The Mapping of Love and Death Read Online Free PDF

on the floor, then took the letters and set them on the paper as if she were placing cards for a game of patience. They were close enough to the radiator to benefit from the shallow heat, yet away from any damp that might be leaching through the wall from outside. Each letter had enough space around it for air to flow freely, and when she returned, she would open the letters one by one, peel away the pages and set them to dry in the same way.
     
    T hough rain clouds threatened to slow the drive to Kent, the promise of better weather ahead was signaled by shafts of sunlight breaking through shimmering new leaves on the tree canopy overhead. Maisie began to feel more settled as she made her way through Sevenoaks, and down River Hill towards Tonbridge. Her recent visits to Chelstone had been brief, and she had visited Maurice only occasionally since the beginning of the year. She was anxious, as always, to see her father, who would be both pleased to see her and worried that she was visiting in the middle of the week. He was a man who liked the rhythm of routine, and any deviation gave him cause for concern.
    At the sound of wheels crunching on the gravel lane leading from the manor house drive to his small cottage, Frankie Dobbs was quick to open the front door. “Maisie, love—” He walked towards the MG, his dog at his side.
    “Hello, Dad—you’re looking well! And so’s Jook.”
    Frankie Dobbs leaned forward to kiss his daughter on the cheek, and carried her overnight case into the house while she made a fuss of the dog. Soon father and daughter were in the kitchen, the kettle on thestove to boil, and Frankie had opened the range door so that Maisie could feel the benefit of hot coals.
    “This weather doesn’t know what to do, does it? One minute you think it’s spring, the next minute you’re banking up the fire.”
    “That’s exactly what Billy said only today.”
    Frankie nodded. “Here to see Maurice?” There was no resentment in his voice, for Maisie’s father had long ago come to understand that the bond between Maisie and her former teacher and mentor was an enduring one, though tested at times.
    “Yes, I want him to look at a report, just to see what he has to say.”
    “Must be urgent, if it couldn’t wait until Friday.”
    Maisie nodded, reaching out to take the mug of tea offered by her father. “No, I didn’t want to wait.”
    “He’s been right poorly, you know.”
    “I thought he was getting better.” Maisie set down her mug after one sip.
    “To my mind, it was all that going over to France what did it. I told him, ‘You can’t be going over there when you still feel rough.’ He said he had to go, had to get some affairs sorted out, and the next thing you know, Lady Rowan gets a message that he’s staying there because he’s gone down again—well, you know, don’t you?”
    “How is he now?”
    “As soon as he came home, they brought a bed into the conservatory for him, so he could rest during the day—it’s very warm in there when sun shines right through, plus there’s that nice fireplace. I reckon the ailment’s sitting on his chest and just won’t be moved. Nasty cough he’s got—and it’s such a shock, because he’s always been your busy sort, hasn’t he? If he’s not over there in France, or on business in London, he’s out with his roses, or you can see him reading a book up there by the window. Always one to pass the time of day, he is. But this has knocked him for six, I can see that.”
    “I’ll go up and see the housekeeper this evening, ask if it’s all right to call tomorrow morning. I should have telephoned, but I thought—”
    “I know—this isn’t like him. And Lady Rowan is all beside herself. You know how she is, what with her ‘I am beside myself.’”
    Maisie laughed upon hearing her father’s imitation of his employer, whom he held in high regard, a respect that was mutual.
    “What’s caught her attention now?”
    “James is home