Anne Perry - Death On Blackheath

‘What about this new guv’nor, Pitt?’ she asked. ‘Does he work as hard as you do? Or does he go back to a nice big house somewhere with servants to look after him and parties to go to?’

Stoker laughed. ‘Pitt? He’s not a gentleman, Gwen. He’s an ordinary man, like anyone. Worked his way up. He’s got a decent home, on Keppel Street, but no mansion. You’d like his wife. I don’t know her well, but she’s not all that different from you.’ He looked around the room quickly. ‘Kitchen’s bigger than this one, but like it; smells of clean laundry and bread as well.’

She looked at him and smiled back. ‘So why the face? And you might be Special Branch, an’ all that, but you never could fool me, and you can’t now, so don’t waste both our time trying it.’

‘Where is she?’ he said simply.

‘In love with the man she ran off with?’ she suggested, reaching out to pour him another cup of tea.

He raised his eyebrows. ‘It’s been over four weeks since she disappeared. No one’s that much in love.’

She shook her head. ‘You know, Davey, sometimes I worry about you. Have you ever been really in love? You haven’t, have you? When you are, you can’t see anything else, believe me. You walk into a hole in the road, because your head’s in the air and your eyes full of dreams. Would you like some cake?’

‘Yes, and no, not so that I fall into holes in the road,’ he answered.

She stood up, still looking at him. ‘You’ve got your head screwed on all right, so tight it’s a wonder you can fasten your shirt collar.’ She opened the pantry cupboard and took out the cake, cutting a really large wedge for him and putting it on a plate.

‘Thank you,’ he accepted, taking a bite of it immediately. ‘That isn’t the answer, Gwen,’ he said with his mouth full. ‘She knew something, and that’s why she ran away. And the only thing that’d be safe for her is if she came out from wherever she’s hiding and told people. Then there’d be no point in hurting her, it would only prove she was right.’

‘For heaven’s sake, use your common sense!’ she said exasperatedly. ‘Who’s going to believe a lady’s maid over a lord, or his wife?’

‘He’s not a lord, he’s an inventor of some sort, working on experiments with new undersea weapons.’

‘Under the sea?’ she said incredulously. ‘To kill what? The fish?’

‘Ships,’ he said succinctly. ‘Hole them under the waterline, where they’ll sink.’

‘Oh.’ She paled. ‘And you’re saying he isn’t a gentleman either?’

‘No! He’s a gentleman, and he’s got money and influence. And I suppose you’re right, she’d have to have proof, and maybe she doesn’t. I’ve got to find her, Gwen. I’ve got to prove what happened to her, I just don’t know where else to try!’

She looked at him as if he were five again, and she were seven. ‘What do you know about her?’ she said patiently.

He described what he knew of her appearance. ‘And she came from the country,’ he added. ‘Somewhere in the west. The local police looked to see if she’d gone home, and she hasn’t.’

‘Well, she wouldn’t, if she were hiding, would she!’ Gwen said, shaking her head. ‘But she might go somewhere like it.’

‘We thought of that. We can’t find a trace of her at all.’ He heard the note of panic in his voice and deliberately lowered it. ‘She was very handsome to look at, easy to notice. And she was quick, and sometimes funny, so the other staff said, and her friends at the local pub. They were all surprised she took up with Harry Dobson. Said he wasn’t anywhere good enough for her.’

‘Nobody ever is,’ she said with a sudden wide smile. ‘But we love you anyway!’

She was teasing him and he relaxed a little, taking several more bites of the cake. She was a good cook, and the taste of it carried him back in memory to being home on leave from the sea, and sitting in another kitchen, before she moved out here to King’s Langley. Everything had been different there — sparser, poorer, much smaller, back door opening into a small, grubby yard — all except the cake. She never stinted with cake.

‘She liked the sea,’ he went on. ‘Used to carve little boats, real little tiny ones, out of soft wood. What kind of a man would kill her just because she couldn’t help seeing that he was having an affair? And he was. Pitt caught him in lies and he had to admit it. But Pitt doesn’t think Kynaston killed her. I think he’s off on another world sometimes.’

Gwen frowned. ‘It doesn’t make sense,’ she agreed. ‘Who’s she going to tell?’

‘His wife,’ he replied.

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ she said impatiently. ‘Do you think she doesn’t know? What’s she going to do about it? Nothing now — except pretend she didn’t see. It’s not a crime, just a betrayal. And nobody else will want to know, I can promise you that. It could upset all sorts of applecarts to be admitting to that kind of thing … unless …’ She stopped.

‘Unless what?’ He put the last of the cake into his mouth.

‘Unless it’s with someone that really matters?’ she answered thoughtfully. ‘Someone whose husband would throw her out. That could happen, and then she’d be ruined. That’s … possible … I suppose.’

‘How do you know about things like that?’ he said curiously.

‘For goodness’ sake!’ she repeated exasperatedly. ‘I was a laundress before I got married! I didn’t live all my life inside a box with the lid on, Davey!’ She stood up again. ‘You’d better go and catch your train, before it gets late and you’re out half the night. And don’t leave it so long next time.’ She came around the table and hugged him. He felt the warmth of her body, the softness of her hair, and how strong her arms were when she clung on to him. For a moment he hugged her hard in return, then put on his coat again and went out of the door into the yard and up the steps without looking back at the lights, or to see her standing there watching him.

While Stoker was in the train rattling through the darkening countryside back to London, Pitt was in the chair beside the fire in Vespasia’s sitting room with its warm, pale colours. He was so comfortable it was an effort to keep awake. The fire was burning low, its embers glowing, the light reflecting in the facets of the small crystal vase in which were a few delicate snowdrops. He was startled at how richly their perfume filled the room. There were faint sounds of footsteps in the hall, and now and then the patter of rain on the window. It was only the urgency of the matter weighing on his mind that prevented him from relaxing.

‘… Suspiciously, at the very last moment,’ he finished, describing the events of his rescue by Somerset Carlisle.

‘And the very best moment,’ she added drily. ‘That sounds exactly like Somerset, although unusually fortunate, even for him. I see that troubles you …’

‘I’ve been thinking about it,’ Pitt admitted. ‘Carlisle was the one who had asked the question in the House, making the whole issue far more public than it had been before. And yet he not only rescued me from Talbot, he rescued Kynaston, for the time being, from a situation that at the very best would have been embarrassing. At worst it would have brought him into suspicion of having killed and mutilated Kitty and put her body in the gravel pit. Why?’

‘Somerset is a good man,’ Vespasia said quietly, her mouth curving in a sweet smile, ‘if, as you say, a trifle eccentric now and then.’

‘That is a magnificent understatement,’ he observed.

She smiled very slightly. ‘I only overstate things when I am so angry I have lost my vocabulary,’ she answered.