Pitt smiled, although he felt very little humour. The last thing he wanted to do was disturb the Kynaston family again, but it had to be done some time. Perhaps it was not only the most efficient thing to do, but also the kindest not to leave the news, which would inevitably reach them, hanging over their heads like the sword of Damocles.
He came to the entrance to the pit, spoke briefly to the sergeant, then set out briskly to walk to the Kynaston house.
Because of the early hour of the morning, he went again to the back door. He did not want to be announced and ask permission to speak to the servants, with an explanation, and possibly an argument about the body in the gravel pit.
The areaway steps were scrubbed and clean, nothing worse on them now than a thin rime of ice, slick on top from the misty rain. He went down carefully, and knocked on the scullery door.
After several moments it was opened by Maisie, the little scullery maid. For a moment she was confused. He was obviously not a delivery man, and yet she was aware that she knew him.
‘Good morning, Maisie,’ he said quietly. ‘Commander Pitt, Special Branch, you remember? May I come in?’
‘Oh, yeah!’ Her face lit with a smile. Then she recalled his original reason for coming, and suddenly she was terrified. ‘Yer found Kitty, ’ave yer?’ She wanted to add more, but the rest of her thoughts were clearly too hideous to speak aloud.
‘I don’t know,’ he answered, still keeping his voice low so as not to attract the attention of the other servants in the kitchen a few yards away. ‘You will hear very soon, probably from the first delivery boy of the day, that we’ve found a woman’s body up in the gravel pits, not far from here. It’s difficult to tell who she is.’
Maisie gulped but she did not reply.
He pulled the handkerchief and the key out of his pocket. ‘Have you seen this handkerchief before, or one like it?’
She took it gingerly as if it were a live thing that might have bitten her. Very carefully she opened it out.
‘It’s pretty,’ she said with a shiver. ‘If she got one like this, mister, she’s a lady. It’s got summink stitched on it in the corner, ’ere …’ She held it out.
‘Yes, it’s a letter “R”. I imagine it belonged to someone whose name begins with “R”.’
‘Kitty don’t begin with an “R”,’ she said with certainty. ‘I can’t read, but I know that much.’
‘The thing is,’ he said as casually as possible, ‘it may not be her own handkerchief. As you said, ladies have ones like this. It may have been given to her by someone …’
The understanding in Maisie’s face was immediate. ‘You mean the woman wot you found could be Kitty, and someone give it ’er?’
‘It’s possible. If we could find out whose handkerchief it is, then it might help us to know if this is Kitty, or not.’
‘Did she drown in the pits?’ Maisie asked. She was shaking now, as if they were standing outside in the wind and the ice.
‘I don’t know yet.’ He had no choice but to be honest. Evasion would only make it worse. He showed her the key. ‘Do you have any keys like this in the house?’
She frowned. ‘Everybody does. What’s it for?’
‘Probably a cupboard, or a desk drawer.’ He offered it to her.
She picked it up reluctantly, then walked over to one of the cupboards on the further side of the room. She tried it in the lock, and it would not fit. She tried a second, and a third with no success. On the fourth one it slipped in and after a little difficulty, it turned.
‘There y’are,’ she said, her face still white. ‘We all got cupboards a bit like that. Don’t mean nothing. Mister, can’t you do summink ter know if it’s our Kitty?’
She had made the point well. It was a very ordinary key that might fit some lock or other in any of a hundred houses in the area, or for that matter, out of it. It probably served more as a handle than a device of security.
‘She was only discovered this morning,’ he replied gently. ‘We’ll do all we can to find out who she is. A few more questions and we may be able to say at least whether it is Kitty or not. If it isn’t, then we need to know who she is. And you should go on believing that Kitty is somewhere alive and well, but perhaps too embarrassed to tell you why she ran off without saying goodbye to anyone.’
Maisie took a deep breath and let it out shakily. ‘Yeah … yeah, I will. Can I get yer a cup o’ tea? It’s fair perishin’ out there. Colder than a-’ She stopped abruptly.
‘Witch’s tit,’ he finished for her. He was perfectly familiar with the expression.
She blushed hotly, but she did not deny that that was what had been in her mind. ‘I didn’t say it,’ she murmured.
‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have,’ he apologised. ‘I beg your pardon.’
‘S’all right!’ Then she gave him a dazzling smile. ‘I’ll get yer a cup o’ tea, and tell Mr Norton as yer ’ere.’ And before he could protest she whisked away around the corner into the kitchen.
Fifteen minutes later, and after a good hot cup of tea, Pitt was in the butler’s pantry with a grim-faced Norton. It was quite a large room, painted cream and brown, and around the walls glass-fronted cupboards for the china and crystal in daily use. There were wooden horses for drying glass and tea cloths, a table for pressing cloths or ironing and folding newspapers. There were also all the usual keys, funnels, corkscrews, and — as was customary in most houses — a picture of the Queen.
‘Yes, sir, Mrs Kynaston has handkerchiefs similar to this,’ Norton agreed. ‘But I cannot say that this one is hers. She does occasionally give such things away, if she has new ones, or it is no longer … serviceable. Such as if it is frayed, or stained in some way. They do not last indefinitely.’ He looked at it again. ‘It is difficult to say, in this condition, what state it would be if washed and ironed.’
‘Yes, it is,’ Pitt agreed. ‘But the monogram is clearly an “R”.’
‘Many ladies’ names begin with an “R”,’ Norton pulled his lips tight. ‘As for the key, it is a very simple thing. I dare say half the houses in London have something it would open. I’m afraid we can be of no assistance to you.’
‘I have no wish that the poor woman in the gravel pit should be Miss Ryder,’ Pitt said with feeling. ‘But I am obliged to do all I can to find out who she was. She deserves a burial, and her family deserve to know what happened to her.’ He stood up from the stool where he had been sitting. ‘I preferred to come myself, since that was very much a possibility, rather than send a sergeant to disturb you at this hour.’
Norton stood also. ‘I apologise, sir. I was ungenerous,’ he said a little awkwardly. ‘It was a kindness that you came yourself. I hope you find out who the poor creature is. Apart from the handkerchief, and the fact that the gravel pit is not far away, is there anything that made you think it was Kitty Ryder?’
‘She was the height and build you described, and she had thick auburn hair,’ Pitt replied. ‘It is unusual colouring.’
Norton was momentarily stunned. ‘Oh dear. Oh — I’m very sorry. I … this is absurd. Whoever she is she deserves our pity. Just for a moment the thought of someone we know made it so much more … real.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I shall inform Mrs Kynaston of your call, sir, and your consideration. May I show you out?’
It took Pitt some time to find Zebediah Smith at his home, and confirm with him what the sergeant had told him. He was not surprised to learn nothing new. His real purpose was to satisfy his own mind that Zebediah was as straightforward as he seemed. The man was still visibly shaken when he told Pitt how he had set out for his usual walk, and in the darkness the keen nose of his dog had scented something different and gone to find it. Then it sat and howled until Smith had come up to it himself, and — in the light of his lantern — seen the pathetic corpse.
He shook his head. ‘Who’d do that to a woman?’ he said miserably. ‘What kind of a … I suppose I gotta call ’im a man, although ’e ain’t human. ’Ceptin’ animals don’t kill their own for nothing.’
‘There’ll be a reason, Mr Smith,’ Pitt replied. ‘It’s my job to find it — when we discover who she is.’
Zebediah looked up and met Pitt’s eyes. ‘Ain’t no reason to do that to anyone, sir, an’ I don’t care ’oo you
