do you a favor really, because Lakshmi Chaudhary Jones is such a mouthful, isn’t it?”
Maisie smiled, and agreed. “Thank you—Lakshmi.”
“So, I understand you are leaving for my home country, and soon.”
“Yes,” said Maisie. “Just a couple more weeks, actually.”
“And you have a wedding on the cards, too—I hear all the gossip, you know.” Lakshmi offered Maisie a sweet dessert to enjoy with her cup of tea.
“My father, who is getting on now, is to be wed. To my housekeeper. I’m rather thrilled, to tell you the truth. I think they will be very happy, and my home will be looked after very well while I’m away.”
Lakshmi nodded, sipping her tea. “And no marriage for you? Yet?”
Maisie shook her head. “I—I . . . Well, no, not yet.”
“You’re afraid of losing your place, aren’t you—I think ‘independence’ might be the word.”
“I’m not sure anymore,” said Maisie. “I think that’s too simple for me now. I have come to believe that I must garner a greater understanding—of the world, of myself—before I could make a good wife.”
“Oh, that old chestnut,” said Lakshmi. “What, I wonder, is this person, the ‘good wife,’ when she’s at home?”
“Someone who knows herself, so she won’t get lost.” Maisie was aware that her words had been spoken before she could take the measure of what she wanted to say. She reddened.
Lakshmi Chaudhary Jones set down her cup and saucer, and touched the corners of her mouth with the edge of a table napkin. “It comes down to knowing what you stand for, I think—if I were to discern the nub of the matter. If you both stand for the same things, then you can go forward together and apart, whatever the day may bring. That doesn’t mean you agree on everything. I don’t agree with my husband’s work for that man, John Otterburn, but—”
“You don’t?” Maisie could not hide her surprise.
The woman shook her head. “No. I don’t care for such ostentation and the impressing of power upon others, but knowing my husband shares my essential way of thinking, I know he believes he is reflecting something important in his work—which is quite apart from his lecturing at the Imperial College, you understand.” She paused, looking at Maisie, who was stirring her tea. “That is something to think about, Maisie. If you are looking at marriage, or something akin to it.”
“Lakshmi, I want to ask you something, if I may. You know I was involved in the murder case of a young woman who had come to this country to work as a governess, and also of her friend?”
“Go on,” said Lakshmi.
“Well, here I am, preparing to leave this country, to leave my father, my new stepmother; to leave James, my dearest friends, my business—to leave everything behind. Yet though I feel brave enough, I feel quite astonished at myself, as if I have made a decision to go away from all that I love. I wondered—when I learned more about those women, and when I met you—I wondered, how that felt, and how you mustered your resources to, well, I suppose, to get through the distance, the leaving—even if it was your choice.”
The woman looked at Maisie with her deep brown eyes.
“I’ll tell you this. Leaving that which you love breaks your heart open. But you will find a jewel inside, and this precious jewel is the opening of your heart to all that is new and all that is different, and it will be the making of you—if you allow it to be.”
Maisie could feel her eyes fill with tears.
The woman before her, serene in her confidence, continued. “It is like the fracture of a delicate blue egg, when the bird-chick is ready to face the world. Such a struggle, such a rent in the casing that has most protected the small creature; but look what awaits—the learning to fly, and the grand adventure of migration. Yes, there is the risk of death, the sorry promise of starvation, of exhaustion, but that struggle is unavoidable. For you, the mystery of departure awaits.”
“Yes, I understand—I think,” said Maisie.
Lakshmi Chaudhary Jones smiled. “Perhaps. But you might not begin to understand until you are on that ship. I came here as a young bride, and I thought I would never, ever be part of this country—but it is now as much part of me as my home, India.” She reached to pour more tea. “Perhaps you must leave to come home to yourself—and you must experience this exile