Free The Mapping of Love and Death by Jacqueline Winspear Page B

busy man, as you must know.”
    “Yes, there is—when may I visit Mr. Clifton?”
    Maisie heard Caldwell sigh. “Leave it with me. I’ll try to get you in tomorrow.”
    “That’s most kind of you, Detective Inspector.”
    “I’ll be in touch.”
    “Oh, and one more thing—do you have any information about the Cliftons’ son-in-law that you would be willing to divulge?”
    Caldwell sighed again. “If I refuse, I know you’ll find out anyway. We’ve been talking to him, and there’s nothing he can add to the statements from staff. He’s upset, obviously—they’re a close family—so tread carefully.”
    “I won’t get in your way.”
    “The name is Thomas Libbert—they call him Tommy—and as you already know, he’s at the Dorchester.”
    “Thank you, Detective Inspector.”
    Caldwell offered no words to close the conversation. Maisie replaced the telephone receiver, and shook her head. Despite his sharpness of tone and Billy’s summation of his manner, it occurred to her that Caldwell had changed somewhat since his promotion, now that the struggle to move beyond Stratton’s shadow had ended with the latter’s move to Special Branch. He might yet prove the ally she needed.
    Before leaving for home, Maisie made one more telephone call.
    “Priscilla.”
    “Maisie, darling—how are you?” Maisie heard the clink of ice against glass, and as she was about to speak, Priscilla was quick off the mark. “And I know what you’re thinking—‘Pris is at the sauce again.’ Do not fear, my friend, I have kept to my resolution, and having partaken of my one evening cocktail, I am now drinking soda water with angostura bitters—monumentally disgusting, but it’s a jolly-looking little beverage. I’m told that grenadine might be better, or lime cordial, but that’s a children’s drink.”
    Maisie laughed, glad that her friend seemed to have a semblance of control over the drinking that had dulled the fear of losing her sons. Though they were young and far from an age at which young men are sent into battle, Priscilla had lost three beloved brothers to the war, and a concern for the well-being of her sons had grown unchecked into an obsession with keeping them safe at all costs.
    “I must say, I do love it when you laugh, Maisie, and I’m glad to have been of service. When will you come to see us again? The boys have been asking for Tante Maisie, though I believe it may have something to do with that delicious homemade toffee you brought last time. It certainly helped to bring out an errant baby tooth from the mouth of my youngest.”
    “I’m driving down to Chelstone tomorrow, so how about Sunday evening? I could detour on the journey back to Pimlico.”
    “Excellent. Come for supper. Douglas will doubtless scurry away to his study afterwards—he’s composing an essay for the New Statesman , in fact, it might well turn out to be a book—so once Elinor has the toads tucked up in bed, we can retire to my sitting room for a good old chat.”
    “That sounds just what I need. Oh, and Priscilla, I think I’m going to have to pick your brains.”
    “Me? The intrepid Maisie Dobbs wants Priscilla Partridge, drinker of silly pink joyless cocktails, to help her on a case?”
    “Yes, I do. In fact, you can start putting the gray matter to work if you like. I want to compile a list of all the nursing units in France in 1915. It’s a bit tricky, as there were not only the government-sanctioned units but privately sponsored ones, and some of our nurses went to work for the French and Belgian medical corps—and of course, there was your lot, the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry.”
    “Not so much of the ‘your lot.’” Priscilla lifted her glass to take a sip, and Maisie heard the ice clink again. “That’s not as easy a job as it first sounds, is it? I mean, as you’ve said, there were groups of women who just went out and set up shop, so to speak—and God bless ’em, eh?”
    “Put your mind to it,