Leaving Everything Most Loved Read Online Free PDF

sail at the end of the year.” He paused. “You see, she wasn’t only saving to come home—she wanted to bring enough money to open her school. She said she could earn better money here in London than in all of India, so she remained.”
    Maisie could see fatigue in the lines around the man’s eyes and—as much as he fought it—knew it was in his backbone.
    â€œMr. Pramal, here’s what I would like to do now. I will be visiting the Allisons, and also the ayah’s hostel—I am sure we can find the address, if you don’t have it to hand. In the meantime, I think it best that you return to your hotel and rest. We should like to reconvene tomorrow morning—would nine o’clock suit you?”
    â€œIndeed, thank you, Miss Dobbs.”
    Maisie stood up, pushing back her chair. Sandra returned to her desk, and Billy stood ready to escort Mr. Pramal to the front door.
    â€œMay I ask if you have satisfactory accommodations while you are in England?” asked Maisie.
    â€œA small hotel, Miss Dobbs. It’s inexpensive, close to Victoria Station. I was staying with an old friend, but I did not want to inconvenience the family any longer.”
    Maisie nodded. “Please do not hesitate to let me know if the hotel ceases to be comfortable. I am sure I can arrange another hotel, with help from Scotland Yard.”
    Pramal gave a half-bow, his hands closed as if in prayer. “You are most kind.” He turned to Sandra. “Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Tapley.”
    Billy extended out his hand towards the door and left the room with Pramal. While Sandra removed the tea tray, Maisie walked to the window again, where she watched Billy bid farewell to the former officer in the Indian Army. As if he couldn’t help himself, Billy saluted Pramal again, and was saluted in return. Each recognizing a war fought inside the other.

Chapter Three

    â€œI always thought women in India were sort of tied to the house until they married,” commented Sandra, while marking the name “Pramal” on a fresh cream-colored folder. “Then we had this woman—a visiting lecturer—come along to talk to the class last week. She’s been standing in for someone else. A doctor, she is—not medical, but of something else; history, I think, or perhaps politics. It was a history class anyway. She was talking about imperialism and about Mr. Gandhi, and what was happening in India, and how it would affect Britain. Very sharp, she was. Kept us all listening, not like some of them.”
    Sandra continued talking as Maisie looked down at a page where she, too, had marked a name: Usha Pramal.
    â€œNot that there was any reason for her not to be intelligent, mind,” Sandra went on. “But you know, I was surprised to see an Indian woman there, teaching us. She was very, very good—better than most of the men, I have to say.”
    â€œIt seems Usha Pramal was of her ilk—her brother’s description reveals an educated woman with an independence of character,” said Maisie. She looked up. “Do you have her name—your lecturer? I think I might like to see her, have a word with her; she could have some valuable information for us, perhaps, regarding Indian women here in London.”
    â€œShe’ll be giving the lecture tomorrow evening. I’ve forgotten her name now, but I can find out when I get there.”
    â€œThank you, Sandra.” Maisie paused. “If it can be arranged, I would like to meet her—at this point, I think any information will be useful, even if it is removed from the case, but it could shed light on how Usha Pramal might have lived. I fear more time has elapsed on this case than I would have wanted. Evidence will be thin, and we’ll be dependent upon the opinions and observations of people who might well have worked hard at forgetting whatever they knew about Miss Pramal. We need to draw in as much