Jacqueline Winspear - Maisie Dobbs

"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?"

"Yes. A lot more. The founder, a man called Adam Jenkins, maintains that because everyone on the battlefield should have been equal, officers and enlisted men, because they all faced the same enemy, then there should be no advantage while in residence at this farm. Which is fair enough, but James said something about giving up his surname and title. Whatever next?" Lady Rowan shook her head.

At once Maisie thought of Vincent Weathershaw. Vincent.

Lady Rowan went on, "I wish to heaven James would go back to Canada. He seemed happy there, before the war, and at least he would be working and useful. Certainly his father would be delighted; it would be a weight off his mind. I know Julian wants to slow up a bit and wishes James would begin to take up the reins. And now he's signing over his money. . . ."

Lady Rowan had hardly touched her food. Instead she ran the fingers of her right hand up and down the stem of her wine glass.

"What do you mean?" Maisie asked.

"Apparently it's one of the stipulations for entering this Retreat or whatever it's called. You come with nothing, to be part of the group. So James has transferred his personal funds to this Jenkins fellow--and it's not just him, others have done the same thing. Thank God his father is still alive and there are limits to what James can actually relinquish financially. Julian is taking steps to protect the estate--and James's future--until he gets over this horrible idea. Of course Julian had already done a lot to shore up the estate when he saw the General Strike coming a few years ago. I married a sensible man, Maisie."

"What does Jenkins do with the money?"

"Well, it's a sizable property to run, and I'm sure the upkeep isn't insignificant. Of course, when one leaves one is refunded any monies remaining and given a statement of account. James said that he saw samples of the statements and refund documents, and he was happy with the arrangements. Mind you, he seemed eager to isolate himself on this farm. He said that people would understand him there. Oh, mind you, he seemed eager to isolate himself on this farm. He said that people would understand him there. As if I don't!"

Lady Rowan reached over and clasped Maisie's hand. Maisie had never seen the usually stoic Lady Rowan so vulnerable.

"Where is James now?"

"Out. Possibly at his club, but he doesn't go there much now. Quite honestly, I don't know where he is. He could be wandering the streets for all I know. Most probably he's spending time with some old comrades. He visits them you know, those that are still institutionalized. He'll probably be back later. Much later. I told him he could remain at Chelstone; after all, it's in the country, there's peace and quiet, and he could do what he likes and come back when he's ready for the City. Lord knows Julian needs his help. But he's determined to go to this farm. I have never felt so . . . so . . . cut off from my son."

Maisie pushed the food around on her plate. There was a time when mother and son had been almost inseparable, sharing a dry wit and a mischievous sense of humor. She remembered being at the London house soon after she received news that she had been accepted by Girton College. James had just returned from Canada, hoping to join the Royal Flying Corps. There was much joy in the household, and as she walked down the outside stairs toward the kitchen, Maisie saw the tall, fair young man through the window, creeping up behind Mrs. Crawford and putting his arms around her ample waist. And as Maisie watched through the condensation that had built up inside the pane of glass, Mrs. Crawford swung around, clipped the young man around the ear, and, laughing, pretended to admonish him."You, young James, why no sooner are you back than you'll be the death of me. Look at you, you young lout--and if you are after fresh ginger biscuits, I've baked up a batch 'specially for you, though I'm not sure you deserve them now!"

Maisie had walked in through the back door of the kitchen just as James was taking his first bite of a fresh ginger biscuit.

"And look who else is here," said Mrs. Crawford."Maisie Dobbs, I do believe you are even thinner! My back only has to be turned for one minute, and you're not eating properly."

With crumbs around his mouth, James swallowed the biscuit, and struggled to greet Maisie politely."Ah, the clever Miss Maisie Dobbs, passing exams that the rest of us mere mortals have nightmares about!"

Then as Mrs. Crawford turned to the stove, James whispered to Maisie,"Tell Enid I'm home."

Later, as she walked past the drawing room on her way to Lord Julian's study to serve afternoon tea, which he had elected to take alone, she saw James and Lady Rowan through the open door. Lady Rowan was laughing heartily, having been whisked by her son into an impromptu dance, accompanied only by the sound of his own booming voice:

Oh, he floats through the air with the greatest of ease