become one with her breath. As a consideration or worry struggled to enter her mind, Maisie relaxed and refused such thoughts an audience, instead imagining them leaving the range of her inner vision, like clouds that pass in the afternoon sky. She breathed deeply and was calm.
Later, as Maisie opened her eyes fully, she acknowledged the truth that had been revealed to her in the silence—the truth that had caused her to avoid visiting her father, for he would see it immediately. The truth that Maisie had been avoiding for so long was a simple one: She was lonely. And as she remained still for just a moment longer, she wondered if that, too, had been Charlotte Waite’s sorrow.
CHAPTER SIX
M aisie awoke as the sun forced its way through the crack where the curtains met, fingering at her leaden eyelids until they opened. She moved her head on the pillow to avoid the blade of light, reached out, and pulled her bedside clock a little closer.
“Oh, lumme, a quarter past eight!”
She leaped from the bed, ran to the bathroom, turned the bathtub taps, and then pulled the lever to activate the shower that had only recently been installed. In addition to piping-hot water that pumped from the eight-inch-diameter showerhead, a series of sprays on the vertical pipe ensured that water reached not only the head but the whole body.
“Oh no!” said Maisie, as she stood under the streaming water and extended her arm to reach the soap, for she had realized that her long tresses, now completely drenched, would not be dry by the time she left the house. Exiting the shower, complaining aloud about the “newfangled thing,” she dried herself quickly, wrapped a thick white towel around her head and put on a plain cotton robe. Sitting at her dressing table, she applied just a little cold cream to her face, rubbing the residue into her hands. She dabbed her cheeks, removing any excess cream with a corner of the towel. She applied only the smallest amount of rouge to her cheeks and lips, then hurried back into her bedroom, opened the wardrobe door and selected a plain midnight blue day dress with a dropped waistline and sleeves that came to just below the elbow. Maisie had generally chosen dresses and skirts that came to her mid-calf, and was glad that fashion was moving in her direction once again following a flirtation with shorter hemlines. Her trusty dark blue jacket, some years old now, would have to do, as would her old cloche and plain black shoes. In fact the cloche would come in very handy this morning.
She removed the towel from her head and consulted the clock: half past eight. It would take fifteen minutes walking at a brisk clip to reach Victoria, so she had only a quarter of an hour to dry her hair. Grabbing her jacket, hat, gloves and document case, she took six hairpins from a glass bowl on her dressing table and rushed out of her room, along the landing, then through a small disguised door to the left that led to the back stairs of the house.
As Maisie entered the kitchen, the three housemaids, who were talking, seemed to jump as she spoke.“Oh dear, I wonder if you can help, I need to dry my hair ever so quickly!”
Sandra was the first to step forward, followed by Teresa.
“Tess, take Miss Dobbs’s things. Come over here, Miss. we won’t be able to get it bone dry, but enough so’s you can pin it up. Quick, Val, open the fire door.”
Maisie noticed that now she was on downstairs territory, the staff called her “Miss” rather than the more formal upstairs “M’um.” She toweled her head once more, and was instructed to lean over in front of the fire door of the stove, so that the heat would begin to dry her hair.
“Now then, don’t get too close, Miss. You don’t want to singe that lovely hair, now, do you?”
“Singe it? I feel like burning the lot off, Sandra.”
“I suppose we could always go and get Her Ladyship’s new Hawkins Supreme, you know, that green hair-drying machine thing of hers.
Later, as Maisie opened her eyes fully, she acknowledged the truth that had been revealed to her in the silence—the truth that had caused her to avoid visiting her father, for he would see it immediately. The truth that Maisie had been avoiding for so long was a simple one: She was lonely. And as she remained still for just a moment longer, she wondered if that, too, had been Charlotte Waite’s sorrow.
CHAPTER SIX
M aisie awoke as the sun forced its way through the crack where the curtains met, fingering at her leaden eyelids until they opened. She moved her head on the pillow to avoid the blade of light, reached out, and pulled her bedside clock a little closer.
“Oh, lumme, a quarter past eight!”
She leaped from the bed, ran to the bathroom, turned the bathtub taps, and then pulled the lever to activate the shower that had only recently been installed. In addition to piping-hot water that pumped from the eight-inch-diameter showerhead, a series of sprays on the vertical pipe ensured that water reached not only the head but the whole body.
“Oh no!” said Maisie, as she stood under the streaming water and extended her arm to reach the soap, for she had realized that her long tresses, now completely drenched, would not be dry by the time she left the house. Exiting the shower, complaining aloud about the “newfangled thing,” she dried herself quickly, wrapped a thick white towel around her head and put on a plain cotton robe. Sitting at her dressing table, she applied just a little cold cream to her face, rubbing the residue into her hands. She dabbed her cheeks, removing any excess cream with a corner of the towel. She applied only the smallest amount of rouge to her cheeks and lips, then hurried back into her bedroom, opened the wardrobe door and selected a plain midnight blue day dress with a dropped waistline and sleeves that came to just below the elbow. Maisie had generally chosen dresses and skirts that came to her mid-calf, and was glad that fashion was moving in her direction once again following a flirtation with shorter hemlines. Her trusty dark blue jacket, some years old now, would have to do, as would her old cloche and plain black shoes. In fact the cloche would come in very handy this morning.
She removed the towel from her head and consulted the clock: half past eight. It would take fifteen minutes walking at a brisk clip to reach Victoria, so she had only a quarter of an hour to dry her hair. Grabbing her jacket, hat, gloves and document case, she took six hairpins from a glass bowl on her dressing table and rushed out of her room, along the landing, then through a small disguised door to the left that led to the back stairs of the house.
As Maisie entered the kitchen, the three housemaids, who were talking, seemed to jump as she spoke.“Oh dear, I wonder if you can help, I need to dry my hair ever so quickly!”
Sandra was the first to step forward, followed by Teresa.
“Tess, take Miss Dobbs’s things. Come over here, Miss. we won’t be able to get it bone dry, but enough so’s you can pin it up. Quick, Val, open the fire door.”
Maisie noticed that now she was on downstairs territory, the staff called her “Miss” rather than the more formal upstairs “M’um.” She toweled her head once more, and was instructed to lean over in front of the fire door of the stove, so that the heat would begin to dry her hair.
“Now then, don’t get too close, Miss. You don’t want to singe that lovely hair, now, do you?”
“Singe it? I feel like burning the lot off, Sandra.”
“I suppose we could always go and get Her Ladyship’s new Hawkins Supreme, you know, that green hair-drying machine thing of hers.
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