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Pardonable Lies by Jacqueline Winspear
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(Paperback - Bargain)
- Publisher: Henry Holt & Company, Incorporated
- Pub. Date: June 2006
- ISBN-13: 9780641848919
- 384pp
- Series: Maisie Dobbs Series, #3
- Edition Description: Bargain
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Synopsis
A new Maisie Dobbs novel from award-winning author Jacqueline Winspear
In the third novel of this unique and masterly crime series, a deathbed plea from his wife leads Sir Cecil Lawton, KC, to seek the aid of Maisie Dobbs, psychologist and investigator. As Maisie soon learns, Agnes Lawton never accepted that her aviator son was killed in the Great War, a torment that led her not only to the edge of madness but also to the doors of those who practice the dark arts and commune with the spirit world. Determined to prove Ralph Lawton either dead or alive, Maisie is plunged into a case that tests her spiritual strength, as well as her regard for her mentor, Maurice Blanche. The mission will bring her to France and reunite her with her old friend Priscilla Evernden, who lost three brothers in the war, one of whom has an intriguing connection to the case.
Set against a finely drawn portrait of life between the World Wars, Pardonable Lies is "a thrilling mystery that will enthrall fans of Jacqueline Winspear's heroine and likely win her new ones" (Detroit Free Press).
The New York Times - Marilyn Stasio
As long as she doesn't turn into a total saint, Maisie is a sleuth to treasure.
More Reviews and RecommendationsBiography
The creator of a mystery heroine who's been described as a combination of Agatha Christie's famous sleuth Hercule Poirot and Sebastian Faulks's sassy spy Charlotte Gray, Jacqueline Winspear is quickly creating intrigue in her own right as a bestselling author with a growing following.
More About the AuthorCustomer Reviews
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I wanted to like it, but...by Anonymous
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August 09, 2008: I really wanted to enjoy Pardonable Lies, bit it wasn't to be. The plot was dull, the characters insipid, not one that I cared for, and the book was sooooo sloooow moving. I probably could have accepted all that if the flavor of the 1930s Deco period had been captured, but it wasn't. Read Christie's Hercule Poirot instead. I'd call Pardonable Lies a near miss.
Pardonable Liesby Anonymous
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September 06, 2007: When things happen, they happen in threes. So Maisie Dobbs learns when she takes a case to help a child accused of murder, a sort of double case dealing with soldiers killed in the war, and trying to find out who was trying to kill her. The child accused of murder is a girl barely thirteen forced into street walking. Of the two soldiers one was the brother of Maisie's best friend and the other was the son of an MP who promised to settle the question of whether boy still lived or not. Lastly, the killer surfaced as Maisie began her investigations. Was it connected to the case. Talented Jacquenline Winspear has written a story that will keep you reading. You will thoroughly enjoy meeting Maisie and the other characters while stepping back in time. A series of subplots woven into the fabric of the whole make for a satisfying and pleasant read. A touch of the paranormal added to the mix of mystery and romance give it a flavor to set it apart from the ordinary mystery. Any reader will find this deserves the title, cozy, even though it doesn't follow all the rules. You'll be looking for other books by this very able author. I know I will.
Fact File
Name:
Jacqueline Winspear
Also Known As:
Jackie Winspear
Current Home:
Ojai, California
Date of Birth:
April 30, 1955
Place of Birth:
Weald of Kent, England
Education:
The University of London’s Institute of Education
Awards:
Best First Novel Agatha Award, Alex Award for Maisie Dobbs; nominated for 2004 Edgar Award
Biography
Lovers of British mysteries and historical novels will find something to appreciate in Jacqueline Winspear's Maisie Dobbs books. Maisie, a housemaid-turned-student-turned-nurse-turned private investigator in early 20th-century London, manages to straddle Britain's class system by being a woman of exceptional "bearing" and intellect who happens to come from working-class stock. As an investigator, she's green, but sharp and ambitious. She's also surrounded by vividly sketched secondary players, such as her benefactor, Lady Rowan, and mentor Maurice Blanche.
In Winspear's first Maisie story, we learn the character's background: Forced by family circumstances to go to work as a housemaid at an early age, Maisie Dobbs' curiosity and intellect are noticed by her employer, Lady Rowan. Rowan takes care of her education, and she makes it to university – but the Great War interrupts her ambitions. She serves as a nurse in France, then returns to England and starts her career as a private investigator in 1929. Her first case seems like a simple investigation into infidelity; it grows into something larger when it leads realizes there's something amiss at a convalescent home for war veterans called The Retreat.
Winspear's talent didn't go unnoticed when her first novel was published in July 2003. Maisie Dobbs was named in "best" lists in both the New York Times and Publishers Weekly. It was also nominated in the best novel category for an Edgar Award from the Mystery Writers of America. There was an almost palpable sense of relief in the reviews, pleasant surprise that someone had offered not only a solid addition to the historical mystery genre, but had given it further depth and breadth. As an NPR reviewer put it, "[The book's] intelligent eccentricity offers relief."
Telling Maisie's stories using a warm third-person narrator, Winspear charms with her ability to convey the historical context surrounding her characters, particularly regarding the impact of the Great War. For this reason, and because her mysteries steer clear of graphic violence or sex, her books are often recommended for younger readers also. Far from hardboiled, Winspear's characters are very human, and she delivers a little romance and heartache along with the criminal wrongdoing.
Part of the appeal in Winspear's books also lies in her ability to bring a deeper, more philosophical atmosphere to the proceedings. Maisie is trained in Freudian psychology and is as interested in helping as she is in solving. A case referenced in the second Maisie story, Birds of a Feather, for example, "would not be filed away until those whose lives were touched by her investigation had reached a certain peace with her findings, with themselves, and with one another." Reading Winspear's Dobbs series may not bring inner peace, but there is something relaxing about spending time with her appealing characters.
Good to Know
Winspear also works as a creative coach. She writes on her web site, "As a coach I am engaged by those who want to establish clear intentions for their artistic endeavors, to support and encourage so that they sustain a level of energy and empowerment which is demonstrated in work that is rewarding, inspiring -- and finished!" Winspear also writes about international education.
Winspear loves outdoor pursuits such as horseback riding, hiking, sailing, and mountain biking; she's also an avid traveler, according to her web site bio.
In our interview, Winspear shared some fun facts about herself:
"My first ever job after college was as a flight attendant. I wanted to travel and could not afford it, so I decided to get myself a job where I could travel. I did it for two years and had great fun."
"My worst-ever job was in an egg-packing factory when I was 16."
"I love dogs, horses and generally all animals. I will always stop to check on stray dogs -- I once ended up in the emergency room with a tick embedded in me which had jumped off a dog I had rescued from a busy road. It was a deer tick, which carries Lyme Disease, so I wasn't taking any chances. Funnily enough, when I opened the only magazine in the emergency room, it was to a page carrying an article on tick bites and disease. It stated that you have six hours after the tick embeds itself, before it begins to release the bacteria that cause disease. I counted the hours from rescuing the dog, and by the time the doctor came in I was pleading, ‘Get this thing out of me!!!'"
"My favorite way to unwind is to go for a walk with my husband and the dog at the end of the working day, then we go to our local health club for a swim and to sit by the pool and read for a while. I love time with family and friends, but completely relish time on my own when I have no agenda to follow, no to-do's, just me and time alone."
Feature Interview
In the summer of 2004, Jacqueline Winspear took some time out to answer some of our questions about her favorite books and her life as a writer: What was the book that most influenced your life or your career as a writer?
I love to read and have been an avid reader since the age of about three. However, I cannot say any one book ever impacted my writing career. I never read a book that made me want to be a writer per se; rather it was the love of words and what I could do with them that made me want to be a writer. So in that way my reading and writing were inextricably mixed. I cannot say that a book has ever influenced my life in a broader sense. This is always a tricky question, because "influence" suggests that it made you do something differently, or take a path not previously considered. Certainly there are books that have touched me, books that I thought about for days on end, but not that influenced me in the grand scheme of things, or made me do things differently.
What are your favorite books, and what makes them special to you?
What are some of your favorite films, and what makes them unforgettable to you?
I love films with a sense of time and place. My husband is a real film buff, so we watch a lot of movies, especially foreign films. You will note that some of the films are war films -- they are not chosen because they concern war, but because of the characterization, story, time and place essentially. I confess that I also really enjoyed the two Bourne thrillers -- the pace, the car chases, clever story, just great movie fun. I loved the original Italian Job with Michael Caine too!
What types of music do you like? Is there any particular kind you like to listen to when you're writing?
I never listen to music while writing. I love all sorts of music, from the blues, to jazz to rock. Favorite artistes/bands include:
I also love classical music and the voice of Renee Fleming. And my husband plays acoustic guitar, so you could say I listen to John Morell more than anyone else!
What are your favorite kinds of books to give -- and get -- as gifts?
Oh, gosh, I give all sorts of books and do not have one particular type of favorite book. I have just given my brother a book on ancient roses that I found at an antiquarian booksellers -- he's a landscape gardener/designer and an expert on roses, so he enjoys such books. I love to receive books on places, people, and architecture -- and tend to give such books, unless I know that someone is yearning for a particular book. I like to give unusual books, perhaps that I have found at an antiquarian bookseller or something that I know will appeal specifically to the recipient.
Do you have any special writing rituals? For example, what do you have on your desk when you're writing?
I have decided that after all this time, I will never have a tidy desk. I am the feng shui expert's nightmare. I have way too much on my desk -- I'm thinking of leaving it and starting all over in another room! And no particular writing rituals, except that I like to start early. I also do some hand exercises before I start, mainly because I now get sore fingers from the repetitive motion of using a keyboard. The exercises warm up the hands ready for a few hours of work -- you wouldn't think twice about warming up for running, and people forget that writing is a physical job. Be warned -- look after your hands!
Many writers are hardly "overnight success" stories. How long did it take for you to get where you are today? Any rejection-slip horror stories or inspirational anecdotes?
In terms of Maisie Dobbs, I was exceptionally fortunate, but perhaps that evens things up as I was in my mid-forties before I began my first fiction since primary school. Prior to writing Maisie Dobbs, I was a nonfiction writer working mainly on essays and articles. After completing Maisie Dobbs, I referred to Jim Herman's book on literary agents, editors, and publishers. I selected 30 agents that I thought might be interested in my novel, and then sorted them again into my "A" list, "B" list and "C" list. I sent out proposals along with sample chapters to the "A" list about three days before 9/11, so after the disaster happened, I thought my chances of even being read were miniscule -- with a national tragedy, who would be interested in a mystery rooted in a terrible war? I was therefore surprised when I had several phone calls within a couple of weeks of sending out my proposals. By the end of November, I had signed contracts with my agent, Amy Rennert, and Maisie Dobbs was sold in the early spring of 2002, then published in 2003. I've been extremely fortunate.
What tips or advice do you have for writers still looking to be discovered?
My main piece of advice is this: Have a vision. If you can "see" something, you can make it happen. Use props if necessary. I really mean this, and the advice is not given in a flippant manner: From the minute I began work on Maisie Dobbs, I saw a book -- not a manuscript. I could see the cover in my mind's eye, the pages laid out. To this day, when I am working on a book, I print the pages as I go and set them in a binder with a title page, a cover design (and I'm no artist, the cover design will probably bear no resemblance whatsoever to anything a designer will come up with!), and even the dedication and acknowledgement. Remember the film Field of Dreams, and that legendary phrase, "If you build it they will come"? Well, if you can see your book, it will be published.
From Barnes & Noble
A dying plea spurs Maisie Dobbs's tantalizing investigation. Agnes Lawton never truly believed that her beloved aviator son, Ralph, had died on a World War I battlefield. Now on her deathbed, she implores her knighted husband to find the truth about her offspring's disappearance. For psychologist/detective Dobbs, the case has troubling personal dimensions. Her search not only forces her to grapple with her own painful memories of the Great War; it leads her to doubt the merits of her mentor, Maurice Blanche.
From the Publisher
A new Maisie Dobbs novel from award-winning author Jacqueline Winspear
In the third novel of this unique and masterly crime series, a deathbed plea from his wife leads Sir Cecil Lawton, KC, to seek the aid of Maisie Dobbs, psychologist and investigator. As Maisie soon learns, Agnes Lawton never accepted that her aviator son was killed in the Great War, a torment that led her not only to the edge of madness but also to the doors of those who practice the dark arts and commune with the spirit world. Determined to prove Ralph Lawton either dead or alive, Maisie is plunged into a case that tests her spiritual strength, as well as her regard for her mentor, Maurice Blanche. The mission will bring her to France and reunite her with her old friend Priscilla Evernden, who lost three brothers in the war, one of whom has an intriguing connection to the case.
Set against a finely drawn portrait of life between the World Wars, Pardonable Lies is "a thrilling mystery that will enthrall fans of Jacqueline Winspear's heroine and likely win her new ones" (Detroit Free Press).
The New York Times - Marilyn Stasio
As long as she doesn't turn into a total saint, Maisie is a sleuth to treasure.
Publishers Weekly
Agatha-winner Winspear's engrossing third Maisie Dobbs novel maintains the high quality of its predecessors, Maisie Dobbs (2003) and Birds of a Feather (2004). In late 1930, the London "psychologist and investigator" gets involved in three cases: proving the innocence of a 13-year-old farm girl, Avril Jarvis, accused of murder; undertaking a search for Sir Cecil Lawton's only son, a pilot shot down behind enemy lines in WWI, whose body was never recovered; and looking into the circumstances of the death of her university friend Priscilla Evernden Partridge's brother in France during the war. Maisie must go back to the region where, 13 years earlier, she served as a nurse, and confront her memories of mud, blood and loss. Filled with convincing characters, this is a complex tale of healing, of truth and half-truth, of long-held secrets, some, perhaps, to be held forever. Winspear writes seamlessly, enriching the whole with vivid details of English life on a variety of social levels. Agent, Amy Rennert. (Aug.) Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.
Library Journal
A pilot's death forces London investigator Dobbs to face the trauma of her World War I memories, as well as grave danger in this third volume of the best-selling series. Winspear lives in Southern California. With a 12-city author tour. Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.
School Library Journal
Adult/High School-It is 1930 and Maisie Dobbs has been operating her detective cum psychiatric agency for more than a year. Her mentor, Maurice Blanche, a cross between Sherlock Holmes and Hercule Poirot, has retired and she has been successful on her own. But a new case threatens to take her back to a place she has been trying to forget: France, where she was a nurse during the Great War. She has been hired by a successful QC (Queen's Counsel) to prove that his only son did die in the war and was not still alive as his recently deceased wife believed. The case seems to pit her against Blanche, and she becomes as fearful of him as of the strange man following her. This case and one she casually takes on for a friend seem to converge frighteningly, and she is emotionally and physically exhausted by the time she wraps them up. Teens will get a great feel for the time between the World Wars and the social and economic milieu as the Depression approaches and the losses of 1914-'18 seem more trenchant. Maisie is indomitable and inspiring, and she must try to find space in her increasingly busy life for her father and her beau while helping her clients to deal with the scars they carry. A thought-provoking series entry, the story contains revelations of secret missions, homosexuality, the lives of persons from all layers of society, and a winning heroine who is not perfect and is willing to learn from her mistakes.-Susan H. Woodcock, Fairfax County Public Library, VA Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.
Loading...Product Details
- ISBN:
0641848919
- ISBN-13: 9780641848919
- Format: Paperback, 384pp
- Publisher: Henry Holt & Company, Incorporated
- Pub. Date: June 2006
- Edition Description: Bargain
- Series: Maisie Dobbs Series, #3
Table of Contents
Read an Excerpt
Chapter OneThe young policewoman stood in the corner of the room. Plain whitewashed walls, a heavy door, a wooden table with two chairs, and one small window with frosted glass rendered the room soulless. It was a cold afternoon and she'd been in the corner since coming on duty two hours ago, her only company the rumpled and bent girl sitting in the chair that faced the wall. Others had come into the room to sit in the second chair: first, Detective Inspector Richard Stratton, with Detective Sergeant Caldwell standing behind him; then Stratton standing while a doctor from the Maudsley Hospital sat before the girl, trying to get her to speak. The girl—no one knew her age or where she had come from because she hadn't spoken a word since she was brought in this morning, her bloodstained dress, hands and face showing a month's worth of dirt—was now waiting for another person who had been summoned to question her: a Miss Maisie Dobbs. The policewoman had heard of Maisie Dobbs, but with what she had seen today, she wasn't sure that anyone could get this young scrubber to talk.
The policewoman heard voices outside the door: Stratton and Caldwell and then another voice. A smooth voice. A voice that was neither loud nor soft, that did not need to be raised to be heard or, thought the policewoman, to get someone to listen.
The door opened and Stratton came in, followed by a woman she presumed to be Maisie Dobbs. The policewoman was surprised, for the woman was nothing like she had expected, but then she realized that the voice had revealed little about the owner, except that it had depth without being deep.
Wearing a plainburgundy suit with black shoes and carrying a worn black leather document case, the visitor smiled at both the policewoman and Stratton in a way that almost startled the uniformed woman, as her eyes met the midnight-blue eyes of Maisie Dobbs, psychologist and investigator.
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Chalmers,” said Maisie, though they had not been introduced. The warm familiarity of the greeting took Chalmers aback. “Brrr. It's cold in here,” added the investigator, turning to Stratton. “Inspector, can we bring in an oil stove? Just to take the edge off?”
Stratton raised an eyebrow and inclined his head at the unusual nature of the request. Amused at seeing her superior caught off guard, Chalmers tried to hide a grin, and the seated girl looked up, just for a second, because the woman's voice compelled her to do so.
“Good. Thank you, Inspector. Oh—and perhaps a chair for Miss Chalmers.” Maisie Dobbs removed her gloves, placing them on top of the black bag, which she set on the floor, before pulling a chair around so that she was seated not opposite the girl, on the other side of the table, but close to her.
Strange, thought Chalmers, as the door opened and a constable brought in another chair, left the room, and returned with a small paraffin stove, which he placed by the wall. They exchanged quick glances and shrugged shoulders.
“Thank you,” said Maisie, smiling.
And they knew she had seen their furtive communication.
Now, sitting alongside the girl, Maisie said nothing. She said nothing for some time, so that after a while Chalmers wondered what in heaven's name she was there for. Then she realized that the Dobbs woman had closed her eyes and had changed her position slowly, and though she couldn't put her finger on it, it was as if she were talking to the girl without opening her mouth, so that the girl—as if she couldn't help herself—leaned toward Maisie Dobbs. Blimey, she's going to talk.
“I'm getting warmer now.” It was a rounded voice, a west-country voice. The girl spoke deliberately, with rolled r's and a nod when her sentence was finished. A farm girl. Yes, Chalmers would have pegged her for a farm girl.
But Maisie Dobbs said nothing, just opened her eyes and smiled, but not with her mouth. No, it was her eyes that smiled. Then she touched the girl's hand, taking it in her own. The girl began to cry and, very strange again, thought Chalmers, the Dobbs woman didn't reach out to put an arm around her shoulder, or try to stop her or use the moment as Stratton and Caldwell might have. No, she just sat and nodded, as if she had all the time in the world. Then she surprised the policewoman again.
“Miss Chalmers. Would you be so kind as to poke your head around the door and ask for a bowl of hot water, some soap, two flannels, and a towel, please.”
Chalmers gave a single nod and moved toward the door. Oh, this would surely give the girls something to chew over later. They'd all have a giggle about this little pantomime.
A bowl of hot water was brought to the room by the police constable, along with the flannels, soap, and towel. Maisie removed her jacket, placed it over the back of the chair, and rolled up the sleeves of her cream silk blouse. Reaching into the bowl, she rubbed some soap on a wet flannel and squeezed out the excess water. Then she lifted the girl's chin, smiled into her reddened and bloodshot eyes, and began to wash her face, rinsing the flannel and going back again, dabbing the hot cloth on the girl's temples and across her forehead. She washed her arms, holding first her left hand in the hot flannel and working the cloth up to her elbow, then reaching for the girl's right hand. The girl flinched, but Maisie showed no sign of noticing the movement, instead massaging her right hand with the cloth, gently working it along her arm to the elbow, and then rinsing again.
It was as she knelt on the floor, taking one filthy bare foot after the other and washing the dirt and grime away with the second flannel, that the policewoman realized she had become mesmerized by the scene unfolding before her. It's like being in church.
The girl spoke again. “You've got right soft 'ands, miss.”
Maisie Dobbs smiled. “Thank you. I used to be a nurse, years ago, in the war. That's what the soldiers used to say: that my hands were soft.”
The girl nodded.
“What's your name?”
Chalmers stared as the girl—who had been sitting in that room without so much as a cup of tea since she was brought in twelve hours ago—replied immediately.
“Avril Jarvis, miss.”
“Where are you from?”
“Taunton, miss.” She began to sob.
Maisie Dobbs reached into the black bag and brought out a clean linen handkerchief, which she placed on the table in front of the girl. Chalmers waited for Maisie to take out a sheet of paper to write notes, but she didn't; instead she simply continued with her questions as she finished drying the girl's feet.
“How old are you, Avril?”
“Fourteen next April, I reckon.”
Maisie smiled. “Tell me, why are you in London and not Taunton?”
Avril Jarvis sobbed continuously as Maisie folded the towel and sat next to her again. But she did answer the question, along with every other question put to her over the next hour, at which point Maisie said that was enough for now; she would be taken care of and they would speak again tomorrow—only Detective Inspector Stratton would have to hear her story too. Then, adding fuel to the tale that Chalmers would tell the other policewomen lodging in rooms upstairs at Vine Street, the Jarvis girl nodded and said, “All right, then. Just so long as you'll be with me, miss.”
“Yes. I'll be here. Don't worry. You can rest now, Avril.”
Copyright © 2005 by Jacqueline Winspear. All rights reserved.
Read a Sample Chapter
Pardonable Lies
A Maisie Dobbs Novel
By Winspear, Jacqueline
Picador
Copyright © 2006
Winspear, Jacqueline
All right reserved.
ISBN: 0312426216
Chapter One
The young policewoman stood in the corner of the room. Plain whitewashed walls, a heavy door, a wooden table with two chairs, and one small window with frosted glass rendered the room soulless. It was a cold afternoon and she'd been in the corner since coming on duty two hours ago, her only company the rumpled and bent girl sitting in the chair that faced the wall. Others had come into the room to sit in the second chair: first, Detective Inspector Richard Stratton, with Detective Sergeant Caldwell standing behind him; then Stratton standing while a doctor from the Maudsley Hospital sat before the girl, trying to get her to speak. The girl--no one knew her age or where she had come from because she hadn't spoken a word since she was brought in this morning, her bloodstained dress, hands and face showing a month's worth of dirt--was now waiting for another person who had been summoned to question her: a Miss Maisie Dobbs. The policewoman had heard of Maisie Dobbs, but with what she had seen today, she wasn't sure that anyone could get this young scrubber to talk.
The policewoman heard voices outside the door: Stratton and Caldwell and then another voice. A smooth voice. A voice that was neither loud nor soft, that did not need to be raised to be heard or, thought the policewoman, toget someone to listen.
The door opened and Stratton came in, followed by a woman she presumed to be Maisie Dobbs. The policewoman was surprised, for the woman was nothing like she had expected, but then she realized that the voice had revealed little about the owner, except that it had depth without being deep.
Wearing a plain burgundy suit with black shoes and carrying a worn black leather document case, the visitor smiled at both the policewoman and Stratton in a way that almost startled the uniformed woman, as her eyes met the midnight-blue eyes of Maisie Dobbs, psychologist and investigator.
"Pleased to meet you, Miss Chalmers," said Maisie, though they had not been introduced. The warm familiarity of the greeting took Chalmers aback. "Brrr. It's cold in here," added the investigator, turning to Stratton. "Inspector, can we bring in an oil stove? Just to take the edge off?"
Stratton raised an eyebrow and inclined his head at the unusual nature of the request. Amused at seeing her superior caught off guard, Chalmers tried to hide a grin, and the seated girl looked up, just for a second, because the woman's voice compelled her to do so.
"Good. Thank you, Inspector. Oh--and perhaps a chair for Miss Chalmers." Maisie Dobbs removed her gloves, placing them on top of the black bag, which she set on the floor, before pulling a chair around so that she was seated not opposite the girl, on the other side of the table, but close to her.
Strange, thought Chalmers, as the door opened and a constable brought in another chair, left the room, and returned with a small paraffin stove, which he placed by the wall. They exchanged quick glances and shrugged shoulders.
"Thank you," said Maisie, smiling.
And they knew she had seen their furtive communication.
Now, sitting alongside the girl, Maisie said nothing. She said nothing for some time, so that after a while Chalmers wondered what in heaven's name she was there for. Then she realized that the Dobbs woman had closed her eyes and had changed her position slowly, and though she couldn't put her finger on it, it was as if she were talking to the girl without opening her mouth, so that the girl--as if she couldn't help herself--leaned toward Maisie Dobbs. Blimey, she's going to talk.
"I'm getting warmer now." It was a rounded voice, a west-country voice. The girl spoke deliberately, with rolled r's and a nod when her sentence was finished. A farm girl. Yes, Chalmers would have pegged her for a farm girl.
But Maisie Dobbs said nothing, just opened her eyes and smiled, but not with her mouth. No, it was her eyes that smiled. Then she touched the girl's hand, taking it in her own. The girl began to cry and, very strange again, thought Chalmers, the Dobbs woman didn't reach out to put an arm around her shoulder, or try to stop her or use the moment as Stratton and Caldwell might have. No, she just sat and nodded, as if she had all the time in the world. Then she surprised the policewoman again.
"Miss Chalmers. Would you be so kind as to poke your head around the door and ask for a bowl of hot water, some soap, two flannels, and a towel, please."
Chalmers gave a single nod and moved toward the door. Oh, this would surely give the girls something to chew over later. They'd all have a giggle about this little pantomime.
A bowl of hot water was brought to the room by the police constable, along with the flannels, soap, and towel. Maisie removed her jacket, placed it over the back of the chair, and rolled up the sleeves of her cream silk blouse. Reaching into the bowl, she rubbed some soap on a wet flannel and squeezed out the excess water. Then she lifted the girl's chin, smiled into her reddened and bloodshot eyes, and began to wash her face, rinsing the flannel and going back again, dabbing the hot cloth on the girl's temples and across her forehead. She washed her arms, holding first her left hand in the hot flannel and working the cloth up to her elbow, then reaching for the girl's right hand. The girl flinched, but Maisie showed no sign of noticing the movement, instead massaging her right hand with the cloth, gently working it along her arm to the elbow, and then rinsing again.
It was as she knelt on the floor, taking one filthy bare foot after the other and washing the dirt and grime away with the second flannel, that the policewoman realized she had become mesmerized by the scene unfolding before her. It's like being in church.
The girl spoke again. "You've got right soft 'ands, miss."
Maisie Dobbs smiled. "Thank you. I used to be a nurse, years ago, in the war. That's what the soldiers used to say: that my hands were soft."
The girl nodded.
"What's your name?"
Chalmers stared as the girl--who had been sitting in that room without so much as a cup of tea since she was brought in twelve hours ago--replied immediately.
"Avril Jarvis, miss."
"Where are you from?"
"Taunton, miss." She began to sob.
Maisie Dobbs reached into the black bag and brought out a clean linen handkerchief, which she placed on the table in front of the girl. Chalmers waited for Maisie to take out a sheet of paper to write notes, but she didn't; instead she simply continued with her questions as she finished drying the girl's feet.
"How old are you, Avril?"
"Fourteen next April, I reckon."
Maisie smiled. "Tell me, why are you in London and not Taunton?"
Avril Jarvis sobbed continuously as Maisie folded the towel and sat next to her again. But she did answer the question, along with every other question put to her over the next hour, at which point Maisie said that was enough for now; she would be taken care of and they would speak again tomorrow--only Detective Inspector Stratton would have to hear her story too. Then, adding fuel to the tale that Chalmers would tell the other policewomen lodging in rooms upstairs at Vine Street, the Jarvis girl nodded and said, "All right, then. Just so long as you'll be with me, miss."
"Yes. I'll be here. Don't worry. You can rest now, Avril."
Copyright 2005 by Jacqueline Winspear. All rights reserved.
Continues...
Excerpted from Pardonable Lies
by Winspear, Jacqueline
Copyright © 2006 by Winspear, Jacqueline.
Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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