Introduction

The Great War is over, and change is in the air, in this novel that brings to life the exciting days of early British radio…and one woman who finds her voice while working alongside the brilliant women and men of the BBC.
 
London, 1926. American-raised Maisie Musgrave is thrilled to land a job as a secretary at the upstart British Broadcasting Corporation, whose use of radio—still new, strange, and electrifying—is captivating the nation. But the hectic pace, smart young staff, and intimidating bosses only add to Maisie’s insecurity.
 
Soon, she is seduced by the work—gaining confidence as she arranges broadcasts by the most famous writers, scientists, and politicians in Britain. She is also caught up in a growing conflict between her two bosses, John Reith, the formidable Director-General of the BBC, and Hilda Matheson, the extraordinary director of the hugely popular Talks programming, who each have very different visions of what radio should be. Under Hilda’s tutelage, Maisie discovers her talent, passion, and ambition. But when she unearths a shocking conspiracy, she and Hilda join forces to make their voices heard both on and off the air…and then face the dangerous consequences of telling the truth for a living.
 
 
READERS GUIDE INCLUDED

Editorial Review

No editorial review at this time.

Excerpt

The door was ajar. Maisie peered in and saw a severely tidy desk. There seemed to be a building block in the in-tray, but as Maisie drew closer, she realized it was only correspondence stacked so meticulously as to appear smooth. A half-written letter in a rather scrawly hand lay on the blotter. A pile of books. A green leather diary. Maisie chewed her lip as she studied the desk, wondering where to lay her burden.

“Hallo. Is it anything urgent?”

Maisie shrieked, and the papers went flying again. She whirled to see a woman sitting on the floor by the replace, smiling up at her. “Are you off your nuts?” Maisie cried, surprising herself both by the decidedly American expression she hadn’t realized she’d ever known and the volume of her speech, which showed that she’d learned one thing from Georgina: how to project to the upper balcony.

?“Steady now,” the woman advised, her smile broadening. “Carry on like that and you’ll be part of the transmission. Indeed, they’d hardly need the tower.”

The head of a grim-faced young man in tortoiseshell glasses slithered around the door and glared at Maisie.

“What was all that ruckus? It’s not a mouse, is it?”

“Hardly,” the woman on the floor responded, her gaze boring into Maisie.

“So what’s the matter with you?” the man scolded Maisie. “Pick those up. Don’t you know how to deliver things? I’ve always said girls have no place working in—”

“Now, Mr. Fielden, do calm down. You’re in danger of being ridiculous,” the woman chided. “The young lady was simply startled by my presence, and you must agree, I am astonishing.”

Fielden’s thin lip, unimproved by his haphazard mustache, curled. Maisie could feel how much he longed to keep scolding her.

“I shall handle this,” the woman concluded. Her voice was pleasant, cheerful, but rang with an absolute command that would not be countered.

Fielden nodded obediently, and his head slid back around the door.

The woman chuckled. Maisie couldn’t understand her ease. If she had been caught lounging on an office floor—not that she would ever contemplate such an action—she’d be lucky to retrieve her hat and coat before being shown the door. But this woman took a luxurious sip of tea, set her cup on a lacquered tray, and swung to her feet with an almost acrobatic leap.

“Now, then, what were you delivering?”

“Er . . .” Maisie bent to gather the papers, now far beyond hope- less and well into disaster.

Why didn’t I just look for work picking potatoes?

The woman helped her up, and Maisie balanced the papers on the desk.

“Are you . . . ? I, er, I thought the director of Talks didn’t have a secretary,” Maisie said, her hands still shifting through the papers to hide their trembling.

“Not as such, no, and that’s something that badly needs rectifying,” came the jaunty reply. Maisie had the uneasy sense of being read from the inside out, despite the placid sweetness of the huge blue eyes. The woman was rather lovely, with soft blond hair cut into a wavy bob and an elegant figure shown to advantage in a practical, and obviously bespoke, tweed suit. Her skin was the pink and white of first bloom, but Maisie felt sure she was in her thirties. It was just something about her bearing. This was a woman who had seen and done things.

And now she had seen the interoffice envelope, addressed to the director of Talks.

“Ah!” she cried, catching it up and opening it.

Maisie was galvanized. “No! That’s for Mr. Matheson, Miss Shields said.”

“I know of two Mr. Mathesons, and neither are here.” The woman grinned. She had the air of an infinitely patient teacher.

Maisie had the horrible sense she was being set up for a joke. That any second, Cyril, Beanie, Rusty, and the boys were going to swarm around the door and laugh at her. That the story would fly through the whole of Savoy Hill and follow her wherever she ran, even if she fled to deepest Saskatchewan.

“You . . . Are you . . . the director of Talks?” Maisie whispered, hoping everyone waiting to laugh wouldn’t hear.

“I am,” the woman announced with a pleased nod. “Hilda Matheson. Miss. And you are?”

“Maisie Musgrave.”

“Aha!” Hilda pumped Maisie’s hand, her eyes snapping with delight. “My new secretary! Or as much as Mr. Reith and Miss Shields are willing to spare you. Thus far. Marvelous! Now, don’t you mind me sitting on the floor by the fire. It’s a grand way to think and just one of my quirks.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“You most certainly did, and don’t you apologize for it. It was glorious.” Hilda laughed. Her musical laugh was very unlike Beanie’s. It was boisterous, rolling, and deep—Maisie found it a touch alarming.

“I expect you thought I was a secretary,” she went on, not waiting for Maisie’s embarrassed nod. “Wouldn’t I get into the hottest water for such impropriety? Well,” she added, eyes twinkling with an unsettling roguishness, “I might anyway at that. But it is chilly and one must stay warm. I appreciate your looking after me, Miss Musgrave, though I might suggest in future moderating your tone just a nip.”

Maisie could hear an echo of that laugh. “Of course, Miss Matheson,” she whispered.

“That’s going to the other extreme. But quite all right. It’s always useful to try a few possibilities. Else how can you be sure what’s right?”

“I . . . I don’t know, Miss Matheson.”

“Well, we try, try again. Now, are all these for Talks as well?” she asked, indicating the folders.

“Er, yes, but I’m afraid . . .” Maisie squeezed her eyes shut, both to avoid seeing this exacting woman too closely and to stop the tears from spilling more freely than the papers. “Oh, Miss Matheson, I’m so sorry, but I’d already dropped them, even before now. They’ve got to be put all back together and I don’t know—”

“Folders dropped twice, and on your first morning, no less! That is a feat. You don’t make a habit of tossing paper thither and yon, do you?”

“Oh, no! No, I was . . . Well, I ran into a tuba.”

“Occupational hazard in Savoy Hill. But you’re all right? Good. Now, let’s have at these papers and see how quickly they submit to order.”

Could she possibly be facetious? Maisie thought with yearning of Miss Shields’s disapproving candor, which was at least comprehensible. She gazed, fascinated, as Hilda organized the papers, small neat hands flying through them, nails manicured, left finger brazenly unencumbered by a wedding ring, a silver-and-enamel Mido watch clamped around her wrist.

“There!” She patted the neat folders with satisfaction. “I shall let you in on a little secret I’ve unearthed, having been here only since September myself. Few of these papers are of the earth-shattering consequence they’re considered by some. It’s all about what’s going to happen, Miss Musgrave, not what’s already been and done. Which isn’t to say I don’t like to keep very complete and tidy records. That is something I do expect, along with a strict attentiveness to all that goes forward. But I daresay Miss Shields and Mr. Reith wouldn’t have approved you if you weren’t sharp.”

At the moment Maisie had no idea why she’d been approved. Miss Jenkins at the secretarial school always withheld from giving her full marks. “You’re the most technically proficient and capable, Miss Musgrave, but the best secretaries have brio, dear.”

Does anyone ever use the word “dear” when they aren’t insulting you? ?

Maisie was grateful to Miss Matheson, who in any case was a good deal more pleasant than Miss Shields, but now, the emergency over, she felt deflated. She’d been expecting a man. A clever, charming, well-spoken man who would intimidate and dazzle her. Under his influence, she would learn how to behave in such a way that would allow a man’s genius to flourish. Such skills would hopefully attract another clever and exciting man (dark blue eyes and freckles ?came to mind) who might be enticed to become her husband. ?

But a woman. As director of Talks. That seemed to be taking the ?BBC’s audacious modernity a bit too far. ? view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

1. Hilda sees radio as an opportunity to educate the public and is especially keen on having more books and poetry discussed on the radio, as well as presenting sociopolitical debates. Does media still serve an educational purpose today? How might media broaden understanding throughout society?

2. Maisie is initially mistrustful of both Hilda and Phyllida— Hilda because she is, as Maisie sees it, a woman in a man’s job; Phyllida because she appears to look down on Maisie. Both these women become her closest friends and allies. How do you think they help her become a stronger, more confident person? Discuss how Maisie’s personality—the wit she’s kept under wraps most of her life—blossoms as a result of her friendships.

3. Many people in 1920s Britain are worried about the effect of technology and media. Mrs. Crewe, Maisie’s landlady, is fearful of the idea of disembodied voices in the house. Are there any parallels to how technology is viewed in society today? How was the radio in its early days similar to the Internet today? How are the privacy concerns similar and different?

Suggested by Members

by DebbieSzy (see profile) 02/07/17

Weblinks

»	Author's web site
»	Publisher's Book Info
»	Kirkus Review

Book Club Recommendations

Recommended to book clubs by 3 of 5 members.

Member Reviews

Rate this book