by Anne Perry
Rosalind smiled and there were tears in her eyes. She put her hand on Emily’s arm in a quick gesture, then withdrew it again.
‘Would you care for afternoon tea? I know it is a little early, but I should like to take you to a small place I know will be open, and is quite delightful.’
‘An excellent idea,’ Emily agreed.
All the way home in her carriage afterwards Emily thought over everything that Rosalind had said, and even more what she had left unsaid. Over tea they had spoken of many things, mostly totally trivial, often even funny. Rosalind was well informed about a number of subjects. She spoke with enthusiasm about music, and some knowledge of various pianists. She was interested in the history of glass, going back to ancient Egypt and forward to present day Venice and the glass features in Murano. Emily began to hope with some energy that Jack would find himself working for Dudley Kynaston. She would enjoy a further friendship with his wife.
A friendship with his sister-in-law did not even occur to her until she realised how seldom Rosalind had mentioned Ailsa. In fact, it had been only twice, and then only to say that they had gone together to some event that had been Ailsa’s idea. Apart from that, they had had an interesting and entertaining afternoon without thought of her at all.
And yet Ailsa had appeared on other occasions to be so large a part of the Kynastons’ life. Was it actually only a kindness, including her because she appeared to have no other family?
Thinking back on the few occasions Emily had been in the company of both women, she remembered it as if Ailsa had somehow been in charge, like the elder sister, although she was probably several years younger. But there had been little actual warmth between them.
Was that of any importance at all? Possibly not. Nevertheless Emily determined to learn as much more about Ailsa Kynaston as she was able to, preferably when not in Rosalind’s company. Among many other things she had learned about Rosalind was that she was far wiser and more observant than she affected to be. It might be more than a little foolish to underestimate her.
Creating the opportunity to observe Ailsa was now the challenge. If Ailsa were indeed at the heart of the problem – the murder of Kitty Ryder – then it might be dangerous to be seen to enquire about her. The thought did not deter Emily, but she must plan it with care. She would find out Ailsa’s interests, what plays she liked, what exhibitions, who were in her circle of friends that Emily herself might also know.
As it turned out, fate played directly into Emily’s hands. Three days later she changed her earlier decision to decline, and instead accompanied Jack to a formal party with several other people in Government. Previously she said she would not go, afraid that she would appear clinging and a trifle possessive. Now her purpose regarding Ailsa changed everything. She was determined to support Jack not just tacitly, but positively, and oblige him to be aware of her and happy that she was present.
She dressed carefully in her favourite shade: palish green, more delicate than the earliest leaves, and known as ‘waters of the Nile’, but in the far more sophisticated French ‘eau-de-Nil’. It was the softest silk, floating when she moved, and the sheen of it caught the light. Naturally it was the latest cut: soft at the shoulder and neck, smooth and slender at the hip. Pearls might have been more appropriate considering the name of the colour, but she wore diamonds. She wanted the fire and the sparkle.
She was satisfied as she swept down the stairs towards Jack, who was waiting for her at the bottom, that she had achieved the result she wished. He said nothing, but his eyes widened and he gave a little sigh of satisfaction. So far, she was succeeding.
The effect of her entrance at the party was also gratifying. However, it took only a few minutes to realise that she certainly had no monopoly on beauty or attention. Moments later Ailsa Kynaston arrived, sufficiently late to be sure of everyone being aware of her, but not enough to be discourteous.
She was dressed in cream and gold. It was a daring combination for a woman of such pale colouring, but she carried it superbly, with a confidence that challenged anyone to find fault with her.
However, what took Emily’s attention was the fact that she was on the arm of Edom Talbot, whom she knew to be one of the men closest to the Prime Minister, even though he held no specific government position. But Emily knew from Charlotte that Talbot had taken a dislike to Pitt, and made his investigation of the Kynaston affair more difficult than it needed to have been. Or perhaps it was not Talbot’s intention, rather his necessity, because of the sensitivity of Kynaston’s position with the navy.
Looking at him very carefully now, Emily saw a man striking in appearance because of his height and casual strength. He carried himself as if he had tested and proved his physical superiority many times. There was a kind of unspoken arrogance in his posture, slightly intimidating.
Did Ailsa find that pleasing? To Emily it seemed slightly ill-bred. A gentleman did not ever intentionally make others feel uncomfortable, and to threaten, however tacitly, would do that.
Some women found dangerous men attractive. Emily considered their taste, conversely, to be a sign of some kind of inner weakness. And weakness was dangerous. It was those aware of their own disadvantage who attacked.
Someone spoke to her and she made a light and meaningless reply, smiling with the charm she had always known how to use.
Jack said something to her that she did not hear. She was busy watching Edom Talbot and Ailsa Kynaston, studying the way they moved together, who spoke and who listened, how often they met each other’s eyes, or smiled. Who was leading?
At first it seemed to be Talbot. He knew more people, and introduced them to her. She was gracious, but not eager. Nothing in their conversation was so very interesting. He clearly admired her striking appearance, but then so did at least half the men in the room, and the women both envied and resented it.
Emily had not been paying attention to her own duties. She gave Jack a dazzling smile and joined in the conversation.
It was over half an hour before she could watch Ailsa and Talbot again. Now she was leaning towards him, smiling. Then she spoke to someone else, the moment after back to Talbot. He did not take his eyes from her, almost as if he could not. She was flirting with him, but so subtly only Emily, an expert at such things herself, was aware of it. Others walked by, made some passing observation, smiled, laughed, and moved on.
Talbot put his hand on Ailsa’s arm, high, near the shoulder, as if to pull her a little closer to him. It was an oddly proprietorial gesture, almost intimate. Her face was turned away from him as she had been speaking momentarily to someone else. Emily saw the flash of more than distaste, it was almost hatred. Then deliberately she allowed herself to be drawn towards him before finding an excuse to move in a different direction.
Was she holding back through the memory of Bennett, the lost husband she could never forget? Or something else entirely? Perhaps something she knew of Dudley Kynaston and the adopted family whose loyalty to her she was repaying with a kind of protection now?
But protection from what? Could it be the same knowledge that Kitty Ryder had run away from? Or was killed for?
Perhaps Emily had been completely wrong in her estimation of Ailsa. That was something she had to find out. She must force herself to know her better, in spite of her instinctive dislike of her. Emily knew scores of people, perhaps hundreds. At least two or three of them must know Ailsa. She would begin looking for the best way forward tomorrow.
Chapter Ten
‘YOU BRING ’er back ’ere by ’alf-past five, you ’ear me, young man? I don’t care ’oo you are, special police or not,’ the cook said fiercely, staring at Stoker as if he were an errant bootboy.
Stoker smiled, but Maisie got the answer in before he could speak.
‘Yes, Cook. Mr Stoker’s a Special Branch policeman. ’E wouldn’t never do nothing wrong.’ She lifted her chin up even higher and met Cook’s eyes directly, something she would not normally dare to do. But today she was
in her best dress, the only one that she never used for work. The footman had polished her boots for her until the cat could see its face reflected in them. Mrs Kynaston’s new lady’s maid had put her hair up so that it was tidy, even at the back where she couldn’t see it herself. She was going out to tea with Mr Stoker, to be asked some important questions, so important they couldn’t be asked where other people might overhear them.
Stoker became serious again. ‘We shall have tea, and then I shall bring her back,’ he promised.
Cook gave Maisie a stern warning. ‘You be’ave, Maisie. Don’t you go gettin’ ideas above yourself or givin’ no cheek, you understand? And if you go repeating gossip what’s none o’ your business, you’ll find yourself out on the street with no place. You watch your tongue, and that imagination o’ yours.’
‘Yes, Cook. I won’t say nothin’ at all but the truth.’ Then, without waiting for the Cook to add anything more, she turned and walked away, her chin high, her back as straight as if she had been carrying books on her head.
Suddenly Stoker wished he had had a daughter. An old love of his had wanted to marry and settle down. She had been pretty, with dark eyes like this odd little scullery maid’s. Stoker had been frightened by the idea of such responsibility. He had hesitated too long. By the time he had come back from the voyage Mary had found someone else. It had hurt for a long time.
He caught up with Maisie and they walked together, he being careful not to outpace her. They went down Shooters Hill Road towards Blackheath until they came to the tea shop, where he had already reserved a table for them.
‘This yours, then?’ she asked as he pulled out the chair and she sat down, more than a little self-consciously arranging her skirts.
‘For now it is,’ he told her. ‘Would you like tea? And some cakes?’
She was too impressed to speak as the waitress stood ready to take their order. She had never been waited on before, or called ‘Miss’.
‘Tea for two, and your best cakes, please,’ Stoker requested. He was loath to admit it, but he was enjoying himself. But time was short, and he had a lot to ask her. He could not afford to wait until they began tea.
‘We found a hat up at the gravel pit we thought was Kitty’s,’ he began. ‘But then we learned that it wasn’t. Some stupid man put it there on purpose, just to get himself noticed.’
Maisie frowned. ‘That’s wicked. ’E just wanted ter make us all scared and sad, so’s ’e’d be talked about? Is ’e daft, or summink?’
‘I’d say so. But we found the receipt for the hat, and for the red feather, so we know it wasn’t hers.’
Her eyes were bright. ‘So mebbe she in’t dead, then?’
‘I’m going to believe she isn’t,’ he said firmly.
‘But some poor cow is, eh?’ She bit her lip. ‘An’ yer still gotter find out ’oo she is, an’ ’oo done that to ’er?’
‘If it isn’t Kitty, and isn’t anything to do with the Kynaston household, then it’s the police’s job to find out,’ he replied.
‘’Cos you’re special, right?’
He drew in breath to explain it a little less self-importantly but, seeing her bright face, changed his mind.
‘Something like that,’ he agreed awkwardly. ‘But I still want to find Kitty, and prove she’s alive.’
She put her head a little to one side. ‘Ter save Mr Kynaston?’
He found himself slightly uncomfortable. Her eyes were bright, almost black, and both quick and innocent at the same time. He hesitated as to how he should answer her. He needed information from her, and yet she was second-guessing him. If she caught him in any deception at all he would lose her trust, and therefore her honesty. He would also find that painful. He was getting soft.
‘Mostly,’ he agreed. ‘But I’d like to find Kitty just to know she’s all right as well.’
The tea came, with a whole plate full of little cakes and pastries. Maisie looked at them, then up at Stoker, then back at the plate.
‘Which one would you like?’ he asked.
‘The chocolate one,’ she said instantly, then blushed. ‘’Course, if you like it, the one with the pink sugar on it’d be all right.’
He made a note not to take the one with the pink icing, which he rather liked the look of too.
‘I’ll take the apple tart,’ he assured her. ‘You begin with the chocolate.’ He considered asking her if she would pour the tea, then changed his mind. He did ask her how she liked hers, and then poured for each of them.
She ate the chocolate cake slowly, savouring each mouthful.
‘To find Kitty, I need to know more about her,’ he began. ‘I know a few things. She could sing really nicely. She liked the sea, and ships, and used to collect pictures of ships from all over the world – with different kinds of sails.’
Maisie nodded with her mouth full. As soon as she had swallowed she answered. ‘Real clever with ’er ’ands, she was. Course, bein’ a lady’s maid an’ all, she could sew real well, even mend lace when it got tore.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Please find ’er, mister. Tell us she’s all right … I mean … alive, an’ well …’
‘I will,’ he promised, and knew even as he was saying it how rash he was being.
Maisie sniffed. ‘P’raps she just went off wi’ that great dollop, ’Arry. D’yer think?’ She looked at the last piece of the chocolate cake on the plate. ‘But why couldn’t she ’ave told us? Why don’t she even write a letter, nor nothing?’
‘Are you sure she can write?’ he asked.
‘Yeah! She used ter write lists an’ things. She were teachin’ me.’ She looked again at the last piece of her cake.
‘Why don’t you finish that, and then take the pink one?’ he suggested. ‘I’m going to have that one with the raisins.’
She looked at him to make sure he meant it, then did as he said, taking a delicate sip of her tea in between.
He hid his smile. Perhaps he was going about this the wrong way. Maybe he should be looking not for where Kitty would go, but for where Harry Dobson would choose.
‘What was he like, this … dollop?’ he asked.
Maisie giggled at his use of her word. ‘’E were all right. Crazy about Kitty, ’e were. Thought as the sun shone out of ’er eyes. An’ I s’pose that’s worth something, in’t it? She just smiled at ’im, an’ ’e were made.’
‘But he wouldn’t suit you?’ he concluded. ‘Why not?’
She looked down at the pink-iced cake, a little embarrassed. ‘I in’t never goin’ ter be pretty like ’er, but I want ter better meself, all the same. I’d want someone wi’ a bit o’ fire, like; someone as wouldn’t let me run rings around ’im.’ She stopped, ashamed of her words. It was too self-revealing to say what she meant to somebody who didn’t know her – or any man at all, for that matter.
‘You might have to work hard to find someone you couldn’t run rings around Maisie,’ Stoker warned. ‘But I heard that Kitty was ambitious too. Was that wrong?’
Maisie sighed. ‘I s’pose when yer fall in love yer kind o’ lose yer wits. Least that’s wot they say.’ She bit into the pink cake, then looked at it. ‘This ’as got cream in it, all squashy and sweet.’
‘Don’t you like it?’ he said quickly. ‘You don’t have to eat it. Choose another …’
She looked up at him. ‘Oh, I like it. It’s a bit like bein’ in love, though, in’t it? I s’pose yer don’t know it’s goin’ ter ’appen until yer already bit into it, eh?’
‘Maisie, you are so clever sometimes you worry me. All these cakes are for us, so take as many as you like. Tell me more about Harry Dobson, and if you really think she liked him enough to have gone off with him … without telling anyone. She must have had a reason for that. What might it be?’ He drank some of his tea and added a little more, to keep it hot. Then he took another cake, because he was sure she would not take another until after he had. He had seen her count them, and she was going to be scrupulously fair.
‘
Do you think he would have made her go secretly?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘No! ’E wouldn’t ’a made Kitty do nothin’ as she didn’t want. I reckon she must ’a bin …’ She hunched her shoulder a little and gave a tiny shiver, then she looked up at Stoker. ‘Mebbe she were scared? I used ter think as she knew one or two things as she’d sooner not a’ knowed about the mister an’ missus, like. Then I thought as it were just talk. But mebbe it weren’t? D’yer think?’
‘I think that’s very possible,’ he agreed, trying not to make too much of it and twist what she was going to say. ‘Any idea what she knew?’
She shook her head. ‘There are things as I don’t want ter know. Me ma always said that, told me not to see things or ’ear things as I shouldn’t. An’ if I did, ter forget it like it never ’appened.’
‘Very wise indeed,’ Stoker said gravely. ‘I am telling you exactly the same thing, and I mean it just as much as she did. Now tell me more about Harry Dobson. We’ve asked the regular police, but nobody seems able to find him. Did he do any special kind of carpentry work? Windows, doors, floors? Any particular builder he worked with?’ He reached for the teapot. ‘And have some more tea. If you’d like more cakes, we’ll ask for them.’
She took a deep breath, scooped up all her courage, and asked for another chocolate cake.
‘Kitty said as ’e were goin’ ter get a place ter work on ’is own, like,’ she answered. ‘’E were good at doors. Wanted ter make fancy ones, carved, an’ all that. But ’e could ’a gone anywhere for that.’
‘Where did he come from?’ Stoker persisted. This looked more hopeful.
‘Dunno,’ Maisie admitted. ‘North o’ the river, I think.’
‘Thank you. That’ll narrow the search quite a bit.’
She frowned. ‘Should I ’a said that before? Nobody asked. It were only wot ’e wanted. I dunno as ’e ever did it.’
He smiled at her. ‘Maybe he didn’t, but it’s worth a try.’
She sighed with relief and ate the cake.
