by Anne Perry
“Sir?” Stoker interrupted Pitt’s thoughts, impatient to know why he had been sent for.
“Sit down,” Pitt told him.
Stoker obeyed, not taking his eyes from Pitt’s face.
Very briefly Pitt told him the history of events in Resurrection Row, the spectacular disinterment of corpses to expose murder and corruption, over a decade ago, and his first encounter with Somerset Carlisle.
Stoker stared at him with disbelief, laughter, and then amazement.
“Sorry, sir,” he said, regaining a more sober expression. “You’re not saying Carlisle’s behind these bodies, are you? I could see why the other, but …” His eyes widened. “You are! Why? This is … grotesque …”
“So was the other, believe me,” Pitt answered him. “And yes, I am sorry but I think he is behind these bodies, too. He has the ingenuity and the means—”
“Not without help, sir!” Stoker interrupted.
“I daresay his manservant is involved, and would probably die before admitting it. He’s been with Carlisle for thirty years. I looked into that.”
“But why?” Stoker demanded. Then he stopped abruptly, understanding flooding his face. “To force you to investigate Kynaston!” Stoker let out his breath in a sigh. “So we are talking treason, sir?”
“Yes, we are. Sir John Ransom suspects it, at least—but there is no evidence, no proof.”
“That’s … very ugly. Then we have to get him, whatever it costs. I’d like to meet this fellow, Carlisle. Shake his hand.”
Pitt felt oddly elated. He had been afraid Stoker would resent Carlisle’s interference and deplore his bizarre behavior. Stoker went up not only in his professional estimation but also in his personal regard. For all his outwardly dour demeanor and his lack of relationships or ordinary pastimes, his loyalties were unbreakable, and now it seemed that beneath the rigid exterior he had a powerful imagination.
“I’ll see that it is arranged,” Pitt promised. “If it doesn’t occur anyway in the natural course of events.”
“Thank you, sir,” There was barely a flicker in Stoker’s eyes, but for an instant his mouth twitched as if he were going to smile, perhaps within himself, even to laugh.
“Now we have to find Kitty Ryder,” Pitt continued. “You may take two other men to help you, if you wish. It is no longer a matter of solving a murder already committed; it is preventing a continuing betrayal of our naval weaponry secrets. Do not repeat that. As far as anyone else is concerned, she is a witness in danger.”
“Yes, sir. If Kynaston knows that, then won’t he be looking for her as well?” Stoker’s face was bleak with anxiety.
“That is the next thing I am going to do,” Pitt replied. “Find out exactly what steps Kynaston has taken to find her.”
Stoker stood up. “Who’s he passing secrets through? We need to know that, sir. And make damn sure no one else does.”
“I realize that, Stoker! He won’t be in it all by himself.”
Stoker frowned. “What the hell makes a man like Kynaston betray his country? It has to be for something more than money. No one in the world has enough money to buy your life, your decency, your home, your friends! Your sleep at night …”
“I don’t know,” Pitt admitted. “Perhaps love?”
“Infatuation!” Stoker said with disgust. “What kind of love can you offer anyone if you’ve sold your honor? And they certainly don’t love you if they ask it!”
“I wasn’t thinking of the love of men for women.” Pitt was framing the thought as he spoke. “But perhaps your child’s life? If we care about anything at all, we give hostages to fortune.”
“Kynaston’s children?” Stoker was clearly turning it over in his mind. “They’re all adult, or almost. But I will get someone to check on them, if you think it’s worth it?”
“Yes, do that, before you start off to look for Kitty again.”
As Stoker left, Pitt turned his own attention to Kynaston. If Kitty had stumbled across dangerous information, and fled in fear for her life, then surely Kynaston would have attempted to find her himself? However frightened she was, there was always the possibility of her confiding in someone else, even if only for her own safety, or relief from the burden of carrying such knowledge alone.
Except that if she told anyone that Dudley Kynaston was a traitor to his country, who would believe her? It would inevitably create a stir and give away her whereabouts. If she was truly terrified, it would be far wiser to disappear and become as close to invisible as possible.
Would Kynaston then look for her? Or trust that she would be too frightened, and too wise, to repeat anything?
He would hardly go around the pubs and backstreets himself. A certain degree of inquiry for her would be natural. She was in his care and had disappeared from his house. A decent man would not need to explain why he had done such a thing. Perhaps it would be interesting to see his reaction to the question.
Pitt realized, as he set out to begin his own discreet inquiries as to whether it was Kynaston who was pursuing Kitty Ryder, that he still found it difficult to believe that Kynaston was a traitor and—given the right motive and opportunity—would also murder one of his servants, in order to protect himself.
Pitt could have given the job to one of his juniors. It was sufficiently important to move someone from one of the multitude of tasks that fell to Special Branch. But he did not wish any further men involved. He was not prepared to explain the reason to Talbot, or anyone else, should Kynaston hear of it and complain.
HE SPENT MOST OF the day doing the same kind of police work he had done in the past when investigating a murder. He went from place to place, asking openly about Kitty Ryder, obliquely about other inquiries for her.
In many accounts, he recognized Stoker as the questioner. But there were others in which the inquirer was fairly plainly Norton, Kynaston’s butler.
“Yes, sir,” the barman at the Pig and Whistle replied, shaking his head sadly. “Nice gent, Mr. Norton. All very proper, like wot you’d expect a butler to be, but right concerned ’e were, for sure.” He wiped his hands on his apron. “Reckoned as she were sort of ’is family, like. I told ’im all I know’d, which weren’t much. ’E thanked me nicely, good tip, but no matter ’ow much I’d ’a liked to, I couldn’t ’elp ’im. I ain’t got no idea where she went, nor why, for that matter.”
“Did you ever ask?” Pitt pressed.
The man shook his head. “Well, there were Mrs. Kynaston’s coachman, too. ’E pressed kind of ’ard, but like I told ’im, I can’t tell you wot I don’t know. ’E asked after young Dobson, an’ I told ’im all I know about ’im, too.”
Interesting, Pitt thought. So Rosalind had sent someone herself, apparently someone who took the issue a little further.
Pitt thanked the barman and went to look for other traces of Harry Dobson, to see if the coachman had followed up on the information. He was not surprised to find that he had, although it took Pitt the rest of the afternoon and all the following day to be certain of it. It seemed as if the coachman had been given the time and had used it with diligence and imagination, but no success. It spoke much for Stoker’s skill that he had at least found Dobson, if not before Kitty had moved on.
Perhaps he should not have been surprised. Kitty had been Rosalind’s maid. It appeared that the loyalty had run in both ways. Charlotte would have combed London to find Minnie Maude if she had disappeared, regardless of her own danger, never mind cost or inconvenience.
Pitt decided that, before speaking to Kynaston himself, he would find the coachman and ask him at what point he had given up. It was unlikely he had anything to add that would be helpful in finding Kitty now, but he should not overlook the chance.
“No, sir. I’m sorry, sir.” The coachman looked puzzled. He stood in the stable just outside the loose boxes where the horses were peering curiously at Pitt. The groom was coming and going with hay.
Pitt enjoyed the familiar sensations that took him back t
o his childhood: hay and straw; clean leather; linseed oil; the sounds of horses themselves shifting from foot to foot, munching now and then, blowing air out through their nostrils.
“It’s not something to apologize for,” he told the man. “It’s to your credit.”
“I wish I ’ad, sir,” the coachman assured him. “But I didn’t. Ask Mr. Kynaston, sir. I were busy on ’is errands, or else taking the mistress to where she went.”
“Wasn’t it Mrs. Kynaston who asked you to look for Kitty?”
“No, sir. She were upset she’d gone, like, but she never asked me ter go lookin’ for ’er. Reckon as she ran off with that carpenter fellow she were courtin’. Only Mr. Norton thought she might not ’ave. An’ young Maisie.” He smiled and tipped his head. “Too smart by ’alf for a scullery maid, that one. Either she’ll make ’er fortune, or she’ll come ter no good.”
Pitt was puzzled. The barman had been sure of himself, and the information he had given Pitt had been correct. He had followed it and found the coachman’s trail, until he, too, had given up.
“You were seen and identified,” Pitt told him. “Why on earth deny it? It’s a perfectly decent thing to do. I know exactly where you went.”
“ ’Ceptin’ I didn’t,” the man insisted. “Whoever said it were me were lyin’. You ask Mr. and Mrs. Kynaston. They’ll tell you.”
Pitt stared at the man, who looked back at him without a shadow of guile. Then suddenly a completely different thought occurred to him. Ailsa was also “Mrs. Kynaston.” Was it possible she had offered her footman for the task, and this man was telling the truth?
Why would Ailsa do such a thing? As a favor to Rosalind, so her husband did not know? That answer was laden with several possibilities, the first to his mind was that Rosalind suspected her husband of some involvement in Kitty’s disappearance and dared not have him know she was still pursuing it.
“It seems they were mistaken,” Pitt conceded. “Perhaps they said what they thought I wanted to hear. Thank you.” He turned and left, his mind racing through other scenes and ideas.
For example, was Ailsa looking for Kitty for Rosalind’s sake, or for Kynaston’s? Was she trying to prove him innocent, for all their sakes? If Kitty was alive, then there was no murder connected with the Kynaston house.
He walked to the areaway, weaving his path through the ash cans and coke scuttles, and went up the step to the scullery door.
He was still too early to see Kynaston himself, so he waited in the morning room. He would have preferred the kitchen, but Norton saw to it that he did not linger there. It was in the guise of hospitality, but Pitt had a strong feeling that it was actually to keep him from overhearing the servants’ gossip.
By the time Kynaston appeared, Pitt had made up his mind. He would dislike forcing him to answer, but it would not be the first time a man he had personally liked had been guilty of appalling crimes.
Kynaston came in looking tired and cold, but his manner was as charming as ever.
“Good evening, Commander Pitt. How are you?” He held out his hand.
Pitt took it, something he would not normally do when interviewing someone he suspected. “Well, thank you,” he replied. “I’m sorry to disturb you yet again, but this time I have happier news.”
“Good. I’m delighted.” Kynaston smiled and offered Pitt a seat beside the fire, and whisky if he wished it. Again Pitt declined. One did not accept hospitality in such circumstances.
Before he gave the news he mentioned his conversation with the coachman. Kynaston was bound to hear of it, and one did not speak to a man’s servants without saying so to him, even if it was rather asking for permission after the event.
“I spoke to your coachman,” he said casually. “We are still looking for Kitty Ryder, and in our search we’ve come across what seems to be evidence that he had looked for her also—possibly in his own hours, but more likely at your request …”
Kynaston looked baffled. “Hopgood? Are you certain? It was not at my request, I assure you. I’m surprised he had the time. Perhaps he had … an affection for her? She was a very handsome girl. I admit that had not occurred to me.”
“So it was not at your request?” Pitt asked.
Kynaston’s look did not waver. “No. I had Norton make a few inquiries, 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 color made even warmer by the gas lamp 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 slightly 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. I don’t know where she is, but you and your household are relieved of all suspicion in her disappearance. 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 medieval French history, smiling to herself as they pretended t
o 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 gas lamp was lit. The fire flickered gently in the hearth and every so often settled lower as the wood collapsed. It was Charlotte who leaned forward and put on more fuel: 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 farther. “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!”
