EPILOGUE

The view from the Dower House conservatory opened towards the surrounding gardens, and onward down a slight incline towards the Groom's Cottage, where Frankie Dobbs once lived, having left his job as a costermonger in London to take up the position of looking after Chelstone Manor's horses in 1914, when all the young men who worked on the estate had gone away to war, many to perish on the battlefields of the Somme or Ypres, Delville Wood, Hill 60, Passchendaele or Gallipoli. It was where Frankie tended his rose garden and became a man of the land and not the city, which suited him – and his daughter – very well indeed. Maisie reflected on the passage of time and how one path had led to the next, often by chance and sometimes by intention, though invariably with a few sharp, uncomfortable turns.

The Dower House had been the most beloved part of the generous bequest settled upon Maisie according to the terms of Maurice 341Blanche's will, along with an expectation that she would make wise decisions, taking every opportunity to be of service given that she had been rendered a woman of some means by the inheritance. Without doubt, over the years she had done her best to adhere to the tenets of Maurice's training, that when a case was drawn to a close, she should tie up all the loose ends threaded through her work. It was a process Maurice had termed ‘the final accounting' and involved visiting the places and people with whom she had crossed paths along the way as she went about work specific to the assignment. But today was different. Today she felt her spirit had accounted for all that had come to pass in recent weeks. She wanted to feel the comfort of her ghosts, not to stare them in the face as she retraced uneven steps through the chaos of an investigation. Allowing herself the indulgence of rest, she closed her eyes.

An almost elfin giggle brought her back to consciousness, along with a whisper.

‘She's awake, Daddy. I saw her eyelids flutter.'

‘Don't disturb her, half-pint. Your mother's tired – she's been working hard.'

‘Shall I ask Grandma Brenda to make some tea?'

‘That's a good idea, you do that, and I'll sit here.'

Maisie felt her husband settle on the other end of the sofa and moved towards him, though she was listless from the afternoon nap.

‘Feeling okay, hon? Been a tough week, hasn't it?'

She nodded, half opening her eyes and curling against his body as he put his arms around her.

‘I think it's all slotting into place though.'

‘And you're seeing Lady Rowan this afternoon – to talk to her about Robin?' 342

‘Yes. I'll just have that cup of tea to bolster my resolve and go over there.'

‘Everything going to plan with Priscilla and those kids? You were on the phone with her for a long time this morning.'

‘Just sorting out a few final details. I think an apprenticeship has been arranged for Jim, the older boy, and another for Archie.'

‘Who with – a safe-breaker?'

‘Might have been a good idea, but no – with an electrical firm. He's light-fingered and liked the idea of working with wires. And Grace is going to school, while Mary—'

Mark laughed. ‘Graces the cover of a swanky women's journal.'

‘Very funny. Priscilla predicts she could be very much in demand.'

‘Especially if someone wants a bodyguard.'

‘At least we know if a fresh photographer tries to take liberties with her, he'll wish he hadn't overstepped the mark.' She sat up and rubbed her eyes. ‘And Priscilla wants me to go with her when she returns to the Queen Victoria Hospital in East Grinstead. She has an appointment for a final check-up on her skin grafts, and apparently some of "her boys," as she now refers to them, are leaving the hospital.'

‘Mr McIndoe's Guinea Pig Club?'

Maisie nodded. ‘Priscilla rather lifted spirits while she was going through the same sort of treatment, though her scars are not as severe as those the airmen have had to endure. And she made the patients laugh, entertained them, so I think Mr McIndoe and his staff rather encouraged her – with the added bonus that it helped her recover.'

‘So there's to be a shindig at the hospital?' Mark Scott was thoughtful. ‘Hey, what if I pick you up afterwards? We can go into Tunbridge Wells on the way home – remember there's the architect I want us to meet.' 343

Maisie stared at her husband, who shrugged.

‘It's just a chat, Maisie. Just a step to find out a few things, you know, what's involved in building a house and how long it would take. The builders are all busy at the moment, but in time they'll be out there looking for more work, and who knows? Maybe we'll be ready.'

‘Yes, of course, you're right – good idea to look at what's involved.' She glanced at the clock as Brenda came into the conservatory carrying a tea tray, with Anna in her wake holding a plate of Eccles cakes.

‘Mum, Grandma Brenda made your favourite!'

‘I'm not even going to ask how you managed to get enough sugar – but I've to be quick as Rowan is expecting me. Don't eat all the cakes while I'm gone!'

Maisie sat in front of the log fire with Rowan, the older woman reaching down to pat her elderly spaniel. ‘I wish Julian and I had moved into this part of the house lock, stock and barrel. It's so much warmer and with the beams, the heat stays in the room,' said Rowan. ‘But my husband was adamant that the Georgian part was more to his liking.'

‘The medieval houses were built to be cool in summer and warm in winter,' said Maisie. ‘I'm glad you're settling into this wing.'

‘I can see right over towards two of the estate farms, and I bet if I squinted, I'd spot Mr Avis leaving the farmhouse on his way down to the pub!'

‘You're in better spirits, Rowan.'

‘I dreamt of Julian last night. It was as if he were here with me in this room and he gave me a talking to. "Come on, old girl. I married 344a fiery woman, not some old bat slouching around in her widow's weeds." So when Mrs Horsley came into my bedroom with tea this morning, I said to her, "I must make a list!" Julian was a great believer in what he called "the power of a list". Jot down all the things one wants to accomplish in the course of a day and work your way through them. Even if you are disturbed in the midst of a task, you can go back to the list as if it were a map to get you from A to B. That's the way to get on with life – a list! And when I've mastered the daily agenda, I will add a monthly docket, and then I will look ahead. What do I want to accomplish by the time I'm … well, let's say by the time I'm older than I am now!'

Maisie reached for Rowan's hand, as had become her habit in recent weeks. It was the comfort of touch for them both.

‘Dear Maisie, do you have good news? Or bad news for which I must brace myself.'

‘I think it's very good news – but you may well need to brace yourself, Rowan.'

‘I'm unshockable. My son saw to that!'

Maisie stared at Rowan, and for a second wondered if Enid herself might be in the room, orchestrating the conversation. She had no choice but to get straight to the point.

‘Rowan, it is James who is going to shock you again, for I have found his son.'

Rowan held her free hand to her mouth and leant towards Maisie.

‘Oh, my darling girl – are you sure? I cannot … I don't know what to say.'

‘Say nothing, Rowan. May I tell you the circumstances, or do you require some time to absorb the news?'

‘No – whatever you do, don't leave me. I want to know everything. 345I want to know all about him. Tell me, Maisie. Tell me about my grandson.'

It was late when Maisie walked across the lawns towards the Dower House, and for a moment she stopped to look back at the manor. Truth had at last come to the surface, had eased itself from the boundaries of the past as if it were a splinter rising up through skin. For better or worse, grandmother and grandson would meet soon, and would build whatever connection they chose. It was out of her hands, bar a telephone call here or there, and an introduction. She would look out for Rowan, and indeed James's son, but her work was done.

‘Goodness, Priscilla, how on earth did you procure all that fruit? You've outdone yourself.'

Priscilla tapped the side of her nose. ‘Contacts, Maisie. You're not the only one who has a good connection or two.'

Maisie looked at her oldest friend, at the long swing coat she wore over a fitted jacket and skirt. As fashionable as ever, she had become adept at disguising the scars along the side of her face and wore a wider brimmed hat to shadow her complexion.

‘At least when I see those boys I am not at all worried about this nonsense on my skin.' She ran her fingers down the side of her cheekbone. ‘They're young men, and they want to be out in the world, but it's horribly difficult for them because their faces have changed.' She was silent for a moment. ‘People don't realise how hard it is to lose your face.' She shuddered. ‘Anyway, chin up, self! Tom said he'd meet us there as one or two of his pals are still awaiting more grafts. I think my firstborn cannot wait to get out of uniform – and it's not long now, thank heavens. Ah, here's the train.' 346

Maisie followed Priscilla into a first-class carriage, helping her to push the hamper containing fruit and foodstuffs along with a few bottles of wine onto the rack above.

Priscilla took a seat opposite Maisie and removed her gloves as she stared out of the window. ‘I don't know about you, but I cannot stand on a station platform or board a train without thinking of all the goodbyes I've witnessed over the past thirty-odd years, from one war to the next – soldiers and sweethearts, their mothers and fathers, the children I watched being evacuated in 1939 and then coming home. So many farewells and not enough hellos at the end of those wars.'

‘I feel the same, Pris.'

‘We are the lucky ones, aren't we? We came through the war. And look – all three of my boys are accounted for,' continued Priscilla.

‘Your "toads"— my godsons – are all present and correct, so we are indeed lucky, Pris.' Maisie stared out of the window as the train rocked from side to side along the route through Kent towards Tunbridge Wells, where they would change trains.

‘What's the news on Billy's sons?'

‘It looked as if Bobby might follow Tom to America,' said Maisie. ‘Your son wasn't in Billy and Doreen's best books for a while, given his enthusiasm for the whole adventure he's embarking upon and tempting Bobby with his talk of opportunities for aircraft engineers over there. But now it appears Bobby has been offered a position with de Havilland. I suppose if you're in aeronautical engineering, the world is your oyster.'

‘And Will? He's the one I'd worry about.'

‘Slow progress. But Billy tells me Will has shown an interest in possibly helping him in the business, but he has another opportunity as well, because there's a small ironmongery not far from their house; 347they have a sign in the window advertising for staff. And the Groom's Cottage has been empty for a while now, so Billy was wondering if it might do Will some good to have a stint out in the country, perhaps working for Mr Avis the farmer. One way or another, we will find something to suit Will, a job that will help with his recovery; help bring him back to his old self.'

‘And you promise me you'll not be swept off across the Atlantic by that husband of yours.'

‘It's not on my list, Pris.'

Having deposited the box of fruit and wine with the sister-in-charge, who raised an eyebrow but then shared a conspiratorial smile, Maisie followed Priscilla along to the ward where young airmen were gathered. All had been wounded by burns to their faces and hands, and all showed evidence of the revered Archibald McIndoe's pioneering reconstructive surgical work. Some were in wheelchairs and others in bed or lounging on armchairs, but with a glass of ale in hand. They cheered when Priscilla walked in, and two came to kiss her on the cheek, after which she embraced every patient, each one an RAF airman who had been rescued from his burning aircraft. Tom had joined his friends before his mother and Maisie arrived. Stepping to one side, Maisie smiled as she watched the teasing, the laughter, the jokes back and forth. Someone set a gramophone on the table, and at that point she took off her gloves and regarded the scars from burns earned when she rescued Priscilla from the bombed building – she knew only too well that she was fortunate in her healing.

Looking up at the gathering, as one song seemed to lead into another, Maisie remembered a moment so long ago, when her first case was approaching its dénouement and she walked among men 348whose faces had been ravaged by war, stepping forward to place her hand against the heart of a murderer whose mind had been sullied by all that had come to pass in his life. How would they fare, these young men of another conflict – how would they make good lives in a world where people wanted nothing more than to escape their memories of this second world war? She knew, then, that the solution was simple, yet would be filled with both darkness and light along the way – just as it would for Will, just as it would for Robin James Davidson, and all those whose wounds would remain inside, unseen. They had no choice but to step forward into the future, to make the very best of it, with or without help and to the extent that they could.

‘Come on, Mrs P – start us off singing our favourite song.'

‘I'll have you know I've no voice, young man,' said Priscilla.

‘I can vouch for that,' called Tom, from the back of the room.

‘Make her a gin and tonic, someone!' said another.

‘I've given them up!'

‘Sing anyway! Give us some Vera, Mrs P – she always goes down well.'

Priscilla persisted. ‘I promise, I absolutely cannot hold a tune in the manner of Vera Lynn!'

‘Go on, Mum,' Tom yelled again. ‘Belt out the song that got us through the war!'

‘Alright, altogether then, come on boys, help me out,' said Priscilla. ‘We'll meet again …'

Feeling a light touch upon her elbow, Maisie turned as Priscilla's voice was joined by the men who surrounded her, sons all.

‘Mark—'

‘The motor car's outside. I brought Anna with me, and of course Little Emma had to come, drooling over the back seat.' 349

‘I'll just let Priscilla finish this one – she'll be here for another hour or so with the boys, then Tom is taking her home.'

‘That song again. Come on, let's have a go at hitting the notes, Maisie.' Mark smiled, and together they joined in.

‘Keep smiling through. Just like you always do, 'Til the blue skies chase those dark clouds far away …'

Mark left at the end of the song, and with the applause dying down, Maisie said her goodbyes and made her way towards the exit. In that moment, she felt lighter, leaving the past behind, as if Fate had asked her to take one final look across the landscape of years, before turning her head towards the future and the building of a new house.