CHAPTER FOURTEEN

My darling Enid,

You have been through so much, though I'm relieved to know satisfactory arrangements were made and you are comfortable. It seems Dr Blanche found an excellent residence for you at the coast – the sea air will be very good for your health. I'm amazed the other staff at Ebury Place didn't guess what was going on and believed the story that you were going to look after your very ill aunt and would return when she was well enough.

I've written to my parents and asked again if we might be married, but as we are both below the age of consent, my plea has been met with a firm no, and a very clear indication that we would be left penniless. Given the circumstances, it seems the best decision has been made and our child will go 269to a good home and with any luck will be brought up far away from the life I've known and the life you have endured. I may be too young to assume the role of fatherhood – as my father pointed out among all the other reasons when he lost his temper with me – but I think somewhere in the middle will be good for him, to be brought up not too rich and not too poor. Or her, of course, but I think our child will be a boy …

Maisie looked up from the letter and stared into the fire's glowing embers. It was as she had guessed – indeed, as she had intuited in her heart for a long time. There had been a child, born before Maisie came to work at Ebury Place, which, according to dates at the top of the letters, would have been after Enid's return from caring for a fictional aunt who lived by the sea in Brighton. Enid had been delivered of a boy, a child taken from her within weeks of his birth. She had held her son, and then let him go to a ‘good home' and no more was to be said. By the time James came home from Canada, some five years later, Lord Julian and Lady Rowan had expected all feelings between the pair to have died, suffocated by time and separation – without doubt, the letters had become few and far between following Enid's recovery from childbirth. But having seen the couple together at the railway station, it seemed clear the passing years had inflicted little impact on their love for each other – or had it been reignited after James's return to England?

Maisie stared at the collection of letters. The affair between Enid and James when they were young lovers, both below the age of consent, had resulted in Enid giving birth to James's son. Our child.

There was a faint knock at the door, and Mark entered. ‘I thought you'd be here. Frank and Brenda are having a cup of tea and then 270I'm going to drive them home – and I have some interesting news for you.'

Maisie turned her head, forcing a smile. ‘Oh, yes, I'll come now,' she said, as she stood up and placed the clutch of letters on the desk behind her.

Mark sighed. His tone changed, and he sounded weary. ‘You've been reading those letters, Maisie. I don't think that's a good idea.'

Maisie waved away the comment with a flap of her hand. ‘Oh, there was nothing really interesting, it was just youthful ramblings.' She forced another smile. ‘What with those young squatters, and now these juvenile missives, I wonder if I shouldn't dread Anna reaching that age.'

‘I think she's a lot more level-headed, Maisie – and she's got us to fall back on, to provide a solid framework for her to grow. She had a rough start, but a good new beginning – and that's what it's all about, good beginnings somewhere along the line … which kind of brings me to my news.'

‘I'm sorry, my head is full of other things – what's the news then?'

Mark Scott held up a small sheet of paper. ‘The name of an architect in Tunbridge Wells. I thought we could go see him. We've both got our hands full right now, but maybe sometime before the end of the year. In fact, he and his wife are in the practice together – I thought they might suit us very well.'

‘Aren't you supposed to have a location in mind before you see an architect? Don't they need a landscape to work with? I think they might require more than just our loose thoughts about a house, and we haven't really talked about it, have we? And I think it's important to have some notion of the views around you.'

‘Yep, I'm ahead of you there.' 271

‘I was afraid you might be – go on.'

Mark went on, his commentary becoming more animated as he spoke. ‘Remember when we were walking back from the riding stables after seeing Theo? We had to take the path onto the road and then loop around to the footpath – well, there's a "For Sale" sign up at the top of that hill.' He used his right hand to add to the description of the meandering route. ‘I detoured that way this afternoon with Anna and Little Em – I didn't say anything, of course, because I wanted to see what potential it might have before I mentioned it to you. I had a good look, pretending to admire the view and I think it's a candidate for us. It's walking distance from here and the village, and … What's wrong?'

‘Nothing – just a bit too much at the moment. I've … I've some … some, well, investigating to do on another … another case. Perhaps—'

Maisie felt a tightness across her chest as her words seemed to evaporate into the room. Some investigating to do. Dare she? Dare she try to find a man who would be thirty-six years of age now?

‘Okay … right.' Mark faltered, as if he wanted to say more or to ask another question. Instead he ran his fingers through dark hair salted with grey at the temples. ‘But come with me to see the land tomorrow morning. I could put down the cash right away from my account in London.'

‘Um, yes, alright – yes, let's look.' Maisie smiled. ‘That's Brenda calling – we'd better get a move on or she will be marching down here with cups of tea, and she's been showing her age lately, becoming a bit wobbly.'

Later, after her husband took Frankie and Brenda home to their bungalow in the village, and Anna, jumpy and excited about her new 272horse, was at last in bed, her beloved dog asleep outside her bedroom door with nose resting on crossed paws, Maisie went again to the library. She now knew the steps that had been taken to ensure Enid had a safe and secret pregnancy, and the care she received when she gave birth to a son. When Lord Julian banished both James and Enid from the house, Lady Rowan had stepped in to enlist the help of the one man she trusted to arrange Enid's confinement and the adoption of her child. Maurice Blanche.

The adoption would have been straightforward, as Maisie knew only too well. It was long known that it was easier to adopt a child than it was to assume responsibility for one of the homeless animals at Battersea Dogs and Cats Home – indeed, there had been a Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals long before there was a similar society to protect children. New adoption laws had been due for debate just as war was declared, and would be up before Parliament soon enough – the fact that they were delayed worked in Maisie's favour when she applied to formally adopt Anna, and again when Mark legally became her father following his marriage to Maisie. In 1909 there would have been few barriers to ‘ownership' of a new baby. The staff at any institution where the mother gave birth just had to trust the chosen couple were of good character.

Maisie knew where she could begin her investigation – at the clinic founded by Maurice to serve women and children in one of the poorest areas of London. It had been taken over by the local council in 1940 to give immediate first aid and care to civilians wounded during the bombings – but there would still be records held on the premises. At least she hoped they were still available. She gave a sigh of relief. Good – she had a plan, an objective to give her thoughts a framework, a structure to work with, for the letters had caused her 273to feel ill at ease, akin to how she felt as a girl when her mother died and she heard her father keening the loss downstairs at night, in the belief that his daughter could not hear him weeping. It had been a shock when the solid ground of her childhood gave way to an uneasy sense of unknowing, a point at which she had no trust in the future.

She would not reveal her plan to Mark – not yet anyway. The quest to find James's child would be her secret. She would do it for his memory. After all, though she was not successful, hadn't she done her best to discover the identity of Anna's father, a Maltese merchant sailor, so when the child was older she would know her adoptive mother had made the effort? Yes, she would try, because she now knew the mosaic was not yet complete. There were still pieces to slot into place.

After walking Anna to the bus stop the following morning, Maisie and Mark put on their Wellington boots and tramped across fields of dew-drenched grass to inspect the land Mark had seen for sale. Maisie agreed it was probably a good location for a new house, though of course an application to the council would be required, followed by the wait for approval to build, a solution found to the sewer question – a septic tank would be necessary – and the issue of water and electrical supply. In short, the construction would take years.

‘There's always a way of moving things along, Maisie,' said Mark. ‘And look over there – there's a farmhouse, then there's the stables, and they have water and electricity, or at least I think they do.'

‘The farmhouses around here are still dependent upon oil lamps and log-fired stoves, Mark – and most of them only have an earth closet in the garden and a pump for water outside the back door. 274That's what the stable has – I saw them pumping water when we went to look at Theo.'

‘If we get all the latest conveniences, it'll make it easier for them to apply for them too.'

‘And I just saw a cow jump over the moon,' said Maisie, shaking her head. ‘It's not that simple here, and I am sure there would be similar problems in the more rural parts of America. But, Mark, I've another thought. It might be a good idea to see if any suitable properties have come up for sale in the area, and then perhaps have an architect look at them to see if they can be brought into the twentieth century with all the conveniences.'

‘Maybe.' He looked at his watch. ‘Hey, you and I should get out of these boots and be running for the train.'

‘And there's a really important point we must consider,' said Maisie, as they turned back towards the Dower House. ‘We don't know if Rowan wants to live in the Dower House.'

‘Maisie, the war's over. Let's look forward, together. I'm already at the flat in London that you bought before you met me, and here in Chelstone, while I'm glad we can be around your family and Anna is thriving at a good school, I don't want to just live in another house that was yours before I came into your life. I want us to build our own house, together.'

She linked her arm through his. ‘I know – and I understand. But let's keep our eyes out for other opportunities. You never know what might turn up.'

During the latter part of the last century, Maurice had started clinics in two of the most deprived areas of London, Bermondsey and Shoreditch. As Maisie walked along a street filled with rubble and 275only a couple of back-to-back houses standing, she knew that if he were alive, Maurice would be pained to learn what had happened to his patients who lived on streets that were now tagged for slum clearance. Bold new blocks of flats were planned to house the poor, yet at the same time, solid public buildings ripe for conversion were being ignored, and already the press were commenting that London County Council was doing more damage to the capital than the entire Luftwaffe throughout the extent of the war. As she approached the building that had housed the clinic, her hopes of discovering crucial information regarding Enid's confinement began to evaporate. The clinic was still standing but surrounded by demolition and decay. People were living in the remaining structures, with several families accommodated in one house – as it had been for over a century, since the Industrial Revolution brought so many people from rural Britain into the cities in search of a more abundant life. In those houses, parents and children shared a room, and were glad to have a roof over their heads.

Maisie knocked on the clinic's front door. When there was no answer, she pushed against the handle and gained entry. Beyond a counter at the front, she could hear two women talking in another room, so she stepped around a fallen chair and towards the open door.

‘Good morning,' she said, as she knocked and entered.

‘Oh my goodness,' said one woman, her hand to her chest. ‘You frightened the life out of me.'

‘I'm sorry, dear, but the clinic's closed now,' said the other woman. ‘We're just clearing up the last few things.'

‘Closed? But where will people go – especially the women and girls?' 276

‘Not many to go anywhere now, madam. For as long as this building is here, there will be a sign to seek attention at the London Hospital, over in Whitechapel.'

Maisie looked around. ‘I helped here when Dr Blanche ran it, along with other doctors and nurses.'

‘Never knew the man, but he was a saint by all accounts. Took care of women no one else wanted to know about,' said the first woman.

‘Yes, the ones who "got themselves into trouble".' The second woman shook her head. ‘Makes you laugh when you hear that, doesn't it? "Got herself into trouble" as if the fella had nothing to do with it. And off he goes and leaves them on their own with a bun in the oven. Thank heavens for the likes of Dr Blanche, that's what I say. Placed a lot of children, he did. And he helped women who had nowhere but the back streets – they came to him when it all went wrong and it looked like they were bleeding to death.'

‘He saved lives, that man.'

‘I knew him very well – and you're right, he saved many lives. But I'm trying to locate his records. I know he always kept very detailed reports on his patients, so I wonder if you know where I might find them?'

‘Oh, those old files? Council took them when they put a claim on the clinic after the war started.'

‘I was informed they'd taken it over, but what did they do with the records?' asked Maisie.

‘Burnt them in the incinerator,' said the first woman. ‘They didn't have time to do anything else, and what good would it have done? There were women who came in here with all sorts of ailments, and not a few with cancer, or who had black eyes and broken bones from a beating. 277The records went back years, so the council just got rid of them.'

‘Oh dear,' said Maisie. ‘I suppose it would have been the same at the clinic over in Bermondsey.'

‘Just the same – no reason to keep hold of them. The Germans went for the docks and bombed out the working people while they were about it, and now those people want to move on and out, then up into the new flats they're talking about. Mind you, there's already some in the prefabs.'

‘Yes, so I understand. Anyway, thank you for your help, ladies.' Maisie smiled, adding, ‘And for everything you've done, working here.'

She left the old clinic, her mood low. Now where could she go for information? Perhaps it was time to have a word with Lady Rowan. No, she couldn't do that. Rowan was vulnerable, tired and grieving. But wasn't it only days ago that Rowan revealed what was on her mind? My children and grandchildren, lost to me. The comment from a bereaved woman had caught Maisie's attention, though she had attributed it to fatigue, to the weariness of loss pulling her down. Now she knew that she was not mistaken even then – Rowan was grieving not only her two dead children and Maisie's stillborn son, but the child relinquished for adoption.

Maisie set off to return to Chelstone, wondering if this wasn't the perfect time for a word with Rowan about Enid. She would give her a chance to get it all off her chest once and for all. There was another feeling beginning to rise within her, and she knew she would have to temper it in the name of compassion, of understanding. She was becoming angry, not only with the position Enid had been left in – she must have been so scared – but with the distinctions in class that had made her situation so miserable. Maisie was aware that for many 278of the so-called ‘upper-class gels' who found themselves in a similar quandary, they might be either sent to a good doctor who would solve the problem, or dispatched to a European spa town for their confinement. Another option was a marriage arranged with haste and the subsequent happy event recorded with an announcement in The Times to the effect that the delighted young couple now had a child born prematurely on …

The woman at the clinic was right – poor girls ‘got themselves into trouble' and then had to get themselves out of it by any means, and for some, when the chosen means went wrong, Maurice had saved their lives. In that respect it appeared Enid had been one of the more fortunate, after all.

As she walked from Chelstone station with the intention of making her way straight to the manor house to visit Rowan, Maisie held her hand to the belt buckle of her Prince of Wales check jacket, and reminded herself to be calm in the very core of her being. She would confront Rowan, yes, but with a gentle, reassuring hand she would lead her into the past, but not so far as to encounter the dragon. Maisie understood that despite Rowan's jovial mood at lunch the previous day, she was slipping further into the abyss.

The housekeeper showed Maisie into Lord Julian's study where Rowan was seated in one of the leather armchairs alongside the wide box-window with a view across the gardens. She turned her head as Maisie entered, and smiled, her blue eyes clear, though Maisie noticed she had become drawn, her wide cheekbones more prominent. She remembered the younger Lady Rowan Compton, who had discovered her reading in the library in the early hours of the morning. Rowan, as ever quick of thought and tongue, walked with a ramrod-straight 279back in those days, despite complaining of a hip injury sustained on the hunting field. For the woman who was not only born to the title ‘Your Ladyship' but was married to a member of the House of Lords, a good political argument was spice for the dish of life. She had been a vocal, stalwart supporter of women's suffrage – and having walked in on Maisie in those early hours when the young maid studied on her own, she had seen a light in her eyes, a curiosity about the world to match her own. Instead of admonishing her newest employee, Rowan enlisted the help of her friend Maurice Blanche – determined that the bright light of wonder would not languish in servitude forever, though the plans set forth by Maurice meant that Maisie had to work harder, with more hours spent studying at night after her below-stairs toil was done.

‘Maisie, how lovely of you to come.'

‘How are you feeling, Rowan?' Maisie kissed Rowan on the forehead before seating herself on the armchair opposite. She pulled the chair a little closer and reached forward to take Rowan's hands in her own. ‘Being here in his study makes it seem as if he's still with us, doesn't it?'

‘I miss him, Maisie.' She smiled. ‘From the moment we met, he was the only man who would have a good argument with me – and he always admitted when he thought I was right, but he pushed me to think all the same.'

‘I believe you did the same for him too.' Maisie squeezed Rowan's hand. ‘After all, he gave his blessing to your wild plan to help make something of the new under-parlour maid.'

Rowan laughed. ‘And what a very good move that was on my part. I've been able to live vicariously through you, Maisie – and now I have a very spirited granddaughter who reminds me so much of 280myself when I was that age. All go-go-go!'

Maisie took a deep breath. Was this the right time? She hoped so, and thought it might not become any easier if she waited.

‘Rowan, I wanted to talk to you about something that has … that has come to light.'

‘Hmmm, yes, you had that look on your face.'

‘Look?'

‘I've seen it before. It's the "I'm working on something" look. The "enquiry" look. How can I help you, Maisie?'

‘I want to ask you something about James.'

Lady Rowan nodded, bearing an expression Maisie thought was almost unreadable. She was waiting. She knows, thought Maisie.

‘It's about James … and Enid.'

Lady Rowan turned to stare out of the window. ‘I rather let the cat out of the bag the other day, didn't I?'

‘When you mentioned "grandchildren"?' Maisie shook her head. ‘I had my suspicions before that, Rowan, though it was a feeling I pushed away for a long time.'

‘My son adored you, Maisie. Enid was the indulgence of a very, very young man – and if I am to admit it, a very sensitive young man who was sometimes the cause of some exasperation on the part of his father, though later he gave us much to be proud of.' She paused, still holding on to Maisie's hands. ‘I suspect witnessing his sister's death when he was not much older than Anna is now had a more serious effect on him than we might have imagined.'

‘Perhaps. But here's what's come to light – I'm in possession of letters sent by James to Enid during her … her confinement, and—'

‘How on earth—'

‘James sent them to a post office for collection by Enid, and I believe 281later they were passed on to her when she was at – well, wherever she was sent to have the baby. When she returned to London, they went back to using the post office.'

Rowan was silent, but Maisie wanted to press on.

‘Rowan, what happened to the baby – to your grandchild?'

Rowan pulled one hand away and pressed it to her mouth, her eyes blurred by unshed tears.

‘I'm sorry – this must be so trying for you,' said Maisie. ‘I should have kept quiet about it. I was wrong to bring it up.'

‘No, Maisie. I think it is time. In fact, well past time for me to talk about it. To air the laundry, if you will.'

‘Only if you feel up to it, Rowan.'

Rowan relinquished Maisie's other hand and reached for a handkerchief in her pocket, dabbing her eyes before continuing to clutch the embroidered linen square.

‘I may need your hands again soon, Maisie.' She smiled. ‘Right, I suppose the beginning is as good a place to begin as any. Here we go – and I'm glad I'm in this room. I can speak for both of us, and I do truly feel Julian at my shoulder.'

Maisie said nothing, but waited for Rowan to continue.

‘I remember suspecting James was rather smitten with Enid. I could see the way he looked at her when he came home from school at the end of term or from a journey somewhere. She would bring tea into the drawing room and he would ogle a bit. Julian had a word with him because it wasn't seemly, and to be honest, I did not want the girl to be under any illusions that such a liaison would ever be met with approval.' She sighed. ‘I know people say times have changed, what with two wars and what we've all gone through, but it was a very different era then – Queen Victoria had not been dead 282for that long, and people were still covering their table legs for fear of offending visitors. How utterly ridiculous.'

‘How did the … how did the "liaison"develop?'

‘Subterfuge. When two young people set their hats for one another, there is little that can be done to stop them. In short order James announced that Enid was with child and that he wanted to make an honest woman of her. His father hit the roof and said, "You haven't yet proven yourself to be an honest man, so how do you expect to do that? And what, pray, will you live on, because only one of you knows how to work, and it isn't you!" It was truly dreadful, a horrible scene between father and son. I summoned Maurice and he did his best to pacify them, to settle tempers. The warring subsided for a day or so, and then he came to our rescue with a solution.'

‘Send James to Canada and Enid to some sort of home to have the baby.'

‘Julian lost no time in packing James off to Toronto to work in the corporation's offices there – and he also told them he wanted the boy to do some man's work. "Send him to the mills to get his hands dirty or make him work in the forests," he instructed. And Maurice sorted out the rest of the problem. A place was found for Enid to spend her confinement, a story was made up for "downstairs" – thanks to our wonderful butler. You remember Carter – well, he would brook no kitchen gossip, so any out-of-turn speculation regarding Enid's absence was nipped in the bud. And of course a good home was found for the baby. I know she delivered a son and that he was taken from her at two weeks of age. Maurice stipulated the baby should have a period of time at his mother's breast for his future health. Enid returned to Ebury Place – that was my stipulation, because I would not see her thrown onto the street – and that was that.' Rowan stopped speaking, 283dabbed her eyes again and stared at Maisie. ‘Wasn't it?'

Maisie shook her head. ‘They were seeing one another again just after war was declared in 1914. James had returned from Canada to serve and then Enid was killed just after James joined the Royal Flying Corps. I saw them at Charing Cross station.'

‘Oh dear.' Rowan sighed. ‘But I suppose it was just a short fling – it wouldn't have lasted. James came home from Canada a different person – more mature, more of a grown man, I suppose. And she was still just a maid.'

Maisie felt herself bristle. Remember she's an old woman. She's not thinking. She tried to rein in her words.

‘Rowan, she was an independent woman, earning a good pay for the day. She was no longer a maid, and knowing Enid, had she lived, she would have made something more of herself and she would have done it without the leg up that I enjoyed. And she gave her life for her country, lest we forget.'

‘Oh dear, point taken. I'm sorry.'

Maisie looked up at the clock on the mantlepiece. ‘I must run to collect Anna from school presently, but I have one more question. You see, I visited the Shoreditch clinic this morning, but it's being demolished soon, and it appears they destroyed all records when the council took it over before the Blitz. But I've been wondering if, after Enid had delivered the baby, Maurice wrote to you to let you know what further steps he had taken for mother and child.'

Rowan's eyes widened. ‘No, he did not write to us regarding any arrangements made – in fact, he said that although he kept a record of the birth and the adoption, it would not be retained at the clinic. That sort of information would have been far too important to leave there, I mean, we couldn't have any nurses or orderlies looking through 284the filing cabinets and knowing what had happened to the offspring of Viscount James Compton.' She shook her head. ‘And those were Julian's words, not mine.'

‘I understand. Rowan, you have been most kind and indulgent. I should go now, but shall I send Anna over to see you? She's still full of the new horse, and I'm afraid I have some work in the library to catch up with.'

‘Yes, do send her over. She always elevates my spirts – makes me think of the future rather than wallowing in the past. I'll have cook make some ginger biscuits for her.' Rowan moved to stand up, reaching towards Maisie for assistance, looking into her eyes. ‘Do you think he's happy? The boy – my grandson. Do you think he's having a good life?'

Maisie nodded. ‘If Maurice arranged it, he would have been very, very well looked after and I believe he would have been set up for the very best future we could imagine.'

As Maisie left Lady Rowan in the care of her housekeeper, she was determined to find out one thing above all else. Had James and Enid's son had the very good life they hoped for?