A Lesson in Secrets_ A Maisie Dobbs Novel - Jacqueline Winspear [48]
She arrived at the station with just minutes to spare, purchased a ticket, and hurried to the platform to await the train. Soon the train approached, rumbling towards the long platform, steam chuffing out sideways as the locomotive slowed alongside the waiting travelers. Maisie climbed aboard and settled in a seat next to the window. With a whistle and a flag held high, the guard waved to the driver; steam punched the air again and the train began to move. It was as Maisie’s carriage began to move away from the station that she saw Francesca Thomas step forward to await the next train. She was opening her handbag to put away her ticket, so she did not look up while the train was passing. Maisie craned her neck to look back at Thomas and saw the woman check the time, and then begin to pace the platform. It was the only sign that she might be holding some tension, for her face was devoid of expression or emotion. Maisie recalled that the next train from the platform was bound for London’s Liverpool Street station, and she thought about her most recent conversation with Francesca Thomas, during which the older woman maintained that she seldom ventured out of Cambridge.
Though Thomas dominated Maisie’s thoughts as the train went on its way, the side-to-side motion of the carriages soon lulled her into a half-sleep. She had hardly slept since the previous Friday; there had been so much to accomplish, so much to consider, with events at the college inviting intense speculation. But in truth, one thing had kept her from sleeping more than any other: the letter from James. She could not work out how a letter with a Canadian stamp had been franked in London. Admittedly, the postmark was smudged, and it was difficult to read—but no, she was certain it was London, though she had already been informed by James that there was, indeed, a London in Ontario . . . would you believe it, Maisie? She considered James and realized she had been doing her best not to think about him since accepting the assignment with MacFarlane and Huntley—to no avail. What might he say if he knew she was working for the Secret Service? Possibly he would be concerned that the job might be more dangerous than that of a private inquiry agent, though to her it seemed as if the risk were minimized with her current assignment. Maisie and James had become closer as the year progressed, so close that she knew there was already speculation as to what might come next. Priscilla had cornered her on the subject during an unexpected visit to her flat.
“I know that when I don’t see much of you, it’s because you don’t want to talk about something, and I would lay money on that something being James. Come on, what is it?”
“Nothing. I like James. We enjoy each other’s company.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake—it’s me you’re talking to, not your prudish old aunt!”
Maisie shrugged. “I just don’t know where it’s all going—I mean, I loved Simon dearly, but there was no destination to the journey, if you know what I mean. And now I don’t know about James. In some ways I would like to think there was something in the distance, a place to land. On the other hand, I’m satisfied just going along as we are.”
Priscilla shook her head, pressed a cigarette into the long holder she favored, held a lighter to the end until it smoldered, and leaned back on Maisie’s new sofa, snapping the lighter shut as if to punctuate the conversation. “This is very comfortable, by the way—it softens the room.” She inhaled, blew a smoke ring, and regarded Maisie. “Sometimes, you flummox me, Maisie, really you do. Of course there has to be a destination—of one sort or another, and if I were you I’d go for the known road.”
“Known road?”
“Marry the man! Of course, you can keep ambling, as long as you both understand the pros and cons, the whys and wherefores. You have your house and this flat, and you could live in sin quite merrily. But that’s not you, Maisie. And for all the wild ways of my youth, it wasn’t me, either. I wanted to know