Free Maisie Dobbs by Jacqueline Winspear Page A

with money. Vincent gave Adam—that’s it, Adam Jenkins, his name is Adam Jenkins—Vincent gave Adam Jenkins control of his finances when he decided to become a resident rather than a short-term visitor. The residents work on the farm as well, so it’s still a going concern.”
    “Well, well, well. Vincent must have had tremendous respect for this man, Adam Jenkins.”
    The two women had started walking back towards the north entrance of St. James’s Park. Celia looked at her watch.
    “Oh my goodness! I must hurry. Christopher is taking me to the theater this evening. It’s quite amazing, you know. He’s always been such a stick-in-the-mud, but now he’s planning all sorts of outings. I love the theater. I thought I would never go again when I married Christopher, but he’s suddenly become quite agreeable to an evening out.”
    “How lovely! I must dash too, Celia. But before you go, could you tell me where The Retreat is? I have a friend who may be interested to know about it.”
    “It’s in Kent. Near Sevenoaks, that area. In fact, it’s not too far from Nether Green. Good-bye, Maisie—and here’s my card. Do call me again for tea. It was so lovely. I feel so very light after spending time with you, you know. Perhaps it’s being out here in the fresh air of the park today.”
    “Yes, perhaps it is. Have a lovely time at the theater, Celia.”
    The two women parted, but before making her way to the St. James’s Park underground station, Maisie walked back into the park to reconsider their conversation. She would probably not see Celia again.
    Vincent had died while living in a community of ex-soldiers, all of whom, initially, were facially disfigured in some way, although it seemed that the doors were now open to those who had other injuries. There was nothing untoward about the motives of Adam Jenkins, who seemed to want to help these men. It must cost a pretty penny to arrange care for the residents, but then again, resources were pooled, and they were self-sufficient and working on the farm. A farm called, ambiguously, The Retreat. Maisie considered the meanings of “retreat,” and wondered if the soldiers were, in fact, relinquishing their position, seeking a place of shelter from the enemy. For such men perhaps life itself was now the enemy.

    M aisie picked up the heavy black telephone and began to dial BEL 4746, the Belgravia home of Lord Julian Compton and his wife, Lady Rowan. There was a short delay, then Maisie heard the telephone ring three times before being answered by Carter, the Compton’s long-serving butler. She checked her watch immediately the call was answered.
    “Compton residence.”
    “Hello, Mr. Carter. How are you?”
    “Maisie, what a pleasure. We are all well here, thank you, but not looking forward to Cook’s retirement, though it’s long overdue.”
    “And what about you, Mr. Carter?”
    “Now then, Maisie, as long as I can manage these stairs, I will be at the house. Her ladyship has been very anxious to speak with you, Maisie.”
    “Yes, I know. That’s why I’ve telephoned.”
    “Oh, well. . . . I should know better than to ask how you know, Maisie.”
    “Mr. Carter, that really doesn’t take a lot, does it? Lady Rowan is a terrier in disguise.”
    Carter laughed and connected the call to Lady Rowan, who was in the library reading the late-edition newspapers.
    “Maisie, dear girl. Where have you been? I thought you’d gone off somewhere.”
    “No, Lady Rowan. I’ve been busy.”
    “Excellent news. But you really must not be a stranger to us. Are you sure that you wouldn’t like to move into the upstairs apartments? I know I keep asking, but this is such a big house now. It never used to seem this big. Perhaps I’m getting smaller. They say that about age.”
    “No, Lady Rowan. Not you. Shall I come to see you this week?”
    “Yes. Definitely. Come tomorrow. And I insist that you have dinner with me, and that you stay. I simply cannot have you