A Lesson in Secrets_ A Maisie Dobbs Novel - Jacqueline Winspear [66]
She wanted to know more about the Ortsgruppe, and she wanted to know whether Huntley was already aware of the meetings, and if so, why she wasn’t told. It occurred to her that, of the staff, already two—Delphine Lang and Francesca Thomas—seemed to be making their way into London with some regularity. Maisie closed her eyes, and though at the edge of her consciousness she was aware of the shouts of students splashing around at the edge of the river, the sounds receded as she meditated, focusing her thoughts on the many threads of information she now held. And reflecting upon what had come to pass since her first visit to the College of St. Francis, she remembered waiting in the staff library on the day of her interview: she had looked out the window across the grounds, and seen the young woman whom she now knew to be Delphine Lang in the embrace of Dr. Matthias Roth. It did not strike her as a romantic assignation, but rather as a daughter might be comforted by her father.
Chapter Eleven
Maisie planned to drive to Oxford for her meeting at Somerville College, and from there she would go straight to London—hopefully to find Sandra released from police custody. Though the day was overcast, she drove with the roof drawn back and hoped it would not rain. Having left Cambridge early, she intended to stop at a telephone kiosk on the way so she could place a call to Brian Huntley; she also thought it would be a good idea to stop for a cup of tea, as she had departed her lodgings without breakfast, much to the consternation of her landlady.
Maisie spotted a telephone kiosk as she approached a crossroads. The kiosk looked as if it had just been cleaned by local GPO workers, but she still held the door ajar with her foot—such a small enclosed space always made her feel uncomfortable.
“Is the doctor there? I have an emergency and want to speak to the doctor.”
“Will the nurse do? We have a nurse available,” said the woman who answered.
“It’s a laceration on the palm of the hand, and I believe it may cause lockjaw. I have to speak to the doctor.”
“And your name is?”
“Dobbs. I am a patient.”
“Hold the line, please. I’ll see if the doctor’s in.”
She waited for a moment, then Huntley came on the line.
“Good morning, Maisie.”
“Yes. Good morning.” She was never quite sure whether she should call him “Brian” or “Mr. Huntley.” He had assumed a certain familiarity with her, and she knew that Maurice would have addressed him by his Christian name. She took a deep breath. “Brian, I wanted to ask you what you know about a group—well, ‘groups’ might be more in order—known as the Ortsgruppe. They’re essentially men and women from Germany or of German extraction—immigrants, workers here for a short time, that sort of thing—who have sworn some sort of allegiance to the NSDAP—the Nazi Party in Germany.”
“Yes, we know a bit about them, and I’ve asked for reports on their activities, but we’re not worried about them.”
“You’re not worried about them?”
“No. Chap called Hans Wilhelm Thost is the leader of the group in London—journalist, can’t see a problem with him at all. They’re all ardent followers of Adolf Hitler, but we only get truly worried when groups of this sort start doing things such as publishing literature critical of Britain and her Empire. There has been no evidence of seditious material from the group, and we have taken advice from the Home Office that any move by authorities to limit their activities would do more harm than good.”
“May I ask how?” Maisie felt the skin around her neck prickle.
“Our political and commercial relationship with Germany