"Shame about Maurice, isn't it?" Lord Julian added, having given her the information she sought.
"Yes, I hadn't realized he'd been so ill."
"He likes to keep himself to himself, as you know, but we're making sure he's kept an eye on. Will you be at Chelstone this Saturday or Sunday?"
"I hope so, Lord Julian. I'll see Maurice again then."
"Good. Yes, that's very good. Now then, I must be off."
"Of course." Maisie replaced the receiver and sighed deeply. Though she had become used to her position at Chelstone-years ago she had been an employee in a lowly position, her education sponsored by Lady Rowan Compton, and now she was a professional woman of some standing who was as welcome in the servants' quarters as she was in the drawing room-she was never completely comfortable when speaking to Lord Julian. He had always accorded her respect, and had even recommended her services to both business and personal associates, yet she remained in some awe of him. Due to his position at the War Office during the years of the Great War, however, he was often the only person who could assist her when it came to making military contacts crucial to a case.
"Got someone for you, has he?" Billy looked up from his notes.
"A Colonel John Bartley."
"Oh, I remember hearing about him," said Billy. "A soldier's soldier, that one. He was spoken of very highly, if I'm remembering right."
"That's the sort of man I need to see-and I hope he can help me understand the cartographer's job. I'll telephone him now."
Maisie placed a call to Bartley, who came to the telephone with little delay.
"Bartley here. I understand Julian has sent you to me."
Maisie introduced herself and explained the reason for her call, though she gave only sufficient details to describe her need to speak to someone who might have known Michael Clifton.
"Well, m'dear, let me see. I don't think I can be of any help myself-I remember the faces, but not the names, even if the young man was an officer. Now, I'll have to think." There was silence on the line for a few seconds; then Bartley cleared his throat and began speaking once more. "I could name a few, but to get to the nub of the matter sooner rather than later, I suggest you speak to Lieutenant Colonel Archibald Davidson. Mind you, you'll have to jump to it because he's off to India any day now. In any case, he was in the artillery at the time-very young for the job, made a bit of a hash of it, I'm afraid, though he learned from his errors-anyway, you know what my chaps used to call the cartographers, don't you?" He did not wait for Maisie to guess. "They called them the artillery's astrologers. Not sure it was particularly complimentary, but a good mapmaker had to be something of an expert in divination, as well as the more formal aspects of his profession. In any case, I'll get in touch with Archie Davidson and make the introduction for you; collar him before he shoves off to endless gin and tonics on a hot veranda."
"Thank you, Colonel Bartley."
"Not at all. Here's the number you can reach him on; temporary, you know. He's at a relative's house while he winds things up here. Heaven knows where he's packed his wife off to. Anyway-" Bartley gave a number in Chelsea, then repeated it for good measure, though Maisie had transcribed it the first time. "You know, I must owe Julian more than a favor or two-everyone else seems to owe him something." The man seemed ready to go on, but Maisie nipped further conversation in the bud.
"You've been most kind, Colonel Bartley. As you said, time is of the essence. I'll ring off so that you can speak to Lieutenant Colonel Davidson on my behalf."
The address Archibald Davidson had given Maisie over the phone led her to a well-presented mews house five minutes from the Sloane Square underground station. A housekeeper showed Maisie into the first-floor drawing room, where Davidson joined her almost immediately. He was a wiry man, tall, with long limbs, an angular face, and high cheekbones dusted with freckles, which made him seem boyish for his years; Maisie thought he might be in his early forties. Davidson held out his right hand towards Maisie, while pressing down the collar of his tweed jacket with his left.
"Miss Dobbs, delighted to meet you. I'll apologize now for the fact that I can only spare about ten minutes. As I said on the telephone, I'm due to leave for India tomorrow, and even though my wife dealt with most of the packing before she took our children back to school, I am rather snowed under. We've had months to prepare for this posting, and now all hell seems to have broken loose-this is my sister's house, and we've made a thorough mess of the whole place."
"I appreciate your time, Lieutenant Colonel. Thank you."
"Please, do sit down." He looked at his watch as he sat down at one end of a deep red sofa, while Maisie took a seat in the armchair opposite. In brief, she explained the purpose of her visit.
"So, as you can see, I'm not only trying to find someone who might remember this young man, but I would like to know more about cartographers in the war."
"Well, first off," said Davidson, "I can't remember any Americans, either in the ranks or among the officers I knew personally. You'd remember someone like that, someone different." He paused. "But it's true to say that, though the cartography units were part of the Royal Engineers, they were chiefly in the service of the artillery, and of course the infantry. Without them we would not have known where to fire which guns, and without maps we would have been lost; our success depended upon the integrity of the maps and the precision of the mapmakers."
"To say nothing of the lives of thousands of men."
"Yes, of course." Davidson checked his watch once again, and glanced at the clock on the wall for good measure.
"And you personally liaised with one or more cartographers?"
"Yes, but now that I know more about your line of inquiry, I can tell you that I was not in the geographical area you're interested in." He sighed. "Look, I'll give you a quick rundown of the way the cartography boys worked, then I'm afraid I really have to dash."
Maisie opened her mouth to thank him, but he had already launched into an explanation that was brisk, filled with military jargon, and included terms such as flash spotters and sound rangers. She did not want to interrupt to ask questions, but it occurred to her that if he had been writing instead of speaking, she would be looking at little more than scribble. When he appeared to have ended his soliloquy, Maisie spoke again.
"That's very interesting, Lieutenant Colonel, but I wonder if there's anyone you can think of who might have crossed paths with the American. Is there anyone else you would suggest I speak to, someone who can throw a little more light on the subject for me, or who was in the region at the time?"
Davidson shrugged. "I can't think of anyone, sorry, but…well, off the top of my head, there are a couple of people you could speak to. First off, there's Duncan Higginbotham. He was at Sandhurst with me, and he might be able to assist you-but I think he's just been posted to Aden. The other man is Peter Whitting. I believe he might have been in the region. I know that he had a training job and then requested a posting to the front, which surprised anyone who knew about it. I mean, we all did our duty, but there again, you didn't want to shove yourself into the wasps' nest if you could possibly help it. I remember being told about him going over voluntarily, and we all thought he should be looked at; it seemed he'd taken leave of his senses." He shrugged. "In any case, I've seen him at a couple of dinners and so on. He left the army after the war, but still hangs on to the title-I think he's still got a finger in the defense pie, but I couldn't say what it might be." Davidson consulted his watch. "I'll just get you the addresses and telephone numbers; then I really have to get on."