A Lesson in Secrets_ A Maisie Dobbs Novel - Jacqueline Winspear [8]
“Yes, I remember a letter sent after the funeral, with condolences. I had forgotten until you mentioned it.”
“Of course, a sad time.”
Maisie nodded. “So, if I am to work under cover of a false occupation, surely my name will give me away.”
Huntley shook his head. “No, not at all. Liddicote is not worldly beyond his academic affiliations, and a brief look at your recent history would suggest that you have left the life of a private inquiry agent behind. And though you have kept it fairly quiet, a little bit of digging would reveal the depth of your attachment to the scion of the family that once employed you—James Compton is himself a man of great wealth. There are those who assume that any woman involved with a man such as Compton could look forward to a life of comfort, without the need to risk life and limb. In addition, except in certain circumstances, we prefer our . . . representatives to use their own name. It will make your story that much more believable.”
Maisie stood up and walked to the window. “So, you effectively want me to leave my business for an indefinite period of time. I am to seek employment as a lecturer at a private college established and run by a man in whom you have an interest. And, in a nutshell, my brief is to—what?”
“You must report back on any observed actvities—by anyone—that are not in the interests of the Crown. Do you understand the implications of the assignment?”
Maisie nodded. Huntley and MacFarlane exchanged glances.
“Do I have time to think about it?”
MacFarlane glanced at the clock above the door. “About three minutes.”
Maisie turned to look out of the window. Yes, life had become a little soft, and for a woman who had worked almost every day of her life, who had seen war, who had held the dying as she tried to stanch their wounds, that ease prickled against her skin. She remembered the letter Maurice had left for her, and one sentence in particular came to her as she looked down at the end-of-day traffic.
I have observed your work in recent years and it does not claim the full measure of your skill or intellect. In time there will be a new path for you to follow. . . .
She rejoined the men, still seated in armchairs around the low table. “I fail to see how my suitability for this role was determined by my ability to detect the simple fact that I was being followed, but, that said—I’ll do it. You should know, however, that I do not work for His Majesty’s gratitude, honor that it is. I prefer my payment to be more tangible.”
“Are you sure you’re not a Scot?” MacFarlane smiled as Huntley passed a series of documents to Maisie, each one emblazoned with the same livid red stamp marking it as Official: Top Secret.
Chapter Two
As she made her way back to Pimlico, Maisie began to doubt her decision to accept the assignment. At first she had imagined a task both intellectually stimulating and professionally challenging; but what if she were to become mired in the day-to-day tedium of an academic institution, looking for acts—of what? espionage?—that did not exist. But on the other hand, a joint proposal from MacFarlane and Huntley certainly seemed to merit her consideration. And Maurice would have wanted her to accept, of that she was sure.
She imagined sitting with him by the fireplace in his study at The Dower House. At first he would give the impression of leaving the decision up to her, yet as conversation progressed, he would show his hand. She was sure he would counsel her to broaden her horizons and accept a new challenge. So she would take on the persona of a spinster teacher, an educated woman on her own in the halls of academia—even if those halls were seen to be wanting by the standards of the more established Cambridge university community.