Jacqueline Winspear - The Mapping of Love and Death

"So Mullen was one of his runners." Maisie paused. "But he didn't work exclusively for Mantle, did he?"

"Probably not-and that could have been where he went wrong. I reckon he was a go-between, like I said. Someone who puts this person in touch with that person, the sort of fella who's always got another train of thought going on, you know, wondering what he can make out of knowing you."

Maisie tapped her fingers on the desk, then looked up at her assistant. "I wonder-"

"What, Miss?"

Maisie shook her head. "Nothing. Just thinking. Thank you, Billy. This information has stirred up the river, no two ways about it. That was good work." She penned a series of dots on the edge of the case map, first an inward spiral, then outward. She sighed, then spoke again. "Now then, let's get back to Edward Clifton."

Billy picked up a colored crayon as Maisie began.

"So, Edward Clifton left home at, what, nineteen? He could see only more shoes and whale oil to soften the leather in his future, and fled to the promise of America."

"Lucky fella."

"It would seem so," said Maisie. "And while he didn't exactly land on his feet, it didn't take him long to establish a life for himself, though I imagine he had to conquer more than a few mountains before he could rest on his laurels."

"He married well," said Billy.

"Of that there's no doubt. But what about the family in England? They must have been shocked at the loss of a son and brother-if someone emigrates, it's tantamount to having them taken from you in death. You assume you'll never see them again. People cannot conceive of the distance-I know I can't. And when I think of James Compton sailing back and forth once or twice a year to and from Canada-it's a long way."

Billy sighed. "I wish me and Doreen and the boys could sail to Canada. I've never wished for anything more in my life-except in the war, when I didn't want to die over there in France, and when I've wished for Doreen to get better. Then there was wishing for Lizzie to live."

Maisie understood Billy's anxiety regarding his dream of emigrating to Canada, and realized the extent to which the story of Edward Clifton's journey as a young man must have added fuel to his desire to start anew in a land that held the promise of opportunity. It was as if Doreen's full recovery, together with accumulating enough money to gain a foothold on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, was his guiding light.

"I know how much you want to go, Billy. Doreen will get well in her own time, and while she's on the mend, you can make up the money you spent on the doctors." She smiled, hoping to inspire some optimism on his part, a sense that all would be well. "But in the meantime, we've got to get to the bottom of this case, so let's put our heads together. Now, where were we? Yes, the family Clifton left behind. Did you manage to find anything out about them?"

"I was talking to an old bloke who works in that big shoe shop down Regent Street," said Billy. "He remembered that when he was an errand boy for the shop, there was talk about young Edward Clifton, as he was then, leaving the country and the business behind him. There was a lot of wondering about what would happen to the company, being as he was the only heir. Apparently, his grandfather and father cut him off, and the family were forbidden to reply to any letters or telegrams; they said that nothing good would come of him, and good riddance."

"That's more or less what he told me. No wonder he sets a lot of stock in keeping his family together and happy."

"His sister-who was about twenty-one-stepped forward and began working with her father, and then she took over the business. Name of Veronica Clifton."

"Did you find out anything about her marriage?"

Billy nodded. "Yes. It was a bit unusual; she kept her maiden name, never became a missus until after her husband died-quite young he was, apparently. By that time the business was not doing very well, so she sold it and got herself hitched to a Mr. John Paynton. They say the strain of her brother leaving and then her having to step up in his place sent her to an early grave."

"Did she have any children, do you know?"

Billy shook his head. "I asked the old boy, and he didn't know. He said that even if she did, according to them who knew more about her, she wouldn't have publicized the fact, being as she had a company to run, and she didn't want anyone trying to take advantage of her just because she was a woman."

"Yes. Yes, I can see why she would make that decision."

"Do you, Miss? I can't say as I can see anything normal about their goings-on-'cept of course old Edward running off on a ship. Funny old world, ain't it?"

Maisie sighed. "Could you dig a bit deeper for me, find out about other family members, cousins, aunts and uncles by marriage? There might have been stepchildren, for example. Oh, and if you could plough through a bit more of your list of those women who wrote letters to the Cliftons, it would help. I'll attack mine this afternoon, though I may have an appointment with your Lady Petronella of the telephones. I should call her now."

As Maisie stood up to walk to her desk, the telephone began to ring.

"Funny how that always happens, ain't it, Miss? You mention the word call , and off it goes." Billy went back to his notes.

Maisie picked up the black Bakelite telephone receiver, but did not have a chance to greet the caller with either the number or her name before Frankie Dobbs began speaking.

"Maisie, love, can you hear me?" Frankie shouted in his usual manner, never quite believing that the miracle of modern telephony could connect him to his daughter, who was in an office over eighty miles away.

"Dad! Dad, is everything all right?" Maisie felt the skin at the base of her neck grow cold, along the still-livid scar that remained from wounds she'd suffered in the war. "Are you unwell? What's happened?"

"I just thought you would want to know-" She could hear her father breathing as if he had been running, and there was a rawness to his voice.

"Dad…Dad-take a deep breath, and sit down on that chair by the telephone. Have you been running?"

"I came back here as soon as I heard. As I said, I knew you'd want to know."

"As soon as you heard what, Dad?" Maisie felt her heart beat faster, and a pressure on her chest. She took a deep breath in an effort to radiate calm from the center of her body.

"Dr. Blanche has been taken into hospital. A clinic in Tunbridge Wells. For observation. Apparently his lungs are just filling up."

"I'll come straightaway-"

"No, you can't do that. No visitors. No one's allowed to see him, from what I've heard."

"I'll talk to Lady Rowan. And I'm coming down to Kent as soon as I can."

"He wouldn't want you to come rushing-"

"It wouldn't be the first time I've done something he wouldn't like. I'm on my way."

"You drive careful, Maisie. And-"

"Dad-rest. I don't want two of you in hospital. I'm hanging up the telephone now, Dad. All right? I'll be in touch again later. Have a cup of tea, sit down, and put your feet up. Everything will be all right."

"I'd better be off then. Take good care, my Maisie."

Maisie held on to the receiver, and pressed down the bar to disconnect the call. She began dialing again.

"That's bad news, Miss, ain't it? Is your dad all right?"

Maisie nodded. "It's Maurice."

The color drained from Billy's face.

The call was answered on the second ring, and Maisie did not wait for a greeting. "May I speak to Lady Rowan, please, Mr. Carter."

"I thought it would be you, Maisie," said the Comptons' butler.

"Do you know how he is?"

"Her Ladyship is more informed than I. I'll tell her you're on the line."

Maisie heard a series of clicks, then another before Lady Rowan picked up the receiver.