by Anne Perry
‘Except that this wasn’t Dudley, it really wasn’t,’ Charlotte insisted. ‘He was a similar height, but it was very definitely Edom Talbot. I saw his face. It was a reflection, but it was perfectly plain. She allowed him to touch her in a very intimate way, but she had to force herself to.’
‘With Talbot,’ Emily said thoughtfully. For a little while she was silent. ‘There are so many possibilities,’ she said at last. ‘We need to discuss this. Come home with me and we’ll talk. It’s still early. I’ll have the carriage take you home after. Please?’
‘Of course,’ Charlotte said instantly. It did not matter whether it was really to discuss whatever they might have observed this evening, or simply because Emily did not want to go home alone – or even worse, to Jack being silent and withdrawn. Possibly he would even be tense about the situation with Kynaston, and therefore perhaps irritable. The very fact that he was not sharing his anxiety with Emily was the cause of hurt, whatever it was about. He probably thought he was protecting her. Men could be incredibly stupid sometimes, trip over the obvious, and still not see it.
But then Emily ought to know that by now, and not make an issue out of something that was not meant to be one.
Or on the other hand, perhaps Jack was drifting out of love, and a far bigger change was needed. And Charlotte was certainly not wise enough to answer that question. But she would go home with Emily and stay at least an hour, if Emily wished it.
‘Do you think it really could be all about Bennett?’ Charlotte asked when they were sitting beside the fire in Emily’s drawing room, which perfectly reflected her tastes and character in its rich golds and pinks, the flashes of red, and the paintings on the walls.
‘Why not?’ Emily asked. ‘He seems to have been reasonable, from what Rosalind says. And actually very nice. He was the handsomer of the two brothers and, at the time he died, he was considered the one with the greatest promise.’
Charlotte thought for a minute, knowing Emily was watching her. ‘That sounds a little difficult to live with,’ she said at last. ‘I wouldn’t entirely blame Dudley if his feelings about Bennett were a trifle mixed. Although Thomas did say he still keeps a portrait of Bennett in his study. He seemed to be devoted. He admired him enormously and in a way strove to be like him, even to finish some of the work Bennett began …’
Charlotte shivered. ‘Are you saying that now he wants to complete it by having an affair with Bennett’s widow?’
‘Well, it’s not impossible, is it?’
‘No …’
‘In fact it’s not completely impossible that he started the affair before Bennett was dead!’ Emily continued.
‘But if Bennett were all that marvellous, why was Ailsa willing to betray him, and with his own brother?’ Charlotte argued.
Emily pulled her mouth into a grimace. ‘Not all men who seem handsome and clever and charming are all that interesting when you get to know them … well …’
‘You mean in bed?’
‘Of course I do.’ Then Emily laughed. ‘Oh dear! I’m not talking about Jack. That did sound a bit clumsy, didn’t it?’
Charlotte was too relieved to argue. ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘It definitely did! But I accept your denial. Do you really think it could go that far back? That’s … years! Poor Rosalind. No wonder she looks a bit … crumpled.’
The shadow passed over Emily’s face again. ‘She does, doesn’t she?’ She hesitated. ‘Do I?’
Charlotte had walked straight into a trap – perhaps not an intentional one, but very complete none the less. And Emily would see a lie, or an evasion instantly. She always had done.
‘Compared with the way you usually are, yes, you do,’ she said, hating each word as it came from her mouth. Had Emily wanted her to lie, even if neither of them believed it? It was too late now. She had to add something, retrieve hope from it. ‘Because you believe Jack has fallen out of love with you,’ she added. ‘That doesn’t make it true! There are people who believe the world is flat! They even burned people for it, once.’
‘Actually several times,’ Emily said with an attempt at a smile.
‘What’s the point in burning anyone several times?’ Charlotte asked without taking a breath. ‘Seems a little excessive, doesn’t it?’
Emily laughed in spite of herself. ‘Are you trying to make me feel better?’
‘I’m trying to make you see sense.’ Charlotte poured some tea for each of them. It was Earl Grey, subtle and very fragrant; the exact opposite of the conversation.
‘I’ve had another thought,’ Emily went on. ‘It’s pretty awful! But what if Dudley and Ailsa really fell in love with each other, away back when she was married to Bennett? And what if it’s far worse than that? Are we absolutely certain that Bennett’s death was natural? He was awfully young to die, when he wasn’t fragile before.’
Charlotte was stunned. ‘You mean that Dudley killed him? That was the secret that Kitty found out? How on earth would she?’
‘I don’t know! Ladies’ maids find out all kinds of things. I’d hate even to imagine what mine knows about me. In some ways, more than Jack does. Even more than you do!’
Charlotte followed the thought. ‘Then why is Rosalind still alive and well? Or does she know, and has some kind of way of keeping herself safe? For heaven’s sake, why bother? What on earth is a husband worth if he would so much rather be somewhere else?’
‘Revenge? I don’t know.’ Emily leaned forward. ‘Maybe they didn’t kill Bennett. Maybe he found out and was so broken-hearted he committed suicide, and they covered it up? I’m sure a decent doctor could be persuaded to be discreet.’
‘And that’s the scandal?’ Charlotte thought about it for several moments. ‘That would be pretty awful, wouldn’t it? What a betrayal! What a rotten tragedy. Dudley couldn’t afford to let that be known. It’s so … ugly!’ She shut her eyes as if she could make the thought disappear. ‘I wonder if you go on loving someone after that, or if you end up hating them because every time you think of them, even see their face, you are reminded of what you have become because of your feeling for them. Don’t you think a really good love should make you strive to be the very best you can? The noblest, the bravest, the gentlest?’
Emily stared at her. ‘Yes,’ she said very quietly. Slowly her shoulders eased as the tension slipped away from her. ‘Yes. I do.’ She smiled. ‘I’m glad you came this evening, and that you said what you did. I want to think about myself, for a little while, and what I need to do. We’ll go on with the wretched Kynastons tomorrow, or the next day.’ She reached for the bell to ask the footman to fetch the carriage round to take Charlotte home.
Chapter Fifteen
PITT HAD debated the issue briefly with himself as to whether he should repeat to Stoker the information he had received from Carlisle, with the obvious necessity that he must also tell him all that he knew about Carlisle. That included the history between them, or as much of it as was required to have Stoker understand why Pitt trusted him, and the nature of the debt he felt towards him.
He realised the following morning that in fact the conflict in his mind was only as to how he would do it, what words he would use, and how much he could avoid discussing it all. It had begun with Carlisle owing a debt to Pitt for his silence in the Resurrection Row affair. Then, over the years, the balance had shifted the other way. Now, with the rescue from Talbot, the weight was on the other side: Pitt owed the greater debt.
Was that so Carlisle could collect the payment now? That was unlike the man Pitt had known. He would have abhorred such manipulation. Then what for? It surely had to do with debt – and honour.
There was a sharp tap on the door. He had barely answered it when it opened and Stoker came in, closing it behind him. He looked scrubbed and eager, but there were dark lines of tiredness in his face, hollows around the eyes. He had pursued this case as if something he had learned about the missing woman had made her particularly real to him.
But then Stoker was
a man who did not do anything in half-measure. If he would have denied caring about the woman and said it was simply the best way to do the job, he would have been wrong: it was both.
‘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 apologised, 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 dare say 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! But what for? He didn’t kill Kitty Ryder, because no one did. What could she know about him that would be worth that much? And how would Carlisle hear about it anyway? She wouldn’t know someone like that … would she?’
‘I doubt it. Carlisle knows about it from Sir John Ransom.’
‘Oh!’ Stoker let out his breath in a sigh. ‘Are we talking treason, sir?’
‘Yes, we are.’
‘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 behaviour. Stoker went up not only in his professional estimation but also in his personal regard. For all his outwardly dour demeanour 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 realise 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 honour? 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 have hostages to fortune.’
‘Kynaston’s children?’ Stoker was clearly turning it over in his mind. ‘They’re all adult, or almost. But I will put someone into checking up 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 information dangerous to him, 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 were 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 enquiry 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 realised, as he set out to begin his own discreet enquiries 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 enquiries for her.
In many accounts he was told of he recognised Stoker, but there were others in which the enquirer 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 him 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,’ the coachman looked puzzled. He stood in the stable just outside the looseboxes 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 to 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 apologise 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?