and families to look out for. You don't see them dragging their heels along, do you? No, that James should be at his lordship's side, taking some of the weight so that His Lordship isn't in the City at all hours. Not right for a man of his age. After all, look at James, he's thirty-eight this year.'
Mrs. Crawford came back to her pastry, rolling out the dough with more than a little thumping of the rolling pin on the table.'Have you heard from your father lately?' Mrs. Crawford looked up at Maisie, yet continued flouring the pastry and sizing it to the pie dish.
'Yes. Mind you it's difficult, Mrs. Crawford. It's not as if he ever liked to put pen to paper. But he's still busy at the house. Master James goes down quite a lot to ride, so there's always work with the horses. And Her Ladyship likes to know that her own horses are cared for, even though she can't ride anymore.'
'And that's another thing. All that time to go down there to 'think,' if you please. It's like I said, too much money and too much time on his hands.'
Suddenly one of the bells over the door rang.
'That'll be Her Ladyship now. She probably reckons I've had long enough with you. Now then, don't forget to come down for your pie to take home when you leave in the morning.'
Maisie kissed Mrs. Crawford on the cheek and went upstairs to the drawing room.
'Maisie, how lovely to see you. I had to ring or Mrs. Crawford would have hogged you for the whole evening! Come here to sit by the fire. I expect you know what's for dinner already. I told Julian that you would be dining with me, and he said 'Oh, good, we'll get some apple pie.' Come on, over here.'
Lady Rowan tapped the place next to her on the sofa. The two women spoke of Maisie's business and her new clients. For Rowan Compton, Maisie was a breath of fresh air, and she lived vicariously through Maisie's stories.
'And Maurice is keen to see you again soon, you know.'
'I thought he would be glad to have a break from me, to tell you the truth.'
'Now, then, Maisie. You are like a daughter to him. You are his pro-tegee. You are carrying his torch and shining your own light too. But I know he made a promise to himself to give you a little room for you to make your own way. He said to me,'Rowan, it is past time to let our Maisie Dobbs fly free.''
'I'll bet he said a bit more than that. I know Maurice too, Lady Rowan.'
'Well, yes. He said that you would always look down as you were flying overhead, and if the ground was good for a landing, in you would come--or something like that. You know, that man talks in parables. I swear that sometimes I think he is the most profound person I know, and at others he infuriates me with his obscurity.' Lady Rowan shook her head.'Will you visit him soon, Maisie?'
'Yes, I mean to. In fact, I need to consult with him.'
'Anything interesting?'
Maisie smiled at Lady Rowan, without speaking.
'I know, you can't divulge a secret.'
'Tell me about James,' asked Maisie.
Lady Rowan rolled her eyes, took up her glass from the side table, and sipped her sherry.'James. Oh, that James. I am at a loss, Maisie. I knew it when that boy was a child, too sensitive by half. Have you noticed how we always call him a boy? Even now. It wouldn't be so bad if he were gadding about town wining and dining and getting into mischief. But this malaise . . . I wish he would speak to Maurice. But he won't go to see Maurice, and you know that Maurice won't go to him. One of his riddles, that James must open the door and walk along the path to him.'
'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?'
