Thomas & Charlotte Pitt 29 - Death On Blackheath (34 page)

‘So it was not at your request?’ Pitt asked.

Kynaston’s look did not waver. ‘No. I had Norton make a few enquiries, but that was some time ago. He was happy to do it, but he had no success. I began to accept that she ran off with her young man, in what I regret to say was a very callous manner. I would have expected her to have the courtesy to give notice, as one would normally do. My wife was distressed, as we all were. It was an uncharacteristically thoughtless thing to do.’

‘Hopgood assured me that he had not looked for her, either on his own or at your instruction,’ Pitt agreed. ‘I mention it only because no doubt you will come to hear of it, and possibly Mrs Kynaston will also.’

‘Thank you.’ Kynaston still looked puzzled. He had taken whisky for himself and sat with the glass in his hand, its rich colour made even warmer by the gaslamp now lit, and the reflection of the fire.

‘Possibly it was Mrs Ailsa Kynaston’s coachman?’ Pitt suggested.

Kynaston’s hand tightened on his glass so hard that the liquid spilled a drop with the change of position.

‘Ailsa? I think that’s … unlikely.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Unless Rosalind asked her to? Or she imagined she could help …’ He left the idea unfinished.

‘Perhaps the informants told us what they thought we wished to hear,’ Pitt said smoothly. ‘It happens sometimes. Anyway, it is of far less importance now, since we are sure beyond any question whatever that neither of the bodies in the gravel pits was that of Kitty Ryder. The second one did not resemble her closely enough, and she has been seen alive and well sometime after the first body was found. I don’t know where she is, but you and your household are relieved of all suspicion in her disappearance. And – perhaps more relevantly – you no longer need to grieve at the thought of her being dead. I’m sorry it had to touch you at all.’ He stared at Kynaston, watching every muscle in his face, his neck, his shoulders, one hand on his glass and the other on the arm of the chair. He saw the tension like a bowstring. Kynaston all but stopped breathing.

Pitt smiled blandly, as if he had not noticed, but he did not speak. The whole art was to leave Kynaston floundering, offer him nothing to reply to.

Finally Kynaston moved, with just an easing of his shoulders as he drew in a deep breath. He set the whisky glass down.

‘That is a great relief. My wife will be delighted. It was a very poor way to behave, but thank God Kitty was not … killed.’ He pulled his face into an expression of revulsion. ‘Presumably you will no longer be wasting your time looking for her. A very good result all round, even if it was hard to reach. I cannot imagine what the stupid girl was thinking of! Still, it hardly matters now.’

‘Indeed,’ Pitt nodded. ‘Of course we still have to discover the identity of the two women who were found, but that will be a job for the local police.’

Kynaston let out a long, slow breath and his body slumped a little in the chair. ‘Thank you. It is most considerate of you to come and inform me personally, Commander.’ He stood up slowly, as if he were a little stiff. ‘I hope we shall meet again soon, in pleasanter circumstances.’

‘I hope so,’ Pitt agreed. ‘Good night, sir.’

Pitt arrived home earlier than he had done for several evenings and was able to have dinner with Charlotte and both his children. He put Kynaston out of his mind and listened to their conversation, their news and their ideas. Daniel was full of his plan to play cricket in the coming summer and could think of little else. He talked about different strokes, catches, styles of bowling and batting, but to Pitt’s pleasure and carefully concealed amusement, he also spoke of strategy. He explained it at some length over the first course and well into pudding, his face alight with enthusiasm. Various condiments were moved around the table to represent different ways of placing his fielders.

Jemima rolled her eyes, but listened patiently. Then, just to keep up her own position in showing off abilities that no one else understood, she spoke at length about French Medieval history, smiling to herself as they pretended to be interested.

It was well into the evening before Charlotte and Pitt sat alone before the fire and she was able to tell him about her evening with Emily, which she was clearly eager to do.

Pitt had difficulty keeping his eyes open. The room was warm and extremely comfortable. The light was soft, only one gaslamp was lit. The fire whickered gently in the hearth and every so often settled lower as the wood collapsed. It was Charlotte who leaned forward and put more fuel on: old apple wood, sweet smelling.

Pitt made an effort to be interested.

‘How is Emily?’

‘Involved,’ she said immediately. ‘As I am. I think that’s half her real problem – she’s bored stiff!’

He tried to pay attention. ‘Involved in what? Didn’t you say it was a lecture on Arctic exploring, or something? I can’t imagine Emily caring even remotely about that.’

‘North Atlantic and North Sea,’ she corrected him. ‘And no, I don’t think she cares about that any more than I do. Although some of his photographs were dazzlingly beautiful.’

‘You said involved … didn’t you?’ He must be half asleep. He was losing the thread.

She was smiling, leaning forward a little, her eyes bright.

‘Fascinated. I saw Ailsa, almost accidentally – although I did follow her, in a most extraordinary affair.’

‘Affair?’ She was speaking in stops and starts and he had lost the drift of it.

‘Love affair, Thomas! Or perhaps it was more lust than love. Or maybe it was lust on his part, and something quite different on hers. I don’t know what, not yet. But I mean to find out.’

He sat up a little further. ‘Why? What are you talking about? And how is it your concern? It isn’t Jack … is it?’

‘No! Of course it isn’t Jack!’ She was completely upright, her back like a ramrod. ‘Do you really think I’d be sitting here comfortably spinning it out if it were? I’d have brought you in here and told you before dinner!’ she said indignantly.

‘Oh. Yes, of course. Then why are you bothering with it?’

‘Because it’s Ailsa Kynaston and Edom Talbot!’

Now he sat upright, instantly wide awake. ‘What? Who did you say?’

‘You heard me, Thomas. I was following her, and I saw her, reflected through two mirrors. He stood behind her and put his arms around her … intimately. I’d have broken the foot of anyone who did that to me, unless it were you.’

‘And she didn’t mind?’ he asked.

‘Yes, she did mind, but she pretended not to. It took her a few seconds to master herself …’

‘Are you sure? How do you know?’

‘Because I could see her!’ she said fiercely. ‘Then she turned round and kissed him. But she had to make herself do it! Doesn’t that send a hundred questions racing around in your head?’

‘A couple of dozen anyway,’ he agreed. ‘I’d begun to wonder if she were Kynaston’s mistress. This makes it look very different.’

‘Not necessarily,’ she argued. ‘Maybe she’s both?’

‘Both?’ he said incredulously. ‘Why would she allow Talbot to touch her, if she doesn’t like him? Is that to mislead people that she’s having an affair with him, and not with Kynaston?’

‘Maybe,’ Charlotte conceded. ‘But it seems like a lot of trouble when no one seems to suspect it anyway. Unless, of course, Rosalind does?’

He was about to say something, but she rushed on. ‘But there are a whole lot of other possibilities, Thomas. What if they have been in love for a long time? Even when she was married to Bennett Kynaston?’

‘With Talbot?’ he said incredulously.

‘No, of course not! With Dudley! Maybe that’s why Bennett died so young?’

‘Of what? People can’t die of being betrayed, even by a wife and a brother. Or are you saying they killed him? Isn’t that a bit—’ He stopped. It was appalling, but then so was treason. Was it possible that the whole tragedy was domestic rather than political?

‘They might have,’ she answered. ‘That would be a terrible enough thing if Kitty Ryder found out. She’d run from that house, middle of the night or not! I would. And of course,’ she added, ‘the other possibility is that Rosalind found out, and she meant to kill them in revenge, or to expose them. That would be more effective—’

‘You’re letting your imagination run away with you,’ he told her sharply.

‘No, I’m not!’ she insisted. ‘You think just because Rosalind looks as if she hasn’t the fire to break the skin on a rice pudding, doesn’t mean she wouldn’t hold that over their heads!’

‘You don’t break the skin on a rice pudding with fire, darling!’

‘Don’t be pedantic!’ she said exasperatedly. ‘The flame inside her. There’s something all twisted up going on there, Thomas. I’m only giving you a few possibilities. It’s your job to find out which one is true.’

He looked at her perched on the edge of the chair, her eyes bright, the firelight catching red and gold in her hair, her cheeks flushed. It was the last thing she would have thought about herself, but to him she was utterly beautiful.

‘You have enough flame inside you to cook me rice pudding for the rest of my life,’ he said, keeping his tone light, for fear emotion swallowed him up.

‘I didn’t think you liked rice pudding!’ she protested.

‘I don’t! But I like the flame!’

She laughed and moved forward off the seat and into his arms.

When Jack Radley telephoned Vespasia and asked if he might visit her in the afternoon, she was surprised, but she caught the edge of urgency in his voice.

‘Of course,’ she said, as if it would cause no inconvenience at all. She had intended to visit an old friend and spend a leisurely time looking at an exhibition of art. They had not met recently, except at such functions as allowed no serious conversation. She had been looking forward to it. She would have her maid send a note, with profuse apologies. Perhaps she should send Mildred flowers tomorrow? A family crisis Mildred would understand. She had daughters herself, and now granddaughters as well.

Vespasia hesitated over offering tea. It was not a meal she imagined Jack to take, but it was an excuse to sit down and have an uninterrupted conversation. One never stopped until the full ritual had been observed. She believed that was what Jack wished for, even if a good stiff brandy would have been more to his taste.

He arrived punctually. For a man as busy as he was, it was a nice compliment to her that he had taken such care. But then, he had always had perfect manners. It dated from his years when he had lived on his charm. He had been the sort of handsome young man who had wit, poise, grace, and the intelligence never to overstay his welcome in any one place. He dressed perfectly, was graceful on the dance floor, had seen most of the latest plays, and above all never gossiped or carried tales from one household to the next, or spoke afterwards of the ladies he had accompanied to one function or another. He never drew comparisons, or made promises he did not keep. His ability to charm was deeper than a surface ease. There was a quality to his nature that was worthy of respect.

He came in now and greeted her warmly. The maid took his hat and coat, and he kissed Vespasia lightly on the cheek. He accepted her invitation to sit and assured her that he would be delighted to take tea with her.

The years had been kind to him. The touch of grey at the temples lent him a maturity, the few fine lines in his face deepened the sense of character, even gravity rather than mere handsomeness. But in spite of his smile, she could see that he was worried.

‘Please, my dear, don’t waste time leading up gracefully to whatever it is that concerns you,’ she requested.

He smiled, relief easing out the worst of the tension in his body.

‘Thank you. I dare say Emily has told you that I have the offer of a position working with Dudley Kynaston. It is something I would enjoy. He is an interesting man with a fine mind, and – more than that – I would be working on something specific rather than chasing many general subjects.’ He hesitated. ‘However, I know that Thomas has been investigating Kynaston because of the maid that went missing from his house, and then the body in the gravel pit nearby, which so resembled her. Somerset Carlisle was asking questions in the House, with the unspoken implication that there was a scandal about to break. That has not happened, but neither has the maid been found, or the body identified.’ He stopped, waiting for Vespasia to offer some reaction.

‘Yes, I am aware of these things,’ she agreed. ‘You are concerned to make the right judgement?’

He looked embarrassed. ‘I can’t afford to accept the position, and then find it has disappeared. I know Emily has private means, but I have always refused to live on her first husband’s estate, which is in trust for Edward, anyway. It is not pride, it is …’

‘Honour,’ she said for him. ‘It is not pompous to say so. I understand, and respect you for it. Not only can you not afford to lose the income from an excellent additional position to that of Member of Parliament, but you cannot afford the question of your judgement, should it transpire that Kynaston is involved in something uglier than unfaithfulness to his wife …’

Jack winced. ‘You say that easily, as if I might think it acceptable …’

She smiled at him. ‘You are too sensitive, my dear. I was not thinking anything of the sort. Whom you knew, or how well you knew them before you married Emily is not of interest to me, nor do I believe is it to her. It is completely unacceptable to me to betray trust, but I am perfectly aware that it happens far more often than one would wish. You cannot afford to judge other men on that, when considering whether you wish to work with them or not. It is a luxury beyond most of us, so we all pretend we do not know. On the whole, it works very well.’

‘Not if you murder the maid and dump her body in a nearby gravel pit,’ Jack said unhappily and with a hint of bitterness.

‘Have you asked Emily’s opinion about it?’ Vespasia asked, almost as if the idea had been an afterthought.

Jack shook his head. ‘I don’t want to worry her with it. She shouldn’t be asked to make this decision for me, nor carry the burden of it if I’m wrong.’

‘She may wish to,’ Vespasia replied.