Maisie Dobbs Read Online Free PDF Page B

on a farm, not that far from 'ere-though more in the country, like. Far as I know, quite a few of'em lived there"
    Maisie felt a chill as the stillness of the cemetery seeped through her clothing and touched her skin. Yet the shiver was familiar to Maisie, who had felt that sensation even in warm weather when there was no cooling breeze. She had come to recognize this spark of energy passing across her skin as a warning.
    "Quite a few of them?"
    "Well, you know" The man rubbed his stubbled jawbone with the flat of his thick, earth-stained hand. "Them who got it in the face. Remember, we're not far from Sidcup 'ere-you know. Queen Mary's, the 'ospital where they did all that special work on faces, trying to 'elp the poor sods. Amazin' when you think of it, what they tried to do there-and what they did do. Miracle workers, they were. Mind you, I wouldn't mind bettin' a few of them boys still weren't fancy-looking enough for their sweethearts, and ended up at that farm."
    The old gardener picked up the handles of the wheelbarrow Maisie saw that he was ready to move on, away from recollections of war.
    "Well, I had better be getting on, Mr...
    "Smith. Tom Smith."
    "Yes, I have to catch the two o'clock, Tom. And thank you"
    Tom Smith watched as Maisie picked her way past the graves to the path, and as he turned to leave he called to her. "I 'spect I won't see you 'ere again ... but you know, Miss, the funny thing about this 'ere Vincent is that 'e wasn't the only one"
    "The only one what?"
    "The only one buried with just a Christian name."
    Maisie held her head to one side, encouraging Tom to continue.
    "There was a few of them, and you know what?
    "What?" said Maisie.
    "All lost touch with their families. Tragic it was, just tragic. Seeing their parents. You should never 'ave to go through that, never. Bad enough seeing 'em go off to war, let alone losing them when they come back"
    "Yes, that is tragic"
    Maisie looked at Tom, then asked the question that had been with her since the man had first spoken to her. "Tom ... where is your boy resting?"
    Tom Smith looked at Maisie, and tears rimmed his eyes. The lines etched in his face grew deeper, and his shoulders dropped. "Down there" He pointed to the row of headstones nearest the railway line. "Loved trains as a boy. Loved `em. Came back from France not quite right up 'ere" He tapped the side of his head. "Would scream in the middle of the night, but it was all you could do to get a sound out of the boy in the daytime. One mornin' the missus goes up to take 'im up a cup of tea and there 'e was. Done 'imself in. She was never the same. Never. Broke 'er spirit, it did. Passed away three years ago come December"
    Maisie nodded, held out her hand, and laid it upon his arm. They stood in silence.
    "Well, this will never do," said Tom Smith. "Must be getting along. Got to look after them, 'aven't I? Good day to you, Miss"
    Maisie Dobbs bade the man good-bye but didn't leave the cemetery immediately. Later, while waiting on the platform for the train back to London, she took a small notebook from her handbag and recorded the events of the day. Each detail was noted, including the color of Celia Davenham's shamrock-green gloves.
    She had found two more graves whose headstones bore Christian names only, not very far from the final resting place of Vincent Weathershaw Three young "old soldiers" who had withdrawn from their families. Maisie sat back on the bench and started to compose her questions, the questions to herself that would come as a result of her observations. She would not struggle to answer the questions but would let them do their work.
    "Truth walks toward us on the paths of our questions" Maurice's voice once again echoed in her mind. "As soon as you think you have the answer, you have closed the path and may miss vital new information. Wait awhile in the stillness, and do not rush to conclusions, no matter how uncomfortable the unknowing"
    And as she allowed her curiosity