Death On Blackheath (Thomas Pitt 29)
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He could not believe that Carlisle had had any part in the deaths of either of the women, he had merely seized an opportunity. Pitt could imagine him carefully cutting the dead faces, women beyond indignity or pain, and apologising for using them for what he believed was a greater and more desperate good. The man he had known in the past would never have killed anyone, even to expose treason.
But people can change. Unknown pressures can fall on them, old debts can need to be paid. Was that why Carlisle had rescued Pitt from the fury of Edom Talbot so fortuitously? And was it he who had created the situation in the first place, so Pitt would owe him a debt?
Did Carlisle owe someone this terrible thing?
Or was it Kynaston who owed an unpayable debt?
And perhaps the treason was far more than Pitt had yet guessed.
He looked up at the thin starlight; sharp edged in the wind, and increased his pace.
Chapter Fourteen
CHARLOTTE HAD deliberately chosen to spend more time with Emily, so when Emily invited her to go with Jack and herself to a reception for a visiting Norwegian explorer, and to listen to his lecture, she accepted. She did it for Emily’s sake, not because she was particularly interested in islands in the North Atlantic, and whatever manner of birds might inhabit them. The thought of so much floating ice made her cold, even before she set out.
Had Pitt been at home it would have been a greater sacrifice, but he was out many evenings recently, pursuing one aspect or another of the case of Kitty Ryder. He had said she was alive, but they still could not find her.
As she sat while Minnie Maude dressed her hair up, a skill she was rapidly developing, Charlotte thought more about the whole issue. She had not questioned Pitt any more, because she knew from watching his face that he was deeply worried about the case, and that it now concerned some other issue, which he could not tell her. That did not mean she was not free to try to discern it for herself.
She knew more of the personal lives of people like Dudley Kynaston than Pitt or Stoker could do, because the Kynastons belonged to the level of Society in which she had grown up, and to which Emily had belonged all her life. She and Pitt were now on the fringes of it, but to him it would always be alien, at least in some of its values, no matter how skilled he became at appearing to be comfortable.
When Emily arrived Charlotte saw that she was dressed in pale green, the colour that became her most. The gown itself was exquisite, and perfectly suited to the occasion. Charlotte recognised it as ‘battle dress’ from the way it fitted, and the beauty of the subtle emerald and diamond earrings that Emily wore with it. When she kissed her quickly on the cheek, the opinion was confirmed by the perfume she detected, so subtle she wanted to come closer again in order to catch it more definitely. It was nothing she could name, and no doubt very expensive. It was the sort of thing a woman buys herself, if she does not have to count the cost of it.
As soon as they were seated in the carriage and had moved off from the kerb into the roadway, Charlotte asked the question.
‘Why are we going to a lecture on arctic exploration?’
Emily smiled. Even in the gathering dusk and the first glow of streetlamps, her satisfaction was visible. ‘Because Ailsa and Rosalind Kynaston are going to it,’ she replied. ‘I have been getting to know Rosalind a little better recently. It isn’t difficult or odd in the circumstances. If Jack is going to be offered this position with Dudley Kynaston, then we shall possibly become friends.’
‘And is he?’ Suddenly Charlotte forgot all concern with the Kynastons, or Kitty Ryder’s plight. She could only think of Jack, because of how another disappointment would affect Emily.
‘You don’t want him to, do you!’ There was a sudden edge of challenge in Emily’s voice. ‘He’s brilliant, you know. Or perhaps you don’t know? It would be very interesting for Jack to work with him, and a promotion, of course. But you must know that, if you’ve thought about it at all!’
Charlotte forgot her resolve to be patient, and gentle. ‘I want him to take it, as long as Kynaston’s not guilty of anything,’ she said tartly. ‘If he was having an affair with his wife’s maid I suppose that isn’t very important, except to his wife, and perhaps to the maid. But if he killed her, then I would very much rather Jack did not work with him. Until he is accused, of course, then I dare say he will be in gaol, and there will be no possibility of anybody working with him. But even if he did kill her, or threaten to kill her, and we never prove it, I would still rather that Jack had nothing to do with it.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Or even if it was his wife who killed her, unlikely as that seems, I would prefer no one I loved was involved with them.’
‘Jack will be pleased to know that you love him,’ Emily said icily. ‘Even if it does appear to infect your imagination with grotesque fantasies. If every woman in London were to murder their maids because their husbands slept with them, we would be up to our knees in blood!’
‘Not likely.’ Charlotte was equally icy. ‘She wasn’t stabbed. She was beaten, her face mutilated, and her body left up in the gravel pit to be scavenged by animals. Not much blood at all.’
‘You are disgusting!’ Emily spat out the words.
‘Don’t be so stupid!’ Charlotte snapped. ‘It’s you I love, and I like Jack, very much, but that will cease instantly if he hurts you.’
‘He isn’t—’ Emily began, but stopped equally quickly. When Charlotte turned to look at her she saw the tears brim over her eyes and down her cheeks. At another time she would have said something, even hugged her. Now the emotion between them was too brittle. She sat in silence for several moments, allowing Emily time to regain her composure. When she thought it was long enough, she began another conversation. ‘What is Rosalind like?’ she asked. She did not have to feign interest.
‘Actually, I like her,’ Emily replied, her voice almost level again. ‘She is much more individual than she appears at first. She reads quite a lot, and she knows about all sorts of unusual things: adventures, explorers, the people who go to Mesopotamia, and Greece, and dig up tombs and find amazing things – artefacts and writings. And she has great knowledge of plants. I went to Kew Gardens with her, and she could tell me where dozens of the different trees and flowers came from, and who found them. I started paying attention to her out of courtesy, but quite quickly found I was genuinely interested. And she is nothing like as bland or easily misled as I used to suppose.’
‘Is that why she is going to this lecture?’ Charlotte asked, surprised. Pitt had said little about Rosalind, and Charlotte had assumed her to be rather colourless. Perhaps she was guilty of supposing that because her husband had a mistress, then she must be dull. Did all married women suppose that? If a man seeks another woman, then his wife must be cold, tedious, plain – something one could avoid being oneself, so it would never happen to you?
‘I look forward to getting to know her better,’ she said.
Emily might be unhappy but she had lost none of the social skills. She could still make careful planning look like complete chance. She and Charlotte found themselves standing close to Rosalind and Ailsa Kynaston. They were related by marriage, and clearly knew each other well, but no one would have taken them for sisters. Rosalind was soberly dressed in a deep plum colour, which looked gracious and expensive, and yet it lacked the flair that Emily could have achieved with far less.
Ailsa, on the other hand, had the advantage of height, and the grace it gave her movement. There was a vitality in her face and a silver-pale gleam to her hair that attracted the eye, willingly or not. The sombre blues of her gown were of no importance; if anything they were a contrast that heightened her own energy.
They greeted each other with pleasure, as if it were good fortune that had placed them so closely. Both Ailsa and Rosalind remembered Charlotte and affected to be happy to see her again. If they connected her immediately with Pitt and the wretched business that had brought him into Rosalind’s house, they were too polite to say so.
‘I am pleased so many people have come,’ Rosalind said, glancing around at the steadily increasing crowd. ‘I admit, I had feared there would be embarrassingly little support.’
‘We will all leave grateful that our spring, if chilly, is not nearly as harsh as it could be,’ Emily agreed.
Ailsa lifted her graceful shoulders a little. ‘The north has a clean beauty that many people admire,’ she said. She was not exactly contradicting Emily, but there was a coolness in her voice.
‘Do you know the north well?’ Emily asked with enthusiasm.
For a moment Ailsa hesitated, as though she were unprepared for the question.
‘I have travelled north,’ she conceded. ‘It has great beauty, and one becomes acclimatised to the cold. Of course, summer is not cold at all, and brighter than here … quite often.’
‘So you will be familiar with places like the ones Dr Arbuthnott will be mentioning,’ Emily concluded. She turned to Rosalind. ‘Have you been there also?’
Rosalind smiled. ‘Oh, no. I’m afraid I have never been further north than Paris, which I find a marvellous city.’
‘Paris is south from here, my dear,’ Ailsa said gently.
Charlotte looked at her face. She was smiling but there was no warmth in it, in spite of her tone. If she had liked Rosalind, Charlotte knew that she would not have made the observation at all.
Rosalind coloured very slightly. ‘I know that. Perhaps I would have been clearer if I had said “in Europe”.’
Several appropriate remarks occurred to Charlotte, which would have put Ailsa in her place, but she refrained from making them.
‘I would love to travel,’ she said instead. ‘Perhaps one day I will. But I still find people more interesting than even the most marvellous cities. And I am grateful that there are men like Dr Arbuthnott who will bring us photographs and magic lantern images to show the beauty of the places I will never visit.’
‘A lifetime’s worth of them,’ Ailsa observed.
Charlotte pretended to misunderstand her. She was irritated at having her own life dismissed in such a way, but more offended for Rosalind, because to judge from her face, she felt the cut more keenly.
‘Really? He did not look more than forty-five in the photographs. But perhaps they are not recent?’
Ailsa stared at her, then quite suddenly a flash of amusement lit her face, almost appreciation. Charlotte realised she respected someone who would fight back. She smiled at Ailsa with all the considerable charm she could call on when she wished, and saw the recognition of it, and a quick acknowledgement.
They took their seats and an expectant hush settled over the room. Dr Arbuthnott appeared, to applause, and the lecture began.
Certainly what he had to say was interesting, and to Charlotte completely unfamiliar, but she could not afford to turn her attention to it fully. She and Emily had finally decided to take seats on the aisle immediately behind those of Ailsa and Rosalind. This gave her the opportunity to watch them both, while still appearing to be fully intent upon the lecturer.
Of course it would be ill-mannered to whisper to each other during the time when Dr Arbuthnott was actually speaking, but it seemed to Charlotte completely natural, and even expected, that at suitable moments one would speak to one’s companion to remark on something of particular beauty or surprise. She did so to Emily without giving it thought.
Then she faced forward again, and began to study the two women in front of her. Both sat straight up, as governesses would have taught them. Beauty was a gift; deportment was acquired, as was graceful speech both in timbre and pronunciation. Having something of interest to say was, of course, quite another matter.
Rosalind inclined very slightly towards Ailsa, and murmured to her, but so quietly Charlotte did not hear any of it.
Ailsa nodded, but did not reply. She did not lean her body towards Rosalind. A moment later she looked around the audience as discreetly as was possible, as if searching for someone she knew. Apparently she did not find them, because she did so again at the next opportunity, without being obvious about it. Charlotte was very curious as to who it might be.
She learned who, later in the evening after the lecture itself was finished and refreshments were offered. Many people congratulated Dr Arbuthnott and asked him further questions about the power and beauty of the far northern oceans.
Emily was in close conversation with Rosalind, and Charlotte had decided to follow behind Ailsa as closely as she could without being obvious. She made herself appear to be looking for an acquaintance, and felt as if she were behaving like a complete eccentric. She hoped she would never have to meet any of those people again socially. Possibly if they thought she was peculiar enough, they would take trouble to avoid her?
She was abundantly rewarded. She followed where she had seen Ailsa disappear, presumably seeking a little respite from the stuffiness and intense conversation of the room. She had walked quite casually under an elaborate archway leading to a side room, a minor gallery. It was beautifully proportioned but leading nowhere except to a large window.
Charlotte did not want a confrontation. It would be far too clumsy, and unmistakable that she had seen Ailsa go in and chosen to follow her. She dared not even go too close, because there were several very fine mirrors, and her passing in front of one would catch anybody’s eye.
Then she stopped abruptly. Inadvertently she had placed herself exactly where she could see Ailsa reflected in a mirror to her side, giving a clear profile angled in a further mirror beyond Charlotte’s line of sight. She could not take her eyes from it! Ailsa was standing quite still beside Edom Talbot. From their closeness to each other, and the look on Talbot’s face, there was no one else in the room. He moved a little behind her so Charlotte could see only his arms as they gently curved around Ailsa’s waist, and his shoulders above hers. She was tall, but he was several inches taller again. He was not a handsome man, but he was in a way distinguished, and quite unmistakable.
Ailsa did not move. She was smiling slightly, as though not only pleased but faintly amused.
Talbot’s hands moved up a little from her waist, gradually inch by inch until he caressed her breasts. He did it with some confidence, as if he did not expect to be denied.
Charlotte studied Ailsa’s face and saw her expression freeze. The gesture had not surprised her, but she found it distasteful. Charlotte could feel it as if it were her own body being touched. She saw the muscles in Ailsa’s neck and throat clench as if she almost stopped breathing.
Charlotte’s mind raced. Why did she endure it? She did not believe for an instant that Ailsa did not know how to deal completely effectively with such a thing. She had only to turn around sharply and confront him, or – even more simply than that – take a very carefully judged step back and put her heel on the instep of his foot, and then her weight. She was a handsomely built woman. The pain would be excruciating. She could pretend it was accidental, and they would both know it was entirely on purpose. And yet she did not.
Talbot bent his head and began to kiss her gently along the back of her neck and shoulder. She seemed to struggle to master her feelings. He could not see her face, only Charlotte could, and she read the revulsion in it as if it had been her own.
Then Ailsa turned and kissed him back quickly and pulled away. She said something, and Talbot smiled back. They began to move.
Charlotte dared stay no longer. There were too many mirrors. She could not afford to be caught staring. One meeting of the eyes and she would never be able to deny it.
Charlotte had no opportunity to tell Emily until they were in the carriage again on the way home, mov
ing swiftly through the brightly lit traffic.
‘What?’ Emily said incredulously. ‘You must be mistaken! Are you sure it was Ailsa?’
‘Yes, of course I am. Apart from her gown, which was quite individual, I could see her face!’
‘Then maybe it wasn’t Talbot! Could Dudley Kynaston have arrived, and we didn’t see him?’ Emily persisted.
‘Dudley? She’s the widow of the brother he adored!’ Charlotte protested.
‘Don’t be naïve!’ Emily said, more with disbelief than criticism. ‘Bennett is dead! What greater compliment could the devoted Dudley give him than to step into his shoes?’
‘That’s disgusting!’ Charlotte retorted. ‘Would you be as quick into my shoes?’
Emily smiled. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I think Thomas is rather sweet! And he’d never be boring! Would he?’
Charlotte realised she was being teased just in time to avoid making a fool of herself, and perhaps making a remark whose sting would linger far more than she intended.
‘He snores,’ she said.
Emily looked crushed. ‘Does he?’
‘No!’
Emily sighed. ‘Jack does. He looks quite beautiful asleep, with those eyelashes. But he does snore – sometimes.’
Charlotte swivelled around. ‘Emily, were you serious that Ailsa could be the mistress that Dudley is so desperate to keep quiet about?’
Emily was immediately sober again. ‘Well, it would make sense, wouldn’t it? It isn’t that it’s so terribly scandalous, so much as it is a desecration of his adored dead brother.’ She stopped. ‘Except that Rosalind told me Ailsa never really got over Bennett. She’s still in love with him.’
‘Perhaps Dudley reminds her of him?’ Charlotte thought aloud. ‘And in a weak moment, a lonely one, she slipped up?’
‘What? And now she can’t say no?’ Emily asked incredulously. ‘Yes, she could. I’ll wager Ailsa could say no to anyone – and mean it. If she’s playing along, then there’s something she wants.’