Jacqueline Winspear - A Lesson in Secrets

A Lesson inSecrets

A Maisie DobbsNovel

Jacqueline Winspear

Dedication

For my brother,

John James Winspear,

with much love and admiration

If you reveal your secrets to the wind you should not blame the wind for revealing them to the trees.

KAHLIL GIBRAN

He who gives up the smallest part of a secret has the rest no longer in his power.

JEAN PAUL RICHTER

Contents

M aisie Dobbs had been aware of the motor car following her for some time. She contemplated the vehicle, the way in which the driver remained far enough away to avoid detectionor so he thoughtand yet close enough not to lose her. Occasionally another motor car would slip between them, but the driver of the black saloon would allow no more than one other car to narrow his view of her crimson MG 14/40. She had noticed the vehicle even before she left the village of Chelstone, but to be fair, almost without conscious thought, she was looking out for it. She had been followedeither on foot, on the underground railway, or by motor vehiclefor over a week now and was waiting for some move to be made by the occupants. This morning, though, as she drove back to London, her mood was not as settled as she might have liked, and the cause of her frustrationindeed, irritationwas not the men who followed her, but her father.

Maisie was now a woman with a good measure of financial independence, having inherited wealth in the form of a considerable property portfolio as well as investments and cash from her late mentor, Dr. Maurice Blanche. To the outside observer, the windfall had not changed her character, or her attachment to her work; but those who knew her best could see that it had bestowed upon her a newfound confidence, along with a responsibility she felt to Blanches memory. Dust was settling on the events of his death, and as she moved through the grief of his passing to acceptance of her loss in the process of going through Blanches personal papers, Maisie wantedpossibly more than anythingto see her father retired, resting, and living at The Dower House. She had not been prepared for her plans to be at odds with his own, and this mornings conversation, over tea at the kitchen table in the Grooms Cottage, capped several months of similar exchanges.

Dad, youve worked hard all your life, you deserve something better. Come and live at The Dower House. Look, Im away throughout the week in London, so its not as if well get under each others feet. I dont see how we could do that anywayits a big enough house.

Maisie, weve always rubbed along well together, you and me. We could be in this cottage and live happily enough. Youre my own flesh and blood. But this is my homeHer Ladyship has always said as much, that this house is mine until the day I die. And Im not ready to hang up my boots to sit in an armchair and wait for that day to come.

Frankie Dobbs was now in his early seventies, and though he had suffered a debilitating fall several years earlier, he was in good health once again, if perhaps not quite as light on his feet. His role as head grooma job that came with the tied cottagenow chiefly comprised advising Lady Rowan Compton on purchases to expand her string of racehorses, along with overseeing the stable of hunters at Chelstone, the Comptons country seat.

Well, what about not giving up work and just moving into The Dower House? Mrs. Bromley will take care of youshes such a good cook, every bit as good as

Frankie set down his mug with a thump that made Maisie start. I can do for myself, Maisie. He sighed. Look, Im happy for you, love, really I am. The old boy did well by you, and you deserve all that came to you. But I want to stay in my home, and I want to do my work, and I want to go on like Ive been going on without any Mrs. Bromley putting food on the table for me. Now then...

Maisie stood up and walked to the kitchen sink. She rinsed her mug while looking out of the window and across the garden. Dad, I hate to say this, but youre being stubborn.

Well then, all I can say is that you know where you get it from, dont you?

They had parted on good enough terms, with Frankie giving his usual warnings for her to mind how she drove that motor car, and Maisie reminding him to take care. But as she replayed the conversation in her mindalong with those other conversations that had come to naughtshe felt her heels dig in when she looked at the vehicle on her tail. She was damned if she would put up with some amateur following her for much longer.

She wound down the window and gave a hand signal to indicate that she was pulling over to the side of the road, thus allowing an Austin Seven behind to pass, followed by the motor car that had been shadowing her for at least half an hour. As soon as they passed, she turned back onto the road again and began to drive as close to the vehicle in front as safety would allow.

Now you know I know. Lets see what you do with it.

She noted that there was no number plate on the black motor car, and no other distinguishing mark. Both driver and passenger were wearing hats, and as their silhouettes moved, she could see the passenger looking back every so often. When they turned left, she turned left, and when they turned right, she followed. Soon they were back on the main road again, traveling up River Hill towards Sevenoaks. At the top, the Royal Automobile Club had stationed two men with water cans, ready to help motorists having trouble with overheated vehicles. It was a long hill, and on a hot day in August, many a steaming motor car lurched and rumbled its way to the brow, with the driver as glad to see men from the RAC as a thirsty traveler might be to reach an oasis in the desert. Allowing the black motor car to continueshe thought it was an Armstrong SiddeleyMaisie pulled in alongside the RAC motorbike and sidecar.

Having a bit of trouble, love?

Not yet, but I thought I might get the water checked. Its a hot day.

The man glanced down at the radiator grille and nodded when he saw the distinctive silver RAC badge with the Union Jack below the Kings Crown.

Right you are, Miss. Dont want to risk burning up a nice little runner like this, do you?

Maisie smiled while keeping an eye on the road. Soon the Armstrong Siddeley approached the hill again, this time from the opposite direction, and as it passed, both driver and passenger made a point of looking straight ahead. Police , thought Maisie, sure of her assessment. Im being followed by the police.

She didnt need much, but just as well you stopped, said the RAC man. Cant be too careful, not with this weather.

Thank you, sir. She reached into her shoulder bag for her purse and took out a few coins. I wonder, could you do me a favor? A black Armstrong Siddeley will presently be coming back up the hill; hes probably turning around at this moment. Could you pull it over for me?

The man frowned, then smiled as he took the coins and looked in the direction Maisie indicated. Is this the one, coming along now?

Yes, thats it.

Maisie thought the man looked quite the authority as he stepped forward into the middle of the road in his blue uniform and peaked cap. He held up his hand as if he were a guard at a border crossing. The Armstrong Siddeley came to a halt, and Maisie stepped forward and tapped on the window. After a second or two, the driver wound down the window and Maisie leaned forward just enough to appear friendly, smiling as she affected a cut-glass aristocratic tone.

Gentlemen, how lovely of you to stop when you must be so terribly busy. Her smile broadened. Would it be too boring of me to ask why youve been following me? I think it might save on petrol and your time to explain your actions. After all, its been over a week now, hasnt it?