Death On Blackheath tp-29

by Anne Perry

  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 French Medieval history, smiling to herself as they pretended to 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 gaslamp was lit. The fire whickered gently in the hearth and every so often settled lower as the wood collapsed. It was Charlotte who leaned forward and put more fuel on: 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 further. ‘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!’

  Now he sat upright, instantly wide awake. ‘What? Who did you say?’

  ‘You heard me, Thomas. I was following her, and I saw her, reflected through two mirrors. He stood behind her and put his arms around her … intimately. I’d have broken the foot of anyone who did that to me, unless it were you.’

  ‘And she didn’t mind?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, she did mind, but she pretended not to. It took her a few seconds to master herself …’

  ‘Are you sure? How do you know?’

  ‘Because I could see her!’ she said fiercely. ‘Then she turned round and kissed him. But she had to make herself do it! Doesn’t that send a hundred questions racing around in your head?’

  ‘A couple of dozen anyway,’ he agreed. ‘I’d begun to wonder if she were Kynaston’s mistress. This makes it look very different.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ she argued. ‘Maybe she’s both?’

  ‘Both?’ he said incredulously. ‘Why would she allow Talbot to touch her, if she doesn’t like him? Is that to mislead people that she’s having an affair with him, and not with Kynaston?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Charlotte conceded. ‘But it seems like a lot of trouble when no one seems to suspect it anyway. Unless, of course, Rosalind does?’

  He was about to say something, but she rushed on. ‘But there are a whole lot of other possibilities, Thomas. What if they have been in love for a long time? Even when she was married to Bennett Kynaston?’

  ‘With Talbot?’ he said incredulously.

  ‘No, of course not! With Dudley! Maybe that’s why Bennett died so young?’

  ‘Of what? People can’t die of being betrayed, even by a wife and a brother. Or are you saying they killed him? Isn’t that a bit-’ He stopped. It was appalling, but then so was treason. Was it possible that the whole tragedy was domestic rather than political?

  ‘They might have,’ she answered. ‘That would be a terrible enough thing if Kitty Ryder found out. She’d run from that house, middle of the night or not! I would. And of course,’ she added, ‘the other possibility is that Rosalind found out, and she meant to kill them in revenge, or to expose them. That would be more effective-’

  ‘You’re letting your imagination run away with you,’ he told her sharply.

  ‘No, I’m not!’ she insisted. ‘You think just because Rosalind looks as if she hasn’t the fire to break the skin on a rice pudding, doesn’t mean she wouldn’t hold that over their heads!’

  ‘You don’t break the skin on a rice pudding with fire, darling!’

  ‘Don’t be pedantic!’ she said exasperatedly. ‘The flame inside her. There’s something all twisted up going on there, Thomas. I’m only giving you a few possibilities. It’s your job to find out which one is true.’

  He looked at her perched on the edge of the chair, her eyes bright, the firelight catching red and gold in her hair, her cheeks flushed. It was the last thing she would have thought about herself, but to him she was utterly beautiful.

  ‘You have enough flame inside you to cook me rice pudding for the rest of my life,’ he said, keeping his tone light, for fear emotion swallowed him up.

  ‘I didn’t think you liked rice pudding!’ she protested.

  ‘I don’t! But I like the flame!’

  She laughed and moved forward off the seat and into his arms.

  When Jack Radley telephoned Vespasia and asked if he might visit her in the afternoon, she was surprised, but she caught the edge of urgency in his voice.

  ‘Of course,’ she said, as if it would cause no inconvenience at all. She had intended to visit an old friend and spend a leisurely time looking at an exhibition of art. They had not met recently, except at such functions as allowed no serious conversation. She had been looking forward to it. She would have her maid send a note, with profuse apologies. Perhaps she should send Mildred flowers tomorrow? A family crisis Mildred would understand. She had daughters herself, and now granddaughters as well.

  Vespasia hesitated over offering tea. It was not a meal she imagined Jack to take, but it was an excuse to sit down and have an uninterrupted conversation. One never stopped until the full ritual had been observed. She believed that was what Jack wished for, even if a good stiff brandy would have been more to his taste.

  He arrived punctually. For a man as busy as he was, it was a nice compliment to her that he had taken such care. But then, he had always had perfect manners. It dated from his years when he had lived on his charm. He had been the sort of handsome young man who had wit, poise, grace, and the intelligence never to overstay his welcome in any one place. He dressed perfectly, was graceful on the dance floor, had seen most of the latest plays, and above all never gossiped or carried tales from one household to the next, or spoke afterwards of the ladies he had accompanied to one function or another. He never drew comparisons, or made promises he did not keep. His ability to charm was deeper than a surface ease. There was a quality to his nature that was worthy of respect.

  He came in now and greeted her warmly. The maid took his hat and coat, and he kissed Vespasia lightly on the cheek. He accepted her invitation to sit and assured her that he would be delighted to take tea with her.

  The years had been kind to him. The touch of grey at the temples lent him a maturity, the few fine lines in his face deepened the sense of character, even gravity rather than mere handsomeness. But in spite of his smile, she could see that he was worried.

  ‘Please, my dear, don’t waste time leading up gracefully to whatever it is that concerns you,’ she requested.

  He smiled, relief easing out the worst of the tension in his body.

  ‘Thank
you. I dare say Emily has told you that I have the offer of a position working with Dudley Kynaston. It is something I would enjoy. He is an interesting man with a fine mind, and — more than that — I would be working on something specific rather than chasing many general subjects.’ He hesitated. ‘However, I know that Thomas has been investigating Kynaston because of the maid that went missing from his house, and then the body in the gravel pit nearby, which so resembled her. Somerset Carlisle was asking questions in the House, with the unspoken implication that there was a scandal about to break. That has not happened, but neither has the maid been found, or the body identified.’ He stopped, waiting for Vespasia to offer some reaction.

  ‘Yes, I am aware of these things,’ she agreed. ‘You are concerned to make the right judgement?’

  He looked embarrassed. ‘I can’t afford to accept the position, and then find it has disappeared. I know Emily has private means, but I have always refused to live on her first husband’s estate, which is in trust for Edward, anyway. It is not pride, it is …’

  ‘Honour,’ she said for him. ‘It is not pompous to say so. I understand, and respect you for it. Not only can you not afford to lose the income from an excellent additional position to that of Member of Parliament, but you cannot afford the question of your judgement, should it transpire that Kynaston is involved in something uglier than unfaithfulness to his wife …’

  Jack winced. ‘You say that easily, as if I might think it acceptable …’

  She smiled at him. ‘You are too sensitive, my dear. I was not thinking anything of the sort. Whom you knew, or how well you knew them before you married Emily is not of interest to me, nor do I believe is it to her. It is completely unacceptable to me to betray trust, but I am perfectly aware that it happens far more often than one would wish. You cannot afford to judge other men on that, when considering whether you wish to work with them or not. It is a luxury beyond most of us, so we all pretend we do not know. On the whole, it works very well.’

  ‘Not if you murder the maid and dump her body in a nearby gravel pit,’ Jack said unhappily and with a hint of bitterness.

  ‘Have you asked Emily’s opinion about it?’ Vespasia asked, almost as if the idea had been an afterthought.

  Jack shook his head. ‘I don’t want to worry her with it. She shouldn’t be asked to make this decision for me, nor carry the burden of it if I’m wrong.’

  ‘She may wish to,’ Vespasia replied.

  ‘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.’