A Lesson in Secrets_ A Maisie Dobbs Novel - Jacqueline Winspear [102]
“Will do, Miss. When will I hear from you again?”
“Tomorrow morning. Before I go, how’s Doreen?”
“Aching back, aching feet, aching head, fed up, bored, and wanting the baby to be born. Last weeks are always like that, according to the womenfolk.”
“Look after her, Billy—no need to stay later than you have to at the office.”
“I’ll telephone Caldwell now.”
“And I’m off to find MacFarlane and Stratton.”
“Rather you than me.”
Chapter Sixteen
Ah, Miss Dobbs, glad I’ve caught you.” Miss Hawthorne puffed into the office where Maisie was standing alongside the bank of pigeonholes, most of them bulging with papers from students as well as mail from outside the college. “Yes, your students seem a keen lot, don’t they? Looks like they’ve all been timely with their homework. Anyway, I digress—Dr. Roth said to send you along to his office if you came into the college today. He wants to talk to you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, something about the debate, I think. Mind you, the only things anyone seems to be talking about at the moment are the debate and Dr. Liddicote’s death. Not a lot of joy there, eh?”
“I’ll go along to his office now.”
“Right you are. That’s one thing I can tick off my list of things to remember.”
Maisie could see the cleaners had been at work while the students were absent. Fragrant lavender polish had brought the oak floors and wainscoting along the corridors to a looking-glass shine, and she was careful not to slip as she made her way straight to Matthias Roth’s office. She knocked, and entered when she heard his booming voice call out, “Come!”
“Dr. Roth. Miss Hawthorne said you wanted to speak to me.”
“Yes, indeed, do sit down.”
As he held out his hand to indicate that she should be seated, he removed his round spectacles and tapped his teeth with them, then, as was his habit, flicked back hair that had fallen forward and almost obscured his vision. Maisie realized that, apart from an intense regard for Liddicote—though they had crossed swords when it came to the debate—she had not garnered a sense of the man, other than observing his youthful mannerisms: the flicking back of an overlong lock of hair, and the way he walked along the corridors with a heel-to-toe bounce to his step.
“Miss Dobbs.” He paused, as if to frame his words with care. “Miss Dobbs, I have been looking through staff files over the past few days.” He put on his spectacles again.
“Are you dissatisfied with my work?”
“No, not at all, not at all. Quite the contrary. Your students have come along well, and you are a popular teacher. You have taken part in extracurricular activities and have become part of our community here in a short time.” He rubbed his chin. “Miss Dobbs, I realize you are acquainted with the two detectives through your former work, and that you telephoned them immediately Dr. Liddicote’s body was discovered. I have since read through your file, and I have to inquire as to whether you are here at the college in your professional capacity—you were the principal in a successful inquiry agency.” Another pause. “Are you working with the police to get to the bottom of Greville Liddicote’s death?”
Maisie shook her head. “No.” Technically it was the truth. She had been told that she had her own brief, and that MacFarlane was in charge of the murder investigation. “I know the chief superintendent, but I am not working for him with regard to his inquiries here.”
“I see. But you’re interested in Greville Liddicote, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.” Maisie did not need to feign an honest interest in her subject. “What he did in building this college, bringing his dream to fruition, is inspiring. I have read some of his work, specifically his children’s books, so the whole story is quite compelling—a man who is cast out of Cambridge University,