Jacqueline Winspear - The Mapping of Love and Death

Maisie was silent as she looked out of the window, her eyes following the snaking lines of traffic moving in and out of Piccadilly.

"Lady Rowan, do I take it that you are asking me to end my relationship with James sooner rather than later?"

"That seems awfully brutal, doesn't it? But it is close to the truth. If you can see some longevity to the liaison, then you have our blessing. There will be talk, but we are all adults, and frankly, there's more to worry about in this world. When you have endured tragedy, the things that seemed so important to the maintenance of a way of life do not have the same significance. Maurice knew that, which is why he dragged me off to the East End to see his first clinic for the poor-and I have been a supporter of his clinics ever since. But if it is not to be, if you are just testing the water with James, then I ask you to draw back. Release him. We might lose him for a while, but we won't have to see our son drowning in despair."

"I understand, Lady Rowan. Do not worry, I will do what is right and good."

"I knew I could trust your integrity, Maisie." She smiled. "Now, tell me about that friend of yours-Priscilla. She sounds so much fun-how are her boys?"

The two women exchanged news for a while longer, and discussed the health of Maurice Blanche. Maisie informed Lady Rowan that she would be driving down to Chelstone that evening, and was invited to tea the following day, should she remain at her father's house. Soon they both declared that time was marching on, and they should be on their way.

"It was lovely to see you, my dear." Lady Rowan pressed her hand to Maisie's shoulder and smiled as they bid each other farewell. "Know that I remain your greatest supporter."

Maisie walked to the street where she had parked, wondering whether her fledgling courtship with James really did have the blessing of his parents-if it was good and true. And she supposed that, because her life had changed so much over the years, then more of the same might be expected, and Lady Rowan was fearful of the impact of such changes on Maisie and, ultimately, her son. Such thoughts occupied her as she opened the door of her motor car and took her seat. But as she drove away, she recalled a scene from her past when, while working as a maid at Ebury Place, she watched from the threshold of a door left ajar as James and Lady Rowan danced together. James had returned to the London mansion following his aviator's training, just before being sent to France. He was wearing the uniform of a junior officer in the Royal Air Corps and was singing at the top of his voice as he steered his mother around the floor.

He'd fly through the air with the greatest of ease,

That daring young man on the flying trapeze.

His movements were graceful, all girls he could please,

And my love he purloined away.

Maisie packed a few items of clothing into her leather case, together with a flask of tea for the journey, and set off in the MG. She would doubtless be stuck in London traffic, but would use her knowledge of the back streets to negotiate her way through the rush. She stopped at the telephone kiosk along the road from her flat and placed a telephone call to the Dorchester, asking to be put through to Dr. Charles Hayden.

"Maisie, what's going on? I knew you would call, but Teddy is trying to find out where Tommy's been taken. The consular people aren't being very helpful."

"I have some news. There have been two arrests today, one directly in connection with the death of Michael Clifton, and the attack on his parents."

"And Tommy's involved?"

"No, but his association with a known criminal came to light as part of the investigation. He became the pawn of a man with quite a degree of personal power. Let me explain-hold on a minute." She pressed more coins into the slot. "Charles, are you still there?"

"Yes, I'm here."

"Here's what happened. A man named Sydney Mullen was a member of Michael's cartography unit in France. He thought a lot of Michael, and they formed something of a friendship, to the point where Michael had even offered Mullen a job if he went to California. Mullen was wounded; if it hadn't been for Michael, he would have lost his life. In England once again, Mullen took up the threads of his former occupation, as a self-appointed go-between, putting various people in touch with each other based upon mutual need or want. Suffice it to say, some of these people weren't exactly the sort you'd want to mix with. He was involved with the man accused of killing Michael, and it is more than likely he perpetrated the attack on Mr. and Mrs. Clifton-I'll be able to explain more when I see you.

"But to your question regarding Thomas, at some point it appears that Mullen went out of his way to make a connection with him. Given his previous relationship with Michael, he knew there was a fortune out there that was Michael's. He'd seen sketches and maps drawn by Michael, who had told him about the oil and the value of his land. In short, Mullen wanted to keep his dream alive. I suspect that, initially, he'd heard about Thomas from Michael; men share confidences in the trenches they might never allow to pass their lips at home. Mullen made contact, possibly to see if there was a gain to be made. Soon he discovered Thomas Libbert's problem with money, that it slipped through his fingers with ease, that he wasn't quite the businessman he fancied himself to be, and on top of that he gambled-and lost-a lot of money." Maisie sighed, fatigue scratching at her eyes. "Mullen saw an opportunity to increase his personal value to a certain Alfred Mantle, a very powerful man who operates all sorts of nefarious businesses, and who is quite a dangerous character. In short, once introduced to Mantle by Mullen-and I should add that Mantle may be a crook, but he can pass for a gentleman, and he is of some considerable wealth-Thomas took advantage of Mantle's banking service; he was a loan shark, among other things. Thomas went from being a victim to an accessory to crime when he began referring other similarly compromised associates to Mantle, men he knew were in trouble following a loss of common sense at the card tables or the races. That's why he's of extreme interest to the Flying Squad, the Scotland Yard department responsible for gangs, armed robberies, and what you might call organized crime. Frankly, Thomas was naive, and didn't know that he'd opened a Pandora's box of problems for himself."

She paused. "I should add that Mullen was murdered, and in all likelihood by the man who took Michael's life, and not Mr. Mantle, though anyone who has dealings with that man is playing fast and loose with his own life. Mantle bears something of a resemblance to Michael's killer; not in looks, as such, but because Mantle observed men of a certain type, their bearing, the way they dressed, and so on, and then emulated them. With that presence, he broadened his base of acceptance, and power." She coughed, the air in the telephone kiosk catching in her throat. "And Mullen was like one of those performers at the circus, the ones who balance a series of plates on the end of bamboo sticks, then try to keep them spinning. But when you're in the service of much more powerful men, it's you who could end up in a hundred pieces-not the plate."

There was silence on the line.

"Charles, are you there?"

She could hear breathing, but no voice. Another couple of seconds passed before Charles Hayden responded.

"I'm shocked, Maisie. Absolutely shocked at this turn of events. Had I realized the danger I placed you in by recommending you to-"

"The truth always finds a way into the light. Sometimes it takes years, and sometimes it leads us on a path into danger. This is my work, Charles, though I'm glad the risk part is over."