“What will you do with the house?”
“Demolish, then apply for permission to build several new houses on the site.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those who doesn’t like to see new houses go up.”
“They can be such a blight on the land.”
“We’re in the business of construction, Maisie. And we’ve got a brickworks right there, ready to be improved with investment and an injection of new practices.”
She nodded. “What about the horses?”
“We’re selling all but one.”
“Sandermere’s bay?”
“How did you guess?”
“I’m my father’s daughter. I know a good horse when I see one.”
“He’ll certainly have a better life. And I’m bringing the groom over to Chelstone. Your father will be his boss. I’m sure he’ll teach the boy even more than he knows already.”
“I’m glad. He was kind to the horses.” Maisie paused. “James, when are you returning to Canada?”
“In a month or so. There’s a lot to do here, so I expect I’ll sail at the beginning of November—don’t want to leave it too late. Those bloody icebergs make me nervous.”
“Of course.” Maisie nodded, then cleared her throat.
James Compton looked at her across the desk. “I’ve known you a long time now, Maisie, since before Enid died. And I think I know when you have a thing or two on your mind.”
“It’s something you said, days ago, about expanding the Compton Corporation in Canada, about looking at security for your company and your sites over there.”
“Yes, it’s all on the agenda. We have to prepare the company for expansion when the economy gains enough momentum to get out of this slump, and the surprising increase in house-building will help us. Why?”
“It’s my assistant, Mr. Beale. He and his wife lost their small daughter earlier this year, and what with one thing and another he wants to emigrate to Canada, to give their boys a better way of life.”
“You want to help him, even though you’ll lose him?”
Maisie nodded. “They aren’t getting over it. His wife looks more drawn each time I see her, and I know they are saving for passage.”
James picked up a pen and tapped it on the desk. “Nothing’s going to happen overnight, I can tell you that. The markets are still depressed, so even though I have spoken of future developments, we cannot hurry that chain of events.”
“I see.” Maisie bit her lip.
“However, I have made a note here, and I know you can vouch for him. Wasn’t he rather good with telephonic engineering?”
“Yes, he was a sapper in the war. He’s been working for me for two years now, so he understands matters of investigation and security. And as he’ll tell you, he can turn his hand to anything.”
James nodded. “A fine reference, Maisie. I believe I might have a position for him in a year, perhaps two. I can speak to one of my staff about it.”
Maisie smiled and nodded. “Thank you, James. I won’t mention it to him, as I wouldn’t want to get his hopes up, but I will write to you again next year.”
“Good.” James held out his hand. “I expect you have a bill for me.”
“And my written report.” She handed him a manila envelope.
James pulled her notes out of the envelope, glanced at the bottom line of the invoice, and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket for his checkbook. He unscrewed the top of his gray and black marbled fountain pen and began to write, using a wooden-handled blotter to dry the ink. “There you are. Good work. I am sure the company will use your services again.”
Maisie took the proffered check. “James, I’m curious. What will happen to the Sandermere money? There must be a fortune there.”
“Oh, the old man was very specific in terms of establishing a trust and how it should be used. He made it watertight so even Alfred couldn’t change it. There’s to be a new school built in the village, with a generous annual allowance for books and materials. A fund is to be set up to provide scholarships for those children who show promise either academically or in music. And there is to be provision made for improvements to the village, though there are protections in place to avoid overconstruction on the High Street. It wouldn’t surprise me if you saw electricity in every house and on the streets of Heronsdene within a year or two. And of course there’s the usual stipend for the church, to pay for repairs and to keep the war memorial in good condition. After the story you’ve just told me, and considering how Sandermere made the villagers’ lives a misery, I don’t know whether this is the perfect end or whether they don’t deserve such luxuries.”
“Let’s just assume, James, that for Heronsdene it’s all for the best.”
AUTUMN HAD JUST begun to finger the trees, sending cool breezes to sway branches and cast leaves scudding down the street, on the day Beulah Webb, matriarch of her tribe, was laid to rest in Heronsdene churchyard.
When Maisie arrived in the village at half past ten, the High Street was already narrowed by vardos from near and far, jostling for position, lined up almost to the crossroads at the edge of town. Some gypsies came in old lorries, swaying from side to side along the country roads, while others walked across fields from farms close to
