartnell nodded. Maisie noted the woman’s relaxed manner. Too calm, much too calm.
“I understand that Lady Agnes Lawton was a client.” She framed her words as neither question nor statement, allowing Hartnell to respond as she wished.
Hartnell looked at her for a few seconds, sipped again, and leaned forward to place her cup on the tray.
“Please, Miss Dobbs, put all your cards on the table. It would make our conversation so much easier.”
Maisie felt as if she were engaged in a game of chess, a player looking for the next strategic move. “Of course. On her deathbed, Agnes Lawton exacted a promise from her husband, Sir Cecil Lawton. As you know…” Maisie paused and held Hartnell’s piercing eyes with her own. Hartnell did not flinch. “As you know, Lady Agnes never accepted the death of her son, despite the fact that his remains were buried at the Faubourg-d’Amiens Cemetery, along with other members of the Royal Flying Corps who gave their lives.” Maisie paused. “I have been retained by Sir Cecil Lawton to prove that his son is dead.”
“Is that so?”
Maisie did not respond immediately but allowed a pause before replying. “Yes, that is so.” She moved in her chair, mirroring the woman’s position. Hartnell was confident and calm, though as soon as she noticed Maisie change position, she uncrossed her legs, and leaned forward, smiling. She’s anticipating my every move, thought Maisie.
“I had hoped you might be able to help me, Miss Hartnell, to throw light on the issue of Ralph Lawton’s death,” said Maisie.
Leaning back again, Hartnell shook her head. “I’m afraid there’s little I can say, Miss Dobbs. Lady Agnes believed her son to be alive, and I saw no reason to doubt her. I should add that my clients expect and receive a promise of complete confidentiality. I know she’s dead now, but”—again she held Maisie’s eyes with her own—“that doesn’t have a bearing on my work. Death is not the end of the line as far as my responsibility to my clients goes.”
“I see.”
“I know you do, Miss Dobbs.”
Maisie inclined her head, a move emulated by Hartnell.
“You see farther than you let on to most people, though I am not most people.” Hartnell reached forward, poured a small measure of still-hot tea from the pot into her teacup, and added milk. “You get it from your mother’s side, don’t you?”
“Miss Hartnell, I’m afraid—”
“No, you’re not afraid. You have no reason to be, because she walks with you. She’s always with you, your mother, watching over you.”
Maisie felt a lump grow in her throat. She felt protected against any darkness in the spirit world, but not in the most vulnerable places of her heart. She sat straighter, but Hartnell was ready.
“Yes, it’s one thing protecting oneself from the dead, but only too easy to forget the damage that the living can do, eh?” Hartnell smiled at Maisie, then at a place beyond Maisie’s shoulder, as if sharing a secret with another.
“You make a good point, Miss Hartnell.” Maisie was anxious to gain control of the conversation, though she wanted dearly to reach behind her chair, to touch, just once, the soft yet strong hand that had once grasped her own small one. Come on, Maisie, love, skip along, we’ve to be back from the park and have your dad’s tea on the table by five. Come along, my girl, come along, skip along with Mummy. Maisie spoke quickly before any more memories flooded into her mind’s eye. “Have you any information that might help me? I seek only to assist my client and to bring a measure of peace into his life.”
“And knowing will bring him peace?”
“I have, of course, suggested that peace may not come with such knowledge, but in the meantime I have a commitment to search for truth.”
Hartnell moved to the window and opened the blinds, using a pulley secured to the wall. She closed her eyes and turned to Maisie, her blond hair now haloed by a bright ring of sunlight. “I can tell you nothing more, Miss Dobbs, though I will say this: You would be advised to withdraw from the agreement immediately.”
“I have given my word.”
“Yes, I know. And you can’t abandon the girl either, can you?” Hartnell closed the blind and moved to the door. The meeting had ended.
Taken aback by the comment and her abrupt dismissal, Maisie stood, gathered her document case, and opened it to take out a calling card. She knew very well what Hartnell meant but would not acknowledge the accuracy of her words.
“Miss Hartnell, thank you for your time, it is most appreciated.” She held out her card. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to telephone me, should you think of anything that might assist me in my search for proof of Ralph Lawton’s death.”
Hartnell held the card in one hand, the doorhandle in the other. She glanced at the card. “Psychologist and investigator? Well, well, well….”
Maisie again said nothing and moved toward the now-open door.
“I have been asked to tell you two things, Miss Dobbs.”
“Yes?” Startled, Maisie turned quickly, her senses alert.
“First, that you look beyond the town, the town in the west country.”
Maisie nodded.
“The other is that you have two from the other side who protect you, though one has not passed over.” Hartnell closed her eyes. Maisie could hear the housekeeper’s footsteps as they click-clicked closer along the parquet hallway. “It is strange; he is between this world and the next: caught in life, yet his spirit wanders. It is so very sad.” Madeleine Hartnell did not say goodbye but left the room with tears in her eyes.
Maisie thanked Mrs. Kemp and left the flat at Dufrayne Court quickly. Slipping into the driver’s seat
of the MG, she leaned back and exhaled deeply. Madeleine Hartnell was formidable, without doubt. Maisie placed her hand on the buckle at the front of her belted dress and took another, deeper, breath. Calm, become calm. A moment or two passed before Maisie leaned forward to start the engine. As she pulled away, she considered all she had learned about Madeleine Hartnell. She did not doubt that Hartnell had command of the abilities she claimed—indeed, she had proven as much. Or had she? Were her comments a shot in the dark? No, she was too close to the target—so much so that Maisie made a mental note to contact Billy with instructions to make inquiries in the villages close to Taunton. She thought of Hartnell’s parting words. Suddenly, Maisie felt her eyes prickle. Oh, Mum, I have missed you so much, so much. But it was as she drove toward the West End that Maisie felt her heart ache and a vision of her former love, Simon, came to her. She imagined him in his wheelchair with a blanket across his knees, a gentle breeze catching the leaves of exotic plants in the nursing home conservatory as he sat alone. Caught in life, yet his spirit wanders….
What was it about Madeleine Hartnell that Maisie mistrusted, more so than either Browning or Darby? The latter were both certainly fakes trying to make a living in difficult times. Be careful. The words echoed into Maisie’s mind. Be careful. It was her mother’s voice she heard.
Something else intrigued Maisie. For all her sophistication, command, and supersensitivity, there was a vulnerability about Madeleine Hartnell that reminded her of Avril Jarvis. As she pressed her foot harder on the accelerator, it occurred to her that she saw a girlishness in Hartnell, though she could not put her finger on the reason for such a thought.
EIGHT
Maisie was at her desk early on Friday. In preparation for lunch with Priscilla, she had gone through her entire wardrobe and found it wanting. She held up a cream silk blouse, one of three she owned, to see if it might look too dowdy with the burgundy suit she had considered so very stylish several months ago. Instead, the black day dress was chosen again, along with black shoes and the hat with a broad ribbon of claret satin. She would wear the suit jacket over the black dress. There, that will add a bit of something….
As she sat at the case map and tapped a red pencil on the broad sheet of white paper, the thought occurred to Maisie that the source of much of her discombobulation was Madeleine Hartnell. Maurice had been of little help—or was it that his answers had not immediately given her rest? It was obvious that he had no intention of providing comfort, though she knew his counsel to be true as she reflected upon the telephone call she had made to him immediately upon returning to her rooms at Ebury Place.
“Remember, Maisie, that such people come to us on two levels, so to speak.” He had paused during their conversation to draw deeply on his pipe. “On the one hand, yes, you must take great care with the likes of Hartnell. We have seen her sort before, and with due care we have come to no harm. And it is clear that she might be of further use. My advice would be to seek the wisdom of our friend Khan.”
“I haven’t seen him in a long time, Maurice. I’m amazed he’s still alive, to tell you the truth.”
“Khan seems to be above such notions as age.” Maurice paused. “He is the one to whom I have turned, Maisie, in times of spiritual darkness.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that I’m—”
“The second level, Maisie, is the task that we are all sent to accomplish in each other’s lives. It is a task of which we have no conscious awareness, but it is there all the same. Hartnell’s appearance at this time will indubitably require you to address…a conflict, perhaps? It is a rhetorical question. Consider your discomfort and welcome it as the ache necessary for you to become more deeply attuned.”
Maisie sighed, the sound of her own exhaled breath bringing her back to the present. She looked at the scribbled notes and diagrams on the case map in front of her and began working again. In a circle centered on the paper, she had written RALPH LAWTON; in another, AGNES LAWTON. Drawing connecting lines between the circled names of each person already identified as someone known to Ralph, she wondered who might be able to shed light on his character and how she would approach them. There was specific groundwork to do, so she made a note to investigate the aviator’s military record herself as soon as possible. The word HOUSE was circled, and as Maisie looked at the chain of thoughts, guesses, questions, and known facts linked by the series of lines, she knew her next visit must be to the Lawton country home.
She worked for several hours, checking her watch and waiting for Billy to report in. She had written the words FRANCE and FLANDERS on the case map; then, in a corner, she had faintly penciled in the word BIARRITZ, as a frivolity if time allowed. The telephone rang.
“Fitzroy—”
“S’me, Miss.”
“Billy, hello! How are you?” Maisie leaned back in her chair and looked out at the square as she spoke.
“Awright, thank you very much. Doreen’s gone out for a stroll, and I’m in this telephone kiosk talking to you.”
“So, any news for me?”
“Not a lot yet, Miss, not a lot. Mainly because the papers ’aven’t got ’old of the girl’s actual name, though when they do it’ll be all over the place, I can tell you.”
“Not a lot happens in country towns, Billy.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that, Miss—ay-oop, got to put a bit more money in.” Noises on the line indicated that Billy was pressing coins into the telephone box and then the button to continue the call. “I’ve been to the library already and looked up Jarvis. They’ve got a very good librarian who was over in France you know—very interestin’ woman, said what she did was something she couldn’t talk about—but anyway, I told ’er I was looking for an old mate of mine from the sappers, who lived down this way and that we’d lost touch in 1917 when I was wounded. So she drags out all sorts of books and papers and ledgers and what ’ave you—”
“And?” Maisie wanted to chivvy Billy along. Given the chance, Billy Beale could talk the hind leg off a donkey.
“Anyway, interestingly enough, turns out there was a family of Jarvises lived outside the town, in a village not far from ’ere, and—you are never goin’ to believe this, not that it has anything to do with my investigation—but—”
Oh, get on with it, Billy, thought Maisie, tapping her pencil against the table again.
“But apparently this ’ere Jarvis family was involved in some strange doin’s.”
“What sort of strange doin’s—things?”
“Well, some years ago, one of the womenfolk got ’erself put away for a bit for meddlin’ in medicinal work—you know, giving people tinctures and mixtures.”
“I don’t think there’s an actual law against that, Billy.”
“There is when it kills people.”
“Oh, I see.”
“They weren’t exactly fitters-in, if you know what I mean. Now then, I don’t know if our Avril Jarvis is of the same family, but it does seem a bit of a coincidence, don’t it, Miss.”
“Look into it, Billy. What’s the name of the village?”
“Downsmarsh-on-Lye.”
“Sounds very postcardy.”
“Not from what I’ve ’eard, Miss. More like, the only people are farmworkers and tinkers who ain’t got enough money to put clothes on the backs of their children. Mind you, at least they can grow a bit of food down ’ere.”
“Will you go to the village today?”
“There’s a branch line with a train every three hours. I’ll get the half-past-eleven.”
“Good.”
“Talk to you tomorrow mornin’, Miss. Shall I telephone Chelstone?”
“Yes. Better make it early, as I’m leaving for Hastings. Telephone at seven—and Billy, take care.”
“’Course I will, Miss. What they goin’ to do, whop me one over the ’ead with some ’erbs?”
“You know what I mean.” Maisie shook her head and placed the receiver in its cradle.
So, it appeared Madeleine
Hartnell was right: The girl came from a village outside Taunton. The accuracy of the prediction unsettled Maisie even more. She felt vulnerable, as if she were crossing a lake covered in ice. Just one false step and…. She tapped the table again. She was to meet Priscilla at the Strand Palace at one o’clock. There was just enough time to go to Khan. He is the one to whom I have turned, Maisie, in times of spiritual darkness. She would go now, before the cloud she felt looming ahead came any closer.
THE LARGE HOUSE in Hampstead had not changed since she first entered it as a young girl, brought by Maurice Blanche to meet Dr. Basil Khan on what he described as an educational visit. It was from Khan that Maisie learned that seeing was not necessarily something one did with the eyes; there was a depth of vision to be gained from stillness, a vision that had stood her in good stead ever since. And it was to Khan that Maurice brought Maisie again, in the early days of her return from France in 1917, so that his insight, calm, and healing presence might bring peace to a young woman wounded in body and spirit. He had not failed her but simply asked her to tell her story again and again and again, and in the telling she had begun the journey of ridding herself of death’s ugly stench, a clinging vapor she thought had laid claim to her senses forever.
A young man in a white cotton robe answered the door and bowed to Maisie, bidding her to enter the spacious yet plain hexagonal hallway.
“I have come to see him—if I may?”
“I shall ask. It is Miss Dobbs, is it not?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
The young man bowed, his hands pressed together in front of his chest, and left the room.
Maisie walked to the bay window that looked out across the garden at the front of the house. A dense privet hedge obscured a view of the road, offering privacy from the curiosity of passersby. There were two statues in the garden, which was fragrant with flowers and shrubs not immediately familiar to Maisie. One statue had been brought from Ceylon. It was of the Buddha, sitting with legs crossed. Rose petals had been left at the base of the statue and around the neck. The other, perhaps surprisingly, was of St. Francis. At the foot of this statue, a small feeding platform for birds had been placed. Maisie smiled as a thrush settled on one of St. Francis’s arms before hopping down for a repast of bread crumbs.