Anne Perry - Death On Blackheath

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.’