Death On Blackheath

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?

Why would Ailsa do such a thing? As a favour to Rosalind, so her husband did not know? That answer was laden with several possibilities, the first to his mind was that Rosalind suspected her husband of some involvement in Kitty’s disappearance and dared not have him know she was still pursuing it.

‘It seems they were mistaken,’ Pitt conceded. ‘Perhaps they said what they thought I wanted to hear. Thank you.’ He turned and left, his mind racing through other scenes and ideas.

For example, was Ailsa looking for Kitty for Rosalind’s sake, or for Kynaston’s? Was she trying to prove him innocent, for all their sakes? If Kitty were alive, then there was no murder connected to the Kynaston house.

He walked to the areaway, weaving his path through the ash cans and coke scuttles, and went up the step to the scullery door.

He was still too early to see Kynaston himself, so he waited in the morning room. He would have preferred the kitchen, but Norton saw to it that he did not linger there. It was in the guise of hospitality, but Pitt had a strong feeling that it was actually to keep him from overhearing the servants’ gossip.

By the time Kynaston appeared Pitt had made up his mind. He would dislike forcing him to answer, but it would not be the first time a man he had personally liked had been guilty of appalling crimes.

Kynaston came in looking tired and cold, but his manner was as charming as ever.

‘Good evening, Commander Pitt. How are you?’ He held out his hand.

Pitt took it, something he would not normally do when interviewing someone he suspected. ‘Well, thank you,’ he replied. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you yet again, but this time I have happier news.’

‘Good. I’m delighted.’ Kynaston smiled and offered Pitt a seat beside the fire, and whisky if he wished it. Again Pitt declined. One did not accept hospitality in such circumstances.

Before he gave the news he mentioned his conversation with the coachman. Kynaston was bound to hear of it, and one did not speak to a man’s servants without saying so to him, even if it was rather asking for permission after the event.

‘I spoke to your coachman,’ he said casually. ‘We are still looking for Kitty Ryder, and in our search we’ve come across what seems to be evidence that he had looked for her also — possibly in his own hours, but more likely at your request …’

Kynaston looked baffled. ‘Hopgood? Are you certain? It was not at my request, I assure you. I’m surprised he had the time. Perhaps he had … an affection for her? She was a very handsome girl. I admit, that had not occurred to me.’

‘So it was not at your request?’ Pitt asked.

Kynaston’s look did not waver. ‘No. I had Norton make a few enquiries, but that was some time ago. He was happy to do it, but he had no success. I began to accept that she ran off with her young man, in what I regret to say was a very callous manner. I would have expected her to have the courtesy to give notice, as one would normally do. My wife was distressed, as we all were. It was an uncharacteristically thoughtless thing to do.’

‘Hopgood assured me that he had not looked for her, either on his own or at your instruction,’ Pitt agreed. ‘I mention it only because no doubt you will come to hear of it, and possibly Mrs Kynaston will also.’

‘Thank you.’ Kynaston still looked puzzled. He had taken whisky for himself and sat with the glass in his hand, its rich colour made even warmer by the gaslamp now lit, and the reflection of the fire.

‘Possibly it was Mrs Ailsa Kynaston’s coachman?’ Pitt suggested.

Kynaston’s hand tightened on his glass so hard that the liquid spilled a drop with the change of position.

‘Ailsa? I think that’s … unlikely.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Unless Rosalind asked her to? Or she imagined she could help …’ He left the idea unfinished.

‘Perhaps the informants told us what they thought we wished to hear,’ Pitt said smoothly. ‘It happens sometimes. Anyway, it is of far less importance now, since we are sure beyond any question whatever that neither of the bodies in the gravel pits was that of Kitty Ryder. The second one did not resemble her closely enough, and she has been seen alive and well sometime after the first body was found. I don’t know where she is, but you and your household are relieved of all suspicion in her disappearance. And — perhaps more relevantly — you no longer need to grieve at the thought of her being dead. I’m sorry it had to touch you at all.’ He stared at Kynaston, watching every muscle in his face, his neck, his shoulders, one hand on his glass and the other on the arm of the chair. He saw the tension like a bowstring. Kynaston all but stopped breathing.

Pitt smiled blandly, as if he had not noticed, but he did not speak. The whole art was to leave Kynaston floundering, offer him nothing to reply to.

Finally Kynaston moved, with just an easing of his shoulders as he drew in a deep breath. He set the whisky glass down.

‘That is a great relief. My wife will be delighted. It was a very poor way to behave, but thank God Kitty was not … killed.’ He pulled his face into an expression of revulsion. ‘Presumably you will no longer be wasting your time looking for her. A very good result all round, even if it was hard to reach. I cannot imagine what the stupid girl was thinking of! Still, it hardly matters now.’

‘Indeed,’ Pitt nodded. ‘Of course we still have to discover the identity of the two women who were found, but that will be a job for the local police.’

Kynaston let out a long, slow breath and his body slumped a little in the chair. ‘Thank you. It is most considerate of you to come and inform me personally, Commander.’ He stood up slowly, as if he were a little stiff. ‘I hope we shall meet again soon, in pleasanter circumstances.’

‘I hope so,’ Pitt agreed. ‘Good night, sir.’

Pitt arrived home earlier than he had done for several evenings and was able to have dinner with Charlotte and both his children. He put Kynaston out of his mind and listened to their conversation, their news and their ideas. Daniel was full of his plan to play cricket in the coming summer and could think of little else. He talked about different strokes, catches, styles of bowling and batting, but to Pitt’s pleasure and carefully concealed amusement, he also spoke of strategy. He explained it at some length over the first course and well into pudding, his face alight with enthusiasm. Various condiments were moved around the table to represent different ways of placing his fielders.

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.’

The waiter arrived with the next course. They were silent until he was gone.

‘Then we have something of a test before we decide what it is that Dudley Kynaston cares about even more than his country,’ Narraway said. ‘But perhaps not this evening. Thank you for listening. I very much wished to share my thoughts with you. You always make things seem clearer. Would you like some wine?’

Silently she held out her glass. ‘A debt that honour demands he must pay,’ she said quietly.

‘What debt of honour could he owe greater than that to his country?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. We must find out.’