keep him from the gallows, but Maisie knew he would likely never see the bright light of freedom ever again.
As cooler evenings drew in, she and James turned down invitations to parties or “Friday to Monday” excursions, and instead spent their time together, sometimes close in conversation, and sometimes in silence, but feeling the comfort of each other close by.
“So, are you nearly finished?” asked James one evening.
Maisie nodded. “The van is coming to collect the filing cabinets next week, and a carter will be taking the office furniture to sell. There’s nothing there worth much, to tell you the truth; I never invested in the best desks and chairs. We’re having our post forwarded to my flat, and Sandra will ensure that all inquiries receive a response.”
“Hard to believe, isn’t it? I mean, have you forgotten that over four years ago your first big case really caught your imagination when you heard from my mother that I was planning to go to a place called The Retreat?” He paused. “It seems unbelievable that I had reached such a state of terrible desperation—enough to want to leave my world behind. It’s a different time, isn’t it? I mean, despite the fact that we’re both stepping out into the unknown. Neither of us really knows what is there, do we?”
Maisie reached for his hand. “Perhaps we must allow ourselves to be brought gently into the future by the good times, taking those dear memories with us and not allowing the worst of times to hold us in its grip—to hold us back, really.”
Dame Constance, in a move that was not customary, reached through the grille that divided the visitors’ room from the plain cell where she came to meet Maisie, and touched her hand.
“Maisie, I believe you have come to hear words of encouragement as you set out on your path. There is no encouragement, save for me to say ‘Godspeed.’ May you find the person you are most seeking, Maisie. May you discover who you might be in the wider world, now that so much has come to pass.”
Maisie was silent. Her respect for Dame Constance had grown in recent years, and she knew that, especially since Maurice’s death, she had come to the Benedictine nun in search of the mentorship she so missed.
“We are all apprentices, Maisie. Even when we think we’ve graduated to another rung on the ladder of experience, there is always much to learn. Every soul who comes to me for counsel gives me another lesson in return, and I am humbled and made new by each fresh opportunity to serve.”
“I understand, Dame Constance.” Maisie felt the elderly nun’s fingers press her own.
“Godspeed then, Maisie. I look forward to hearing about your adventures.”
“I’ll write.”
“And I would expect you to.”
With that Dame Constance smiled, and instead of the usual snapping of the small door across the grille, she pulled it closed slowly. Maisie sat in the room with the red carpet, the fire in the grate, and a view across the Romney Marsh. She heard only the sound of the nun’s skirts brushing the floor as she made her way back into the silence of her realm.
Khan was resting when Maisie called at the white mansion in Hampstead, and instead of an audience with the man she believed to have been Maurice’s closest mentor, she received a brief note. The English was perfect, and though Maisie thought he had not written it himself, he had without doubt dictated the brief message.
“Go forward with a light step, my child. Your heart will open with every mile traveled. Fill it wisely.”
She folded the piece of paper and held on to it as she walked away.
The final name on her list was Lakshmi Chaudhary Jones, who had invited her to tea. Maisie arrived at the apartment in midafternoon, as the autumn sunshine was reflecting a golden light across trees filled with yellow, red, and rich brown leaves. The mild summer and still-warm days had given London a resplendent and lingering Indian summer.
Tea was served by a maid dressed formally in a black dress with white collar, cuffs, and apron and a small white cap to keep her curls at bay. Mrs. Chaudhary Jones was again wearing a colorful sari, this time of lavender with a deep purple border. Her hair was secured with an amethyst pin, and her beaded shoes, too, reflected the colors of her clothing.
“It’s lovely to see you, Maisie—may I call you Maisie? I ask this to