“We have others on the go, which means I’m still in business. But I’m glad the jobs involving death—and by that I mean ‘murder’—don’t come along every week. Luckily, they usually bring in more money, so that tides us over and pays the wages.” Maisie sipped her tea. “And what about you—how are you doing with your new job?”
“So far, so good, but I wasn’t sorry to leave police work, and I won’t be sorry to leave this, when they let me go.” He looked around the café, then returned his attention to Maisie. “I mean, it’s not as if I was strong-armed into it, but there was an element of pressure.”
“I’m sure there was.” Maisie lifted her sleeve to check her watch.
“Do you have to rush off?” asked Stratton.
“Soon. Not yet though.”
“Good. Let’s have another cup of that dreadful tea before we leave.”
The final task for Maisie to complete concerned the ashes of Albert Durant. She explained to Caldwell that she had discovered where Durant had scattered his wife’s ashes, and that she would like to take possession of Durant’s, so she could ensure they were left in the same resting place.
“I’ll do my best. The body’s not required now, and there’s never enough room for the dead, so they’ll be cremating him soon, seeing as there aren’t any relatives waiting to take him home. The father-in-law doesn’t want the ashes, though he said he would’ve taken them if he’d had his daughter’s, as it would have been right to keep them together.”
Caldwell was as good as his word, personally delivering the ashes to Maisie’s office. She lost no time in making another journey to Reigate. The weather seemed less than inclined to favor her on the day she walked down towards the woodland Albert and Elizabeth Durant had designated their secret place, yet despite a steady fine rain, the ground underfoot was quite dry, protected by branches thick with leaves above. Close to what she now thought of as the grandmother beech tree, Maisie pushed back fallen leaves until she could see Elizabeth Durant’s ashes, spread on the loamy ground by her husband. She tipped the urn, watching as the breeze stilled and the ashes floated down to a gentle landing. Once all were distributed around the base of the tree, she covered them with leaves and placed the urn in the beech tree’s cavernous trunk. And before leaving, with her forefinger she traced the names carved on the trunk: Albert, Elizabeth, and Baby.
“May you now all rest in peace,” she whispered, before walking to the edge of the woodland. There, she looked back once, then went on her way, back to the Alvis. Her final accounting was complete.
The party to see Thomas Partridge on his way to Cranwell for the commencement of his Royal Air Force training was an intimate event, with just Priscilla’s husband and boys, along with Lady Rowan and Lord Julian, whom Priscilla had come to know quite well over the years. Thomas had also invited a young woman of about eighteen years of age, who—Maisie thought—conducted herself very well, considering the scrutiny she was receiving from Priscilla. Jokes were made back and forth across the table, and guests laughed at stories of Thomas’ childhood, including how he broke his wrist jumping from the top of the stairs, his arms wrapped in a sheet to simulate the wings of a Tiger Moth. Douglas made a speech, Thomas thanked everyone present and raised a glass of champagne to his parents, and soon Priscilla—possibly having had one gin and tonic too many, thought Maisie—came to her feet.
“This is my toast to my son, to the leader of our pack of toads. You took your first breath and I was given you to hold, and I have been holding you ever since—when you grew too much of a man for my arms, the muscle of my heart did the holding.” Laughter accompanied her pause. “I know it will be a few weeks before you achieve your dream to fly, but I insist you never, ever repeat the landing you made on the tiles in the entrance hall.” More laughter. “And may you come home every chance you get.”
Thomas blew a kiss to his mother, but instead of sitting down, Priscilla continued speaking. “And tomorrow your beloved Tante Maisie and I will have a surprise for you. After all, it’s not only you boys who have to do your bit. But it’s a secret until tomorrow, so you’ll have to read your letters, Tom.” Another round of laughter ensued, though there were glances back and forth between Priscilla and Maisie. Priscilla lifted her champagne glass and looked at her husband, who came to his feet. Their guests followed suit.
“To Thomas Philip Partridge.”
Voices echoed the toast.
“Thomas Philip Partridge.”
Maisie made her way home from the party, escorted by Timothy and Tarquin. She bid them good night as she reached the house, giving each a kiss on both cheeks, then watched as they ambled back along the road towards their home. At one point Tim pushed Tarquin, who pushed back, and then they raced down the street until she could see only shadows in the grainy light of a late Sunday evening.