A Lesson in Secrets_ A Maisie Dobbs Novel - Jacqueline Winspear [69]
“Yes, of course. You’ve been most kind.” Maisie stood and held out her hand to Penhaligon. “Dr. Thomas was born in Switzerland, wasn’t she? I wonder if she went back there during the war—after all, it was a neutral country.”
“Possibly. I wish I knew. But Francesca was what I would call a real European—mind you, if you look back, I am sure we all have a bit of this and a bit of that. My grandmother came from the Netherlands, and another ancestor from Sweden, and we British all have something of our invaders, don’t we—some Norman here, a bit of Viking there, a spoonful of Saxon, perhaps.”
Maisie laughed. “Oh, yes, you’re absolutely right there!”
“But Francesca was rather careful, in terms of her name.”
“In what way?”
“Well, when war seemed imminent, she changed her name—it was originally Seifert, and she thought it sounded too Germanic, so she took ‘precautionary action,’ as she put it. The authorities obviously knew she was a British subject through her mother, but she took the name Thomas. Apparently it was her grandmother’s maiden name.”
“I see. Well, I think I might have done the same in the circumstances.”
“Yes, so might I. Fortunately, neither of us had to do anything of the sort. Now then, Miss Dobbs, do try to take a walk around our gardens before you leave—the Somerville gardens are known for their beauty, and they really are quite lovely at the moment.”
“Thank you, Professor Penhaligon. I’ll go for a walk around now.”
Maisie’s stroll around the grounds was brief, but productive; she wanted to breathe in some fresh air before driving down to London, and it gave her time to think. So, Francesca Thomas had worked in something “hush-hush” during the war. Did she then return to Europe and her education? Certainly, with her background she could have continued her education in Switzerland, gaining a doctorate at a university there. Maisie wondered about her change of name. One could hardly be surprised at her wanting to take her grandmother’s name, and “Thomas” did sound so very English. She would make inquiries in any case.
It was early afternoon when Maisie parked outside the home in Holland Park where Priscilla lived with her husband and sons. The property had once been the home of Margaret Lynch—the mother of Simon Lynch, the young doctor whom Maisie had loved. With both her husband and her son now dead, Margaret had no need of the mansion, with its sweeping staircase and many rooms, so it had been leased to Priscilla and her husband, and had once more become a house filled with laughter. On Fridays, Douglas and Priscilla usually took the boys to Priscilla’s family estate in the country, but in the present circumstances, Maisie thought they would be staying in London.
“Maisie, thank goodness—you’re here.”
“Where’s Sandra?”
Priscilla closed the door as Maisie stepped into the entrance hall. “I really don’t know how to tell you this, but she’s gone.”
“Gone? Gone where?”
“We don’t know. After we brought her home yesterday afternoon, I made sure she went straight to bed—she had been living in the most awful cell, terrible. I took her to the guest room, and came back with something light to eat—soft-boiled egg, a slice of toast, tea—but she wouldn’t take anything, just curled up on the bed and closed her eyes. Poor dear, she just wept. I remained with her for a while, and then thought it best to just leave her to sleep it off.”
“When did you know she’d gone?”
“This morning. I asked Mrs. Hawkins to go in with some tea and toast—didn’t want to push food down her if she didn’t want it. They’d tried that while she was in custody. When she wouldn’t eat—and I am sure it was from nerves, rather than being bloody-minded—they sent in a woman to literally shove the food down her throat, which of course she just brought up again.” Priscilla paused, and shook her head. “I thought I would have the devil’s own job in getting her out of there, you know. When I arrived at the police station, Douglas was going back and forth with