Jacqueline Winspear is the author of the New York Times bestsellers The Consequences of Fear, The American Agent, and To Die but Once, as well as thirteen other bestselling Maisie Dobbs novels and The Care and Management of Lies, a Dayton Literary Peace Prize finalist. Jacqueline has also published two nonfiction books, What Would Maisie Do? and a memoir, This Time Next Year We’ll Be Laughing. Originally from the United Kingdom, she divides her time between California and the Pacific Northwest.

Elegy for Eddie

By Jacqueline Winspear

HarperCollins Publishers

Copyright © 2012 Jacqueline Winspear
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-06-204958-2

Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

London, April 1933

Maisie Dobbs pushed her way through the turnstile at WarrenStreet station, then stopped when she saw Jack Barker, thenewspaper vendor, wave to her.

“Mornin’, Miss Dobbs. Paper today?”

“Mr. Barker, how are you this morning? It’s very close, isn’t it?

Summer’s here before spring!”

“At least it ain’t as hot as it is over there in America— people dyingfrom the heat, apparently. Mind you, at least they can have a drinknow, can’t they? Now that their Prohibition’s ended. Never could makethat out.”

“You know, you’re the only newspaper seller I know who readsevery single one of his papers,” said Maisie. She took a coin from herpurse and exchanged it for the day’s Times. “And there’s been a lot toread this year already.”

“Ever since all that business about the body line bowling over therein Australia, it seems it’s been one thing after another— and not verynice things, either. Not that I hold with bad tactics in cricket, whetherit’s ours or theirs, but I’m glad England kept the Ashes all the same.

Mind you, not my sort of game, cricket.”

“Jack, I have to confess, I still don’t know what that was all about.I never could quite understand cricket.”

Maisie’s comment fell on deaf ears, as Jack Barker continued hislitany of events that had come to pass over the past several months.

“Then there was all the noise about that Adolf Hitler, being madeChancellor in Germany. What do you reckon, Miss? Seems the bloke’sgot people either worried or turning cartwheels.”

“I think I’m on the side of the worried, Mr. Barker. But let’s justwait and see.”

“You’re right, Miss Dobbs. Wait and see. Might never happen, asthe saying goes. And then we’ll all be doin’ cartwheels, eh? At leastwe’re not like them poor souls in Japan. I know it’s a long way off, theother side of the world, and can’t say as I’ve ever met one of them inmy life— don’t expect I ever will— but they say it was one of theworstearthquakes ever. Hundreds killed. Can’t imagine what that would belike, you know, the ground opening up under your feet.”

“No, neither can I— we’re lucky we live in a place where that sortof thing doesn’t happen.”

“Oh, I reckon it happens everywhere, Miss Dobbs. I’m old enoughto know it doesn’t take an earthquake for the ground to break apartand swallow you; you only have to look at all them who don’t have aroof over their heads or a penny in their pocket to put some food onthe table.”

Maisie nodded. “Never a truer word said, Mr. Barker.” She held upher newspaper by way of a wave and began to walk away. “I’ll look forthe good news first, I think.”

Jack Barker called after her. “The good news is that they reckonthis weather will keep up, right until the end of the month.”

“Good,” Maisie called back. “Makes a nice change.”

“Might be a few thunderstorms, though,” he added, laughing as heturned to another customer.

She was still smiling at the exchange when she turned into FitzroySquare. Five men were standing at the foot of the steps leading upto the front door of the building that housed her office; one of themstepped forward as she approached.

“Miss Maisie Dobbs?”

“Yes, that’s me, how can I— oh, my goodness, is that you? Mr.Riley? Jesse Riley?”

The man doffed his cap and smiled, nodding acknowledgment.

“And Archie Smith—” She looked at the men in turn. “PeteTurner, Seth Knight, Dick Samuels. What are you doing here?”

“We were waiting here for you, Miss Dobbs.”

“Well, come in then. You could have waited for me inside, youknow.”

Maisie unlocked the door, wiped her feet on the mat, and droppedher umbrella into a tall earthenware jar left alongside the door. Theweather might be fine this morning, but she always took an umbrellawith her when she left the house, just in case.

“Follow me.” She turned to speak again as she walked up the stairs.

“Was there no one in to see you?”

“Oh yes, Miss. Very nice young lady came to the door when werang the bell. She said we could wait for you, but we didn’t want to bea nuisance. Then the gentleman came down and he said the same, butwe told him we’d rather stand outside until you arrived.”

Maisie could not quite believe how the morning was unfolding.

Here they were, five men she hadn’t seen since girlhood, waiting forher on the doorstep, all dressed in their Sunday best, in the flamboyantway of the cockney costermonger: a bright silk scarf at the neck, acollarless shirt, a weskit of wool and silk, and best corduroy or woolentrousers, all topped off with a jacket— secondhand, of course, probablyeven third or fourth hand. And each of them was wearing their bestflat cap and had polished their boots to a shine.

Maisie opened the office door and bid her two employees goodmorning as she removed her hat and gloves. “Oh, and Billy, could younip next door to the solicitor’s and ask if they can spare us a chair ortwo,” she added. “We’ll need them for an hour at least, I would imagine.”She turned to Sandra, who had stood up to usher the men intothe room, which at once seemed so much smaller. “Oh, good, you’vebrought out the tea things.”

“We told the gentlemen they could wait in here, Miss Dobbs.”

“I know. It’s all right.” She turned to her visitors. “I seem to rememberthis lot can be particularly proud, can’t you, Jesse?”

The man laughed. “Well. Miss D—”Maisie cut him off. “I was Maisie to you when I was a girl, and I’mMaisie now. There’ll be no standing on ceremony. Ah, here we are,more chairs. Thank you, Billy.” Maisie smiled at her assistant as hereturned with several chairs stacked one on top of the other. “Comeon, all of you, take a chair, sit yourselves down and tell me what this isall about— I can’t ever remember having a delegation of costers greetme, and at this time in the morning.”

Sandra had taken the tray with china and a teapot to the kitchenettealong the corridor, and in the meantime, with the men seatedaround her, Maisie perched on the corner of her desk. She introducedeach of the visitors to Billy and waited for Jesse to speak. He was aboutthe same age as her father, but, unlike Frankie Dobbs, he still workedhis patch of London streets, selling vegetables and fruit from a horsedrawn cart. She knew the reason for the visit must be of some import,for these men would have lost valuable income in giving up a fewhours’ worth of work to see her.

“We’ve come about Eddie. Remember Eddie Pettit?”

Maisie nodded. “Of course I remember Eddie. I haven’t seen him orMaudie for a few years, since I lived in Lambeth.” She paused. “What’swrong, Jesse? What about Eddie?”

“He’s dead, Miss— I mean, Maisie. He’s gone.”

Maisie felt the color drain from her face. “How? Was he ill?”

The men looked at each other, and Jesse was about to answer herquestion when he shook his head and pressed a handkerchief to hiseyes. Archie Smith spoke up in his place.

“He weren’t ill. He was killed at the paper factory, Bookhams.”Smith folded his flat cap in half and ran his fingers along the fold.When he looked up, he could barely continue. “It weren’t no accident,either, Maisie. We reckon it was deliberate. Someone wanted to getrid of him. No two ways about it.” He looked at the other men, all ofwhom nodded their accord.

Maisie rubbed her arms and looked at her feet, which at once feltcold.

“But Eddie was so gentle. He was a little slow, we all knew that, buthe was a dear soul— who on earth would want to see him gone?” Shepaused. “Is his mother still alive? I remember the influenza just afterthe war had left her weak in the chest.”

“Maudie’s heart is broken, Maisie. We’ve all been round to seeher— everyone has. Jennie’s looking after her, but Wilf passed on a fewyears ago now. The grooms down at the bottling factory, the drivers atthe brewery, everyone who looked after a horse in any of the boroughsknew Eddie, and they’ve all put something in the collection to makesure we give him a good send off.”

“Has he been laid to rest yet?”

“This Friday. St. Marks.”

Maisie nodded. “Tell me what happened— Seth, you start.”Seth Knight and Dick Samuels were the younger men of the group;Maisie guessed they were now in their late forties. She couldn’tremember seeing them since they were young apprentices, and now theywere men wearing the years on faces that were lined and gray, andwith hands thick and calloused from toil.

Knight cleared his throat. “As you know, Eddie made a wage fromthe work he did with horses. There wasn’t a hot or upset horse inthe whole of London he couldn’t settle, and that’s no word of a lie.And he earned well at times, did Eddie. Reckon this was after youleft the Smoke, just before the war, but talk about Eddie’s gift hadgone round all the factories and the breweries, and last year— honesttruth, mind— he was called to the palace mews, to sort out one of HisMajesty’s Cleveland Bays.” He looked at Jesse, who nodded for him tocontinue. “But horses don’t have a funny turn every day of the week, soEddie always made a bit extra by running errands at the paper factory.He’d go in during the morning, and the blokes would give him a fewcoppers to buy their ciggies, or a paper, or a bite of something to eat,and he’d write everything down and— “

“Wait a minute.” Maisie interrupted Knight. “When did Eddielearn to write?”

“He’d been learning again for a while, Maisie. There was thiswoman who used to be a teacher at the school, she helped him. He’dfound out where she was living— across the water— and he’d gone toher a while ago to ask if she could give him lessons. I’m blessed if I canremember her name. Apparently, he’d been doing quite well with anew customer, and it’d finally got into his noddle that if he learned toread and write he might be better off in the long run. He’d started topay attention to money. I’d say it was all down to Maudie, pushing hima bit. In the past all he did was hand over the money to her, and shegave him pocket money to spend on himself, for his necessaries. Sheput the rest away for him— she always worried that he wouldn’t be ableto look after himself when she was gone, you see.”

Maisie nodded. “I remember her being so attentive to him, always. Iwas in a shop once— I think it was Westons, the hardware store; I musthave been sent on an errand by my mother. I was behind Eddie andhis mum, and she made him ask for what they wanted, even thoughhe didn’t want to. She went stone silent until he’d asked for whateverit was, and then counted out the correct money. No one tried to hurryhim along, because people knew Maud was teaching him to stand onhis own two feet.”

Seth Knight went on. “Well, Eddie seemed to have a little bit moreabout him lately, as if he’d been keeping us in the dark all along. Hestarted asking questions about how to save his money so it was safe – ofcourse, it was hard for him to understand, and he’d come and ask thesame questions again, but all the same, he was trying. Anyway, it turnsout this teacher— Miss Carpenter, that was her name— had always hada soft spot for him at school. When he turned up, that is. Trouble withEddie, as you know, he’d always been happier around horses, so even asa young boy, when he got a message to go and sort out a horse, Maudienever stopped him. And to be honest, they needed the money, beingas it was only the two of them; Wilf and Jennie were there to help out,but Maudie always said they needed everything they had to take care ofthemselves, especially with Wilf coming home gassed after the war. Hemight as well have died at Plugstreet Wood, the way the pain took itout of him, after he came home— and he was older than most of them;he wasn’t a young man when he went over there.” Seth took a deepbreath and looked down at his hands, the palm of one rubbing acrossthe knuckles of the other. “Anyway, going back to Eddie, he’d startedto write down the odd note when the blokes at the factory gave himtheir instructions, and I for one think he could understand more thananyone gave him credit for. In any case, he always came back with whatthey’d asked him to get for them, and he never made a mistake.”

There was silence for a few moments, and Maisie knew that everyonewas likely thinking the same thing, that Eddie wasn’t really gone,that he was as alive as the stories about him.
(Continues…)Excerpted from Elegy for Eddie by Jacqueline Winspear. Copyright © 2012 by Jacqueline Winspear. Excerpted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers.
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