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By Root 552 0

and set her on a path she could never have imagined even a year before. Clare was the oldest bridge in Cambridge, and there was something about standing on the bridge, with her feet on a thoroughfare walked by scholars for almost three centuries, that had filled her with anticipation of what the future might hold. Then the cold would nip at her fingertips and toes, and she would make her way to the market, perhaps to buy fresh bread, still bearing the fragrance of warm yeast, which she would later spread with an indulgent layer of butter and Mrs. Crawford’s strawberry jam. And she would consider herself lucky indeed to have such a sweet for tea. She smiled, remembering the hamper of comestibles the cook at Chelstone had sent to her shortly after she arrived at Girton College to begin her studies—homemade apple pie, strawberry jam, a quarter pound of Brooke Bond tea, and a jar of honey from the hives at Chelstone. Priscilla had joined the afternoon feast. “She probably thinks they starve you here,” she’d said, before tucking into a slice of toast and jam, then wiping crumbs from her lips. “Do write and tell her how hungry you are, and she’ll send us some more—that jar won’t last long at this rate, I can tell you!”

The College of St. Francis was housed in a grand mansion just off the Trumpington Road, within walking distance of the Cambridge Botanic Garden. Standing in front of the considerable property, Maisie thought it must have been built in the early years of Queen Victoria’s reign, testament to the fashion for Gothic Revival architecture, with heavy leaded churchlike windows, the chimneys close together in three clusters, and an oversize spire on the roof above the substantial front door. She suspected that students would doubtless remember it as a place of echoes, of ghosts, of the creaks and wheezes inherent in an old house as nighttime cooled the rafters. Camellia bushes and rhododendrons showing off a second blooming obscured part of the view, though leafy cherry trees that would be filled with blossom in spring gave visitors cause for cheer, as if the trees and shrubs were assuring them, “It’s not as bad as it looks in here.”

She looked up at the spire once more and walked towards the door, where she pulled the cast-iron bell handle to the right of the entrance. A young woman opened the door and gave an economical smile.

“Are you Miss Dobbs?”

“Yes, to see Dr. Liddicote.”

“Follow me.”

The young woman was of average height. Her light-brown hair was cropped into a short bob with not a strand out of place, and Maisie noticed the merest blush of rouge on her cheeks. Her brown shoes clicked against the polished floorboards as she led Maisie along the corridor towards a door with a frame that Maisie thought would have been well-suited to the inner sanctum of a church.

“Please wait in here, Miss Dobbs. I will come for you when Dr. Liddicote is ready to see you.”

Maisie chose an armchair close to the window, which looked out on the grounds. Flanked by an assortment of both deciduous and evergreen trees, the lawns were also bordered by rhododendrons and flower beds with dahlias and asters in bloom. She closed her eyes and cleared her mind, in part because this was her practice before an important meeting, but also to marshal the butterflies of anticipation. Reflecting upon her story to Sandra—that Maurice had wanted her to spend time in a teaching capacity—she reminded herself that there was an element of truth in the tale. Maurice had often spoken to her of the importance of passing on knowledge, and of the skill involved in presenting ideas and facts in a manner that was engaging and made a lasting impression—whether the recipient of that knowledge was an employee, a student, or a child. She rubbed her hands and waited, half-wishing she had brought one of Maurice’s notebooks to read so that his words could sustain and inspire her in the moments before her meeting with Liddicote.

Dr. Liddicote will see you now.” The young woman held the door open for Maisie and led the way along the corridor to a room with a carved