Maisie Dobbs (32 page)

"Maurice is right, Lady Rowan"

"Well, you would say that, wouldn't you? You're a chip off the old block. By the way, he and your father are like two old peas in a pod down there, ever since Maurice bought the dower house"

"Tell me about James," Maisie prodded her.

Lady Rowan took another sip of her sherry. "Frankly, I'm worried. Julian is also worried, but he expresses it in a different way. He seems to think that if we are all patient, then James will come round, and that he won't be so incredibly depressed anymore"

Maisie did not speak, allowing Lady Rowan to gather her thoughts. Sitting still and allowing the silence to grow, Maisie felt the frustration, misunderstanding, and anger that had built up in the house, permeating every room-along with an expectation that James would one day bound in as the happy-go-lucky young man he had once been.

Carter came in to announce that dinner would be served in the dining room, and led the way. Maisie held out her arm to steady Lady Rowan, who now walked with the aid of a silver-capped cane, as they moved into the dining room.

"Wonderful, Carter, wonderful. Compliments to Mrs. Crawford, as always."

The conversation continued lightly as each dish was served, moving once again to the subject of James only after Carter had left the room.

"Some weeks ago, James met with a wartime colleague who had heard of a farm, coincidentally in Kent, where old soldiers could go to live with others who `understood' That was the term they used, `understood' As if no one else is able to understand. It seems that this farm is quite a revolutionary idea. It was originally set up for those suffering facial wounds, but now it is open-obviously when a room becomes available-to those with other wounds."

Lady Rowan set her knife and fork down on the plate, reached for her wine, and took a sip before continuing. "Of course, James still suffers pain in his leg and arm from the shrapnel, but Maurice has said that his discomfort is a result of melancholy. Yet James has become most interested in this community of wounded. He has visited, met with the founder, and has decided to go to live at this ... this farm for the foreseeable future!"

"You seem distressed by his decision, Lady Rowan. Is there anything else?"

"Yes. A lot more. The founder, a man called Adam Jenkins, maintains that because everyone on the battlefield should have been equal, officers and enlisted men, because they all faced the same enemy, then there should be no advantage while in residence at this farm. Which is fair enough, but James said something about giving up his surname and title. Whatever next?" Lady Rowan shook her head.

At once Maisie thought of Vincent Weathershaw Vincent.

Lady Rowan went on, "I wish to heaven James would go back to Canada. He seemed happy there, before the war, and at least he would be working and useful. Certainly his father would be delighted; it would be a weight off his mind. I know Julian wants to slow up a bit and wishes James would begin to take up the reins. And now he's signing over his money...."

Lady Rowan had hardly touched her food. Instead she ran the fingers of her right hand up and down the stem of her wine glass.

"What do you mean?" Maisie asked.

"Apparently it's one of the stipulations for entering this Retreat or whatever it's called.You come with nothing, to be part of the group. So James has transferred his personal funds to this Jenkins fellow-and it's not just him, others have done the same thing. Thank God his father is still alive and there are limits to what James can actually relinquish financially. Julian is taking steps to protect the estate-and James's future-until he gets over this horrible idea. Of course Julian had already done a lot to shore up the estate when he saw the General Strike coming a few years ago. I married a sensible man, Maisie"

"What does Jenkins do with the money?"

"Well, it's a sizable property to run, and I'm sure the upkeep isn't insignificant. Of course, when one leaves one is refunded any monies remaining and given a statement of account. James said that he saw samples of the statements and refund documents, and he was happy with the arrangements. Mind you, he seemed eager to isolate himself on this farm. He said that people would understand him there. Oh, mind you, he seemed eager to isolate himself on this farm. He said that people would understand him there. As if I don't!"

Lady Rowan reached over and clasped Maisie's hand. Maisie had never seen the usually stoic Lady Rowan so vulnerable.

"Where is James now?"

"Out. Possibly at his club, but he doesn't go there much now Quite honestly, I don't know where he is. He could be wandering the streets for all I know. Most probably he's spending time with some old com rades. He visits them you know, those that are still institutionalized. He'll probably be back later. Much later. I told him he could remain at Chelstone; after all, it's in the country, there's peace and quiet, and he could do what he likes and come back when he's ready for the City. Lord knows Julian needs his help. But he's determined to go to this farm. I have never felt so ... so ... cut off from my son"

Maisie pushed the food around on her plate. There was a time when mother and son had been almost inseparable, sharing a dry wit and a mischievous sense of humor. She remembered being at the London house soon after she received news that she had been accepted by Girton College. James had just returned from Canada, hoping to join the Royal Flying Corps. There was much joy in the household, and as she walked down the outside stairs toward the kitchen, Maisie saw the tall, fair young man through the window, creeping up behind Mrs. Crawford and putting his arms around her ample waist. And as Maisie watched through the condensation that had built up inside the pane of glass, Mrs. Crawford swung around, clipped the young man around the ear, and, laughing, pretended to admonish him. "You, young James, why no sooner are you back than you'll be the death of me. Look at you, you young lout and if you are after fresh ginger biscuits, I've baked up a batch 'specially for you, though I'm not sure you deserve them now!"

Maisie had walked in through the back door of the kitchen just as James was taking his first bite of a fresh ginger biscuit.

"And look who else is here," said Mrs. Crawford. "Maisie Dobbs, I do believe you are even thinner! My back only has to be turned for one minute, and you're not eating properly."

With crumbs around his mouth, James swallowed the biscuit, and struggled to greet Maisie politely. "Ah, the clever Miss Maisie Dobbs, passing exams that the rest of us mere mortals have nightmares about!"

Then as Mrs. Crawford turned to the stove, James whispered to Maisie, "Tell Enid I'm home"

Later, as she walked past the drawing room on her way to Lord Julian's study to serve afternoon tea, which he had elected to take alone, she saw James and Lady Rowan through the open door. Lady Rowan was laughing heartily, having been whisked by her son into an impromptu dance, accompanied only by the sound of his own booming voice:

"I won't ask you to see James, Maisie," continued Lady Rowan, bringing Maisie back into the present, "I know your opinion will mirror Maurice's, so I know better than to ask. But I wonder. Would you find out something about this farm, or whatever it is? I have to say that I do feel he would be better in the world rather than trying to escape from it."

"I will certainly look into it, Lady Rowan. I'll go down to Kent next week. I have to go anyway, as I need to speak with Maurice, and I must see my father. I'll find out about James's retreat as well."

"Maisie. Take the MG. I know very well that you can drive, so do please take the car. It's not as if I've used it much since Julian bought it for me to run around in-and George drives Julian to the City in the Lanchester."

"Yes, all right, Lady Rowan. It's very kind of you to offer, and I may need to be flexible, so the car will be handy."

"It's almost new, so the young thing should get you there and back with no trouble at all. And Maisie-don't forget to send me your bill!"

Maisie directed conversation to other matters, and soon Lady Rowan was laughing in her old infectious manner. Carter watched as two maids cleared the table and brought in the delicious apple pie, to be served with a generous helping of fresh clotted cream. After dinner Maisie and Lady Rowan returned to the drawing room, to sit beside the fire until Lady Rowan announced that it was past time for her to be in bed.

Maisie made her way to the guest room that had been prepared for her visit. Nora had already unpacked Maisie's small bag and laid out her nightclothes on the bed. Later, as she snuggled closer to the hot water bottle that warmed the sheets, Maisie remembered, as she always did when she slept at the Compton residence, the nights she'd spent in the servants' quarters at the top of the house.

She left before breakfast the next morning, stopping quickly to drink tea with Carter and Mrs. Crawford, and to collect the apple pie. Billy Beale would love that apple pie, thought Maisie. She might need it when she asked him if he would take on a very delicate task for her. In fact, as the plans began to take shape in her mind, she might need more than apple pie for Billy Beale.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

ight then. Watch carefully, miss. 'Ere's how you start ' er up."

The young chauffeur walked around to the front of the 1927 MG 14/40 two-seater roadster, and put his hand on the engine cover.

"You've basically got your five steps to starting this little motor, very straightforward when you know what you're about, so watch carefully."

George enjoyed the attention that came as a result of his expertise in the maintenance and operation of the Compton's stable of very fine motor cars.

"First you lift your bonnet, like so"

George waited for Maisie to nod her head in understanding before continuing with his instructions, and as he turned his attention once again to the MG, she grinned with amusement at his preening tutorial.

"Right. See this-you turn on your fuel. Got it?"

"Yes, George"

George closed the engine cover, and indicated for Maisie to move away from the side of the car so that he could sit in the driver's seat.

"You set your ignition, you set your throttle, set your choke-three moves, got it?"

"Got it, George"

"You push the starter button-on the floor, Miss-with your foot and-"

The engine roared into life, perhaps somewhat more aggressively than usual, given the enthusiasm of George's lesson.

"There she goes"

George clambered from the seat, held open the door, and, with a sweep of his hand, invited Maisie to take his place.

"Think you've got all that, Miss?"

"Oh yes, George.You explained everything very clearly. As you say, it's very straightforward. A lovely motor."

"Oh, nice little runner, to be sure. 'Cording to them at Morris Garages, this one can do sixty-five miles an hour-up to fifty in the first twenty-five seconds! 'Er ladyship goes out of 'ere like a shot out of a gun, doesn't know where she's going, but goes like a shot anyway. Comes back all red in the face. Worries me with them gears though. Talk about crunch! Makes me cringe when I 'ear it. Thank 'eavens for us all that she don't get out in it much anymore. Now, then, sure of your way?"