Thomas & Charlotte Pitt 29 - Death On Blackheath (35 page)

‘Emily doesn’t like anxiety,’ he told her. ‘Especially when there is nothing she can do.’

Vespasia smiled. ‘Do you mean there is nothing she can do, or that you would really rather that she did not attempt anything, and you are worried that if you tell her, she will try to help you?’ It was a question so direct as to be blunt, but she knew how many misunderstandings were created by the use of euphemisms. One ended up being so oblique nobody knew what on earth you were talking about.

He looked at her earnestly. ‘I’m trying to look after her! I want to make the right decision, and then present her with it. She’s been unhappy lately. I don’t know why, and she won’t tell me. I think she’s either bored with me, or she wants me to make a decision without having to be guided, but of course if she said that to me, it would be guidance in itself.’

Vespasia sighed. ‘For all your charm, you don’t know women very well, do you! Would you try that protective manner with Charlotte?’

He was startled.

‘No … she’d hate it. But I’m not married to Charlotte. We would disagree about everything, and it wouldn’t matter—’ He stopped abruptly.

‘My dear, you could disagree with Emily and it wouldn’t matter,’ she assured him. ‘What you must not do is ignore her. If you continue with it much longer she will begin to think you are interested in someone else …’

‘She knows better than that.’ Now his voice was filled with emotion. ‘I adore her. In fact I dare not tell her so, because she hates growing older, but I think maturity suits her. She seems more … more earthy, more reachable. I don’t feel as if she’s infallible any more, too confident, too ethereal to need my support, or protection …’ He faltered to a stop, looking as if he had said more than he meant to. He bit his lip and looked away from Vespasia, down at the table. ‘I’m afraid she will resent being helped with anything, she is so sufficient …’

Vespasia reached across and touched his arm very lightly. ‘My dear Jack, one of the advantages of growing older is that we begin to accept that none of us can manage without friends, people to love and people who love us, even now and then a little help and a little criticism, if it is gently given. You may find that even Emily has learned some wisdom.’

He looked at her with a flash of hope.

‘My advice regarding Dudley Kynaston is not to commit yourself just yet,’ she continued. ‘Find some excuse to wait a week or so. Think of some other matters you wish to deal with, some other commitment you must conclude. And ask Emily’s opinion, whether you actually take her advice or not.’

He flashed her a bright, utterly charming smile. ‘I will do. May I have another jam tart? Suddenly I am hungry, and they are delicious.’

‘They are there for you,’ she replied. ‘You may have them all.’

Vespasia had dinner with Victor Narraway. She had hesitated whether to accept his invitation or not. She could see Emily’s situation so clearly, yet she was confused as to her own. She enjoyed Narraway’s company more than that of anyone else she could recall. He had always been easy for her to talk to, to agree or disagree. Yet lately she had felt a peculiar vulnerability in his company, as if somewhere during their friendship she had lost the emotional armour she had kept safely in place for so many years. She found herself caring if he called again, even allowing her imagination to wonder what he thought of her, and if their friendship were as valuable to him as it was to her.

She was older than he, a knowledge which came with a degree of pain. It had never been of the slightest importance before. Now, absurdly, it mattered. He seemed completely unaware of it, but then he was far too well-mannered to allow such an ungallant thing to show. And it was clearly irrelevant. Of course it was. What was she allowing herself to think?

Because she could come up with no graceful way of declining, she accepted and found herself enjoying a late supper at one of her favourite restaurants.

However, they had barely finished their first course and were waiting for the second to arrive when he became very serious.

‘There has been a development in Pitt’s case,’ he said quietly, leaning a little forward across the table so as to be able to keep his voice very low, and yet be certain she could hear him. ‘It seems that the maid, Ryder, who left Dudley Kynaston’s house in the middle of the night, has been seen alive and well since then, proving that it was not her body in the gravel pit.’

She heard the urgency in his voice and did not interrupt. It was irrelevant that she knew this much already from Charlotte.

‘The second body was not hers either,’ he continued. ‘It seems unavoidable now to conclude that they were both placed where they would be discovered, in order to draw Pitt’s attention to the Kynaston house.’ He was watching her closely, judging her reaction.

‘And do you know the purpose for this?’ she asked, her stomach knotting as she feared he was going to ask her the same question. Her loyalties were torn. She was not certain, but she believed that Somerset Carlisle had done this, and then deliberately raised the matter in Parliament when no one seemed to be taking it seriously enough. It had not required her to draw her own conclusion as to why.

Narraway was staring at her intently.

‘Please don’t play games with me, Vespasia,’ he said softly. ‘I am not asking you to betray anyone’s confidence, even if it is no more than trust in a long friendship. I think you know who placed the bodies where they were, and why they did so.’

‘I can guess,’ she admitted. ‘But I have very carefully avoided asking.’ This was horribly difficult. She would not willingly refuse him anything, but she could not betray a trust – for anyone. ‘I … I will not ask him, Victor. I think he would tell me the truth, and then I would have to lie to you …’

He smiled, as if her answer had genuinely amused him, but there was also a look of pain in his eyes. She had hurt him, and the knowledge of it twisted inside her with a pain she could scarcely believe.

‘Vespasia …’ He reached across the white tablecloth and put his hand over hers, very gently, but with too much strength for her to pull away. ‘Did you really believe I was going to ask you? Please, give me credit for more sensitivity, and for caring for you more than that!’

She looked at him, and was furious with herself for the tightness in her throat, which made speech impossible. She would embarrass both of them.

‘I do not know who it was,’ he continued. ‘But I am certain in my own mind. And such a man would not do so macabre a thing unless he had a profound reason for it. My conclusion is that he did it to force Pitt to investigate Kynaston, because he believes that Kynaston is committing treason against his country. What I do not know is to whom, or why. I do not think it likely to be anything so grubby as mere money. There is something far deeper, far more precious to him than that. Do you agree?’

She felt a tear slide down her cheek, and an overwhelming wave of relief.

‘Yes, I agree,’ she answered. ‘It is very terrible to betray your country. I can hardly imagine anything worse, except perhaps betraying yourself.’

The waiter arrived with the next course. They were silent until he was gone.

‘Then we have something of a test before we decide what it is that Dudley Kynaston cares about even more than his country,’ Narraway said. ‘But perhaps not this evening. Thank you for listening. I very much wished to share my thoughts with you. You always make things seem clearer. Would you like some wine?’

Silently she held out her glass. ‘A debt that honour demands he must pay,’ she said quietly.

‘What debt of honour could he owe greater than that to his country?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. We must find out.’

STOKER DREW in the help of two colleagues to help him rule out several of the places where Kitty Ryder might have been. But he was beginning to feel a flicker of desperation at how few possibilities there were left. Who was she so afraid of that she had run from Shooters Hill at night, and without taking any of her belongings? What had she seen or heard in the Kynaston house?

He had asked so many questions about her, heard so many bits of stories, that he felt as if he knew her. He knew the songs she liked, the jokes that made her laugh, that she loved roasted chestnuts, green apples, flaky pastry, although she wouldn’t eat much because she did not want to lose her figure. She liked walking in the rain in the summer but hated it in the winter. She wanted to learn about the stars, and one day, if she ever had a house of her own, she would have a dog. He could imagine liking that too. It reminded him of the dreams he had once had about Mary. It seemed like ages ago, and yet the emotion returned with a sharpness that took him aback. He realised how much he missed the friendship of a woman. There was a tenderness to it that was different from that of men.

Kitty loved the sea, not the beach or the cliffs, but the endless horizon and the great ships that sailed as if they had white wings spread in the wind. If he ever met her he would be able to tell her about some of the voyages he had taken, and the places he’d seen. She loved to watch the sea birds flying at sunset with the light on their wings, and dream about how it would feel. He had never been able to tell Mary, because she hated the sea. To her it meant loneliness, separation, an exclusion of all that she cared about. The sea’s endless horizons were full of dreams, and Mary was practical.

Where had Kitty gone to? Was she still alive, or had someone else already found her and …?

He refused to follow that thought.

Where could she go to hide, and yet still be able to see the things she loved? Water, ships. He needed to stop chasing every clue and use his intelligence. From what he knew of her, if she were frightened and lonely, where would she go for comfort, to gather her courage or make a decision?

Somewhere where she could see water, smell the salt tide, watch sea birds in the fading light. Let her dreams take wing also, just for a while.

Greenwich, down by the Royal Naval College? Except that was too close to Shooters Hill. What about the other side of the river, near the railway station, where she could stand on the shore and look across at where the sailing ships were riding at anchor? Somewhere like that. That is where he would go.

He had no better idea. It was close to dusk as he got off the train and walked down towards the river to watch the light die over the water in limpid silvers and greys. One brilliant bar blazed like a banner across the west, reflecting in the ripples of a barge’s wake, as if each crest were burning with it. He stood in silence, pleasure touching him, warming him with its untarnished beauty. Nothing could mar it; it was safe beyond the reach of human hands.

He waited until the very last of it faded and his skin was cold. Then he turned and saw a woman a few yards away, her face still towards it as if she could see some essence of it left behind. She was tall, maybe only two or three inches shorter than he, and what he could see of her face in the fast gathering dusk had a beauty that held him from speech. He simply stared at her. She seemed as if she belonged here, in the evening and the wide, darkening sky where the only colour left was an echo of the smouldering sun now slid below the west.

Then she became aware of him and her eyes widened in fear.

‘Don’t be frightened!’ he said quickly, taking a step towards her. Then he realised that only made it worse and he stopped. ‘I’m not going to hurt you. I’m only watching the …’ He nearly said ‘sunset’ but it was not the colour that held him, it was the quality of the light, the softness, the gentleness of the shadows. Did that sound ridiculous for a man to say?

She was staring at him. What had he to lose? She was a stranger he would never see again. ‘… the way the light changes,’ he finished. ‘The darkness comes so softly …’

‘Most people don’t see that,’ she said with surprise. ‘They think it’s all a kind of … dying. Are you an artist?’

He wanted to laugh; the idea was so absurd, so far from the truth, but actually it was also beautiful. A wave of longing washed over him. ‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘I wish I were. I’m just a kind of policeman …’

The fear was back in her face. He should not have said that.

‘Not an ordinary policeman,’ he said quickly. ‘Just for spies and anarchists, people who want to change the whole country …’

‘What are you doing down here?’ she asked.

‘Just taking time for myself,’ he said honestly. ‘I’ve been looking for someone for weeks and I haven’t found her yet. I’m not giving up, I’m just … taking a little … peace. Maybe I’ll get a new idea where to look.’

‘Is she a spy?’ she asked curiously.

He laughed very slightly. ‘No! She’s a witness, I think. But I know she’s in danger. I want to protect her.’ He should be more honest. The twilight, the shared perception of the beauty of the sky over the river demanded it. ‘And I want to know what she saw or heard that made her run. She left everything behind her, all her possessions, her friends, everything.’

She stood without moving, not even to change her balance. ‘Then what?’

‘Then we’ll know much better exactly what the treason is, and be able to stop it going on.’

‘What about her? Will you put her in prison, because she didn’t tell you?’

‘Of course not! We’ll make sure she is safe …’

‘How are you going to do that? Won’t they know you’ve found her? Why would anyone believe her, not them?’

He stared at her. In the delicate, grey half-light her face was beautiful, not just pretty but really beautiful. Her hair looked dark, but not black. In the sunlight it could have been any colour, even auburn. And she was frightened, wanting to believe him but not able to.

‘Kitty …’ The moment the name was on his lips he felt ridiculous. He was letting this get to him, send his brain soft!

She froze, like an animal ready to run but knowing it was useless. She was caught by a predator far stronger and far swifter than she was. But she would fight, he could see that in her face too.

He let out a sigh. ‘I’ve been looking for you for weeks! We know Kynaston’s betraying secrets, but we don’t know why! Or how he’s doing it. There’s no point in just catching him, we need the people he’s passing them on to as well.’