Anne Perry - Death On Blackheath

Dora was strongly disapproving. She was a parlour maid, not someone to fetch and carry cups of tea to the likes of policemen and scullery maids, but she could not find the right words to say so.

Pitt’s smile widened. ‘Very helpful of you.’ He acknowledged her departure from duty, then followed Maisie along the corridor to the housekeeper’s sitting room. The housekeeper herself was no doubt about other duties necessitated by the alarming circumstances that had arisen this morning.

Pitt sat down in the armchair by the fire, which was newly lit and not yet warm. Maisie sat upright on the hard-backed chair opposite him.

‘What time did you come down to the kitchen this morning?’ Pitt started straight away.

‘’Alf-past five,’ she replied without hesitation. ‘I raked out the ashes an’ took ’em out ter the ash can in the yard. That was when I found the …’ she gulped, ‘… the blood … an’ that.’

‘About quarter to six?’

‘Yeah …’

‘It would be very dark then. How did you notice them? They weren’t all that close to the ash can,’ he pointed out. ‘Was there somebody else there, Maisie?’

She took a very deep breath, then let it out in a sigh. ‘Opposite’s boot boy, but ’e wouldn’t never ’ave done anything like that. ’Sides, ’e likes Kitty … I mean she were nice to ’im. ’E … ’e comes from the country an’ ’e misses ’is family, like.’ Her dark eyes stared unwaveringly at Pitt.

‘Who’s Kitty?’ he asked.

‘Kitty Ryder,’ she said as if he should have known. ‘Mrs Kynaston’s lady’s maid wot’s missing.’

‘How do you know she’s missing?’ he asked curiously. He knew that ladies’ maids seldom got up at half-past five.

‘’Cos she in’t ’ere,’ she replied reasonably, but he knew from the defiance in her face and her very slight sniff that she was perfectly aware of being evasive.

‘You thought the hair on the steps looked like Kitty Ryder’s?’ he pressed.

‘Yeah … some …’

A thought occurred to him, a chance to be seized before Dora came any moment with the tea, and, of course, remained as a chaperone.

‘And you were afraid something had happened to Kitty?’ he suggested.

‘Yeah … I …’ She stopped. She looked into his face and knew that somewhere there was a trap in the question, but she did not look away.

He heard Dora’s footsteps in the passage.

‘So Kitty might quite likely be on the areaway steps in the middle of a winter night, and possibly have a quarrel that could turn violent? A suitor you don’t like?’

‘A wot?’

‘A young man?’

Dora came in through the door balancing a tray with a teapot, milk jug, sugar bowl and two cups and saucers. She placed it on the table and stood back a little, her face stiff with disapproval.

Pitt nodded his thanks but kept his eyes on Maisie. ‘A young man,’ he repeated. ‘Kitty had a young man and she went out at night to meet him. That was why when you saw the blood and hair you immediately thought of her, and checked to see if she was home — and she wasn’t. Is that right?’

Maisie stared at him with respect, and a new fear. She nodded silently.

‘Thank you,’ Pitt acknowledged. ‘And did you find Kitty at all?’ He asked that with a deep sense of impending sadness. He already knew the answer.

Maisie shook her head. ‘She in’t nowhere.’

‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ he asked.

She nodded, still not taking her eyes from his face.

‘Dora, would you pour two cups of tea, please?’ Pitt requested. ‘I take mine with milk and no sugar. You’ll know how Maisie likes hers. Then perhaps you would find either the housekeeper or the butler for me and have them come here.’

Dora glared at him, but did as she was told. She had been brought up to be very careful never to make trouble with the police, whatever sort they were.

An hour later Pitt had learned all that he could from the staff. He and Stoker made a complete record of the areaway with sketches and diagrams, then went together to the withdrawing room to speak first to Dudley Kynaston. If necessary they would also speak to his wife.

The room was spacious, as Pitt had expected. Surprisingly, it was also comfortable, as though it were arranged for their own pleasure, not for entertaining, or to impress. The carpets were mellow and well-worn, the leather of the chairs creased into lines of comfort, cushions placed for ease. Kynaston was standing in the middle of the floor, but there was a pile of papers on the sofa where he had apparently been sitting. He must have heard their feet on the parquet of the hall, and risen to his feet. Pitt wondered if that were out of good manners, or the instinctive desire not to be at a disadvantage.

Kynaston was a tall man, almost Pitt’s own height. His face was handsome, regular featured, with thick fair hair greying at the temples. He looked unhappy, but not more anxious than any decent man should be at the thought of possible violence.

Pitt introduced himself and Stoker.

‘How do you do?’ Kynaston replied courteously, but to Pitt, merely nodding towards Stoker. ‘I don’t know how I can help you. I appreciate Special Branch’s concern, but if my unfortunate maid is involved, then it is probably no more than an unusually vicious quarrel. Perhaps some young man had too much to drink and was reluctant to take “no” for an answer. Unpleasant, but these things happen.’ He was politely telling Pitt that he was wasting his time, and he did not have the air of a man making excuses.

‘Is it usual for Miss Ryder to be about at this hour of the morning?’ Pitt asked him.

Kynaston shook his head fractionally. ‘No, that is most unusual. I can’t explain it. She is normally a very reliable girl.’

Pitt felt more than heard Stoker fidget from one foot to the other behind him.

‘You are sure she’s not anywhere in the house?’ Pitt asked.

‘There’s nowhere she can be.’ Kynaston looked confused. ‘She’s never done this before. But, from what the butler tells me, the mess on the area steps indicates a rather nasty quarrel. It’s all very unpleasant, and we shall have to let her go, but I hope she isn’t seriously hurt. Beyond permitting you to search the house for yourself, and question anyone you please, I can’t think of any way in which I can be of help.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Pitt responded. ‘Perhaps I could speak with Mrs Kynaston? I’m sure she will know more about the domestic servants. As you say, it is probably no more than a quarrel that became violent, and once we have found Kitty Ryder and assured ourselves that she is all right, then we can close the issue.’

Kynaston hesitated.

Pitt wondered if he were being protective of his wife, or afraid she might say something unintentionally indiscreet. It could be irrelevant to the hair and blood on the steps, possibly some other matter entirely, but one that he would still like to keep private. So many times Pitt had investigated one thing, only to uncover secrets of a completely different nature. Privacy, once intruded upon, was never entirely the same again. He felt a moment’s pity for Kynaston, and he regretted that he could not afford to indulge it.

‘Mr Kynaston?’ he prompted.

‘Yes … yes, of course,’ Kynaston said with a sigh. He reached over and rang the bell by the side of the fireplace. It was answered by the butler, a sober man, his pleasant face marred by an anxious frown. ‘Ah, Norton, would you please ask Mrs Kynaston to come to the withdrawing room?’ Clearly he had no intention of allowing Pitt to speak with her alone.

Norton retreated again and they waited in silence until the door opened and a woman came into the room. She was of average height and at first of very unremarkable appearance. Her hair was thick, but an ordinary shade of brown. Her features were regular, her eyes neither grey nor blue. When Pitt thought about it afterwards, he could not remember what she wore.