Pramal’s room, had draped along the length of her sleeve.
Chapter Six
The French doors leading to the gardens at 15 Ebury Place had been left ajar. Though past eight o’clock, the light still seemed dusky outside; coal fires had not yet been burned in earnest, so there was little evidence of the yellow pea-souper smogs that would envelop houses and streets as winter approached and colder evenings drew in. James Compton reached for Maisie’s hand and held it in his own.
“Can we talk, Maisie?”
Maisie felt a tension in her spine. She anticipated a conversation she had avoided for some time, and thought that she might now have reached a cul-de-sac, a place of no escape from what might be another painful dialogue. When she turned, it would be to face the truth of James’ intentions.
“Yes, let’s talk, James.” She smiled, and squeezed his hand.
Following an initial courtship filled with promise, Maisie had felt doubt about the future of her relationship with James Compton. James had pressed her to scale back her work—unfairly, she thought—after he had taken possession of the newly refurbished mansion, where Maisie had rooms and where she was considered mistress of the house. She was unwilling to exchange her business for marriage, for her work represented a steadfast rock that had grounded her through the journey of recovery from the wounds of war, especially those lingering in her soul. It often seemed that an inner dialogue intersected with the task in hand, so when she came to the close of an investigation, it was with a deeper sense of knowing about herself—and a humble understanding of how much more there was to learn. Where might she find strength if she relinquished her work?
Yet on the other hand, she loved James Compton, in her way. He, too, had suffered in the war and had battled memories that kept him awake at night. He had rebuilt his life, and now wanted to forge a future with Maisie at his side. Their courtship had floundered in recent months, though both felt they were on a more even keel. However, as Maisie had discovered to her chagrin, James had been drawn into the plans of powerful men who were preparing for the possibility of another war. With Germany’s new chancellor, Herr Adolf Hitler, diminishing the freedoms of so many people in his country—and with intelligence to suggest a stockpiling of weapons and the training of young aviators in direct contravention to the agreements made during the 1919 Peace Conference—there were those of James’ acquaintance who were making plans to prepare Britain for another conflict. John Otterburn was one such man. Having started his career as a newspaperman, the wealthy self-made Canadian now lived in England, where his success in the print industry had afforded him large mansions in London and Surrey—and a good deal of influence in the highest quarters. Such power had brought him into contact with one man in particular—Winston Churchill—who was languishing on the hinterland of British politics. Otterburn supported Churchill’s prediction that in another war with Germany, the fight for Britain would be in the air. In secret, Otterburn was bankrolling the design and testing of new military aircraft—and had recruited James Compton to his cause. James had been an aviator in the war, and for him, flying represented a passion. His loyalty to his country was without question. Yet Maisie had discovered that Otterburn was also ultimately responsible for the death of an innocent man in a case she was investigating. Otterburn’s position rendered him untouchable, and she was deeply affected by her inability to bring him to justice.
“I know I might sound like a scratched gramophone record, Maisie, but I want to talk about us,” said James.
Maisie nodded. “Yes, you’re right. We’ve danced around it before—me more than you, I confess. I think it’s time.”
She could see the tension in James’ face, the small vein that throbbed at his temple, the muscles in his neck, taut with apprehension.
“I know you hate me to talk about John Otterburn—and I absolutely understand your position—but I’m afraid I have given my word. I have promised to be in Canada in about six weeks. I’ll be in Toronto, at the Compton Corporation head office there, but I will also be back and forth to Otterburn’s headquarters. We’ll have some time for a little flight testing this year, before the weather closes in, but still, there’s a lot of work to do with the draftsmen and engineers throughout the winter months,