Billy shook his head.
“Right, so you and George—not now, when the sun’s still high; wait for dusk—map out a trail from the chestnut tree, across the road, and then see if you can get a sense of which way the thief might have run.”
“Better than nothin’, eh, George?’
George seemed doubtful but nodded accordance. “Can’t do any harm.”
Maisie checked the watch pinned to her jacket lapel. “I’ve just enough time to try to see Alfred Sandermere. Then I have an appointment to join a friend for a nice cooked tea.” She paused before proffering a word of advice to Billy “Oh, and when you cross the road, try to suspend what you
“Alright, Miss.”
Maisie left the two men, who watched her walk away before speaking.
George frowned toward Billy. “What’s she mean, Bill?”
“Nothin’. Come on, let’s get back to work for an hour or two.”
MAISIE PROCEEDED OUT onto the farm road, then back toward the MG, parked at the entrance of Dickon’s Farm. Starting the motor without delay, she pulled out onto the main thoroughfare in the direction of the Sandermere manor house. She didn’t think Billy and George would have any luck today, but there was a lot to be said for keeping people busy when they might otherwise get in the way.
“MISS DOBBS, DELIGHTED to meet you. The solicitors acting for Viscount Compton informed me that you would be visiting, though I thought I might have a little more notice.” Alfred Sandermere descended the staircase and held out his hand toward Maisie as he walked across the black-and-white checkered tile hallway. As they stood facing each other, Maisie thought they must look rather like chessmen, each waiting for an opportune move. She was surprised not to be shown into a reception room to meet her host, but it seemed that Sandermere had responded to the news of her presence with speed, coming straight from his study on an upper floor to greet her.
Sandermere was dressed as if he had only just dismounted his horse. He was wearing beige jodhpurs, Viyella shirt, and waistcoat, with a rich tweed hacking jacket and a silk cravat at the neck. His hair had been flattened by a hat, the ridge along his forehead suggesting he wore a flat cap when out riding. His brown leather boots, clearly polished to a shine before the ride, were now dusty—she could not help but feel sorry for the maids who cleaned the house of a man who tramped dirt into the carpets, though such a habit could be attributed to many of his station. She wondered if James Compton was any different.
“I have been in the village for two days and thought I would drop by, on the off chance that you might be able to accommodate a meeting for a few moments. I am most grateful to you for seeing me.”
Sandermere looked Maisie up and down, rather as he might judge a hunter. “Let’s adjourn to the drawing room.” He turned to his butler. “Mason. Tea in the drawing room.” The instruction was punctuated with neither
Maisie suspected the drawing room was exactly as it had been when Sandermere’s parents were still alive and may not have had even a lick of paint since the turn of the century. The room seemed cluttered, with a worn brown leather chesterfield and an assortment of armchairs drawn close to a fireplace, now hidden by a needlepoint screen. Long, musty red-velvet drapes obscured a calm green view from the windows out toward the farms, the woodlands, and, to the right in the distance, the village of Heronsdene. Maisie thought the brickworks was probably not visible from the part of the house it faced but was instead surrounded by trees so the gentry’s view would not be sullied by such a thing as a factory.
Sandermere sat down on the chesterfield with something of a sprawl, leaning back into the corner of the seat and putting his boot-clad feet up on the low table upon which the butler would doubtless place a tea tray. He inclined his head and held out his hand toward an armchair with worn covers. Maisie rested her black bag alongside the proffered chair and sat down.
She was about to speak when the butler entered, set a tray to the side of his employer’s feet, and poured tea for both Maisie and Sandermere. Maisie made a point of smiling broadly and thanking the butler but, again, Sandermere barely nodded toward him.
“Mr. Sandermere, first of all, I would like to clarify the reason for my visit. I am here at the request of Viscount Compton of the Compton Corporation to conduct certain inquiries that will support the company’s purchase of the estate, except, of course, your residence and the immediate gardens and land. I am not here to discuss the division of the land prior to sale or issues such as rights-of-way.”
Sandermere raised an eyebrow, sipping his tea with an audible slurp. Maisie bristled but continued. She already felt slighted by his manner and fought the pressure to descend into immediate mistrust.
“I am, however, interested in incidents of small-time crime that seem to have beset the estate, with particular acts of vandalism at the brickworks and in the stables here—I understand you were lucky not to lose your horses.” Maisie looked down at papers she had drawn from her black bag. “I take it, though, that you were recompensed by insurances.”
“Indeed, Miss Dobbs, without which I would not have been able to bring the brickworks back to full output or provide shelter for my horses.”
“And your insurers are Lloyds.”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“Now I also know something of the unfortunate burglary that took place last week.”
“Blasted Londoners! Lord, I know the farmers need them for the hop-picking, but what do you expect when a tribe of ruffians from the East End of London is set loose in the country? I’m amazed I didn’t lose more—but at least the two louts who broke in are in custody now.”
“Yes, that must be a weight off your mind, Mr. Sandermere.” Maisie paused. “Two small items were recovered—the culprits were caught with the goods on them—but I understand a significant haul is still missing.”
“Yes, all family heirlooms, not the easy-to-carry trinkets those London boys kept on them. A list has been submitted to the police and also to Lloyds.”
