cautious.
Kynaston took a deep breath. ‘If she is unrecognisable, poor creature, why do you believe it may be Kitty?’
Pitt had seen people fight the inevitable before. It was the natural instinct to deny tragedy as long as possible. He had done it himself, but had always had to give in in the end.
‘She is the same general height and build as Kitty,’ he replied quietly. ‘Her hair is auburn.’ He saw Kynaston’s body tense even more and the muscles along his jaw tighten. ‘And she had in her pocket a lace-edged handkerchief with the letter “R” embroidered on it,’ he continued. ‘Your butler says Mrs Kynaston has some like it, and that she occasionally gives away old ones.’
There was a long moment’s silence; then Kynaston straightened his shoulders a little. ‘I see. It does seem … probable. Nevertheless we shall not leap to conclusions. I would be obliged if you did not tell the rest of the household that it is Kitty … until there is no doubt left. Then we shall have to deal with it. My butler and housekeeper are both excellent people. They will help the more emotionally affected of the staff.’
Pitt took the gold watch out of his pocket and saw Kynaston’s eyes widen and the colour drain from his face. ‘This was found on the body also,’ he said very quietly. ‘I see you recognise it.’ It was not a question.
‘It … it’s mine.’ Kynaston’s voice was a croak, as if his mouth and lips were dry. ‘It was taken out of my pocket a couple of weeks ago. Somewhere on the street — damn pickpockets! The fob and chain were taken too. Kitty didn’t take it — if that’s what you’re thinking!’
Pitt nodded. ‘I see. I’m afraid it happens. Now, I would like to speak to both your wife and your sister-in-law, if that is possible. I appreciate that they too will be distressed, but either of them may have knowledge that would help us.’
‘I doubt it.’ Kynaston’s mouth pulled down in a gesture of distaste. ‘I think you would learn more from the other maids … if anything is known at all. Girls talk to each other, not to their mistresses. You surely don’t imagine Kitty would have spoken to my wife about her … romance … if we could use that word for such a liaison.’
‘I was not thinking of confidences so much as your wife’s observations of Kitty,’ Pitt answered. ‘My own wife is a very good judge of character. I imagine Mrs Kynaston is also. Women see things in other women, whatever their social station. And no woman who runs a house well is ignorant of the character of her maids.’
Kynaston sighed. ‘Yes, of course you are right. I wished to spare her this distress, but perhaps it is not possible.’
Pitt smiled a trifle bleakly, knowing in his mind exactly how Charlotte would have reacted had he tried to conceal such a thing from her. ‘If you would be good enough to ask her to give me half an hour or so of her time …’
‘What about the other maids?’ Kynaston did not move. ‘Or the housekeeper? Female staff are her concern.’
‘I will have Sergeant Stoker speak to them, when he is finished with the scene of the … discovery, and with the local police.’
‘I see,’ Kynaston said thoughtfully. ‘I see.’ Still he hesitated.
This time Pitt did not help him. He had long learned that silence can betray people as much as words, sometimes in the subtlest of ways.
‘I …’ Kynaston cleared his throat. ‘… I would like to be present when you speak to her. My wife is … is easily distressed. If indeed it is Kitty, she will take it extremely hard.’
Pitt did not want Kynaston there, but he had no excuse to deny him at this point. Had it been Charlotte, at the time when Gracie Phipps had been with them, she would have been distraught at the idea of her having been hurt at all, let alone beaten to death. For that matter, so would Pitt himself. Even their new maid, Minnie Maude Mudway, had found a large place in their affections already.
‘Of course,’ he agreed. ‘I shall be as discreet as possible.’ He was about to explain further, and realised he was being gentler than was wise. If the body was that of Kitty Ryder, then a great deal of pain, possibly even of embarrassment, was inevitable.
Kynaston excused himself and returned twenty minutes later with not only Rosalind Kynaston, but his sister- in-law, Ailsa, as well. Both of them were immaculately dressed as if ready for an evening outing.
Rosalind wore a beautifully tailored costume of dark blue. It was a cold colour for winter, but with pale lace at the throat it became her well enough. There was a dignity in her manner, though she was gaunt and when she met Pitt’s eyes her hand instinctively reached out to clasp on to something. Kynaston offered his arm, and she ignored it.
Beside her, Ailsa, taller and so very much fairer, looked magnificent in soft greys. Pitt could not have said exactly how, but he recognised the latest cut in sweeping skirt, now short enough not to touch the ground and get wet. The whole costume needed only a fur hat to be perfect, and no doubt she had such a thing. She took Rosalind’s arm, without asking her permission, and guided her to the large, soft sofa, easing them both into it, side by side. She stared at Pitt with sharp blame in her blue eyes.
Kynaston remained standing, as though he felt that to sit down would somehow relax his guard.
‘We do not yet know what happened to Kitty, Mr Pitt,’ Ailsa said a little brusquely. ‘My sister-in-law told you that we would inform you if we did.’
‘Yes, Mrs Kynaston, I know that,’ Pitt replied. The woman irritated him and he had to remind himself that although she certainly did not look it, she was probably afraid, more for her sister-in-law than for her own sake. The thought flickered through his mind that she might be more aware of the domestic realities than the younger and apparently more delicate Rosalind. He had a sudden cold vision of Kynaston’s possible affair with a handsome maid: quarrels, embarrassment, even an attempt at blackmail, a flare of temper out of control.
Was that what he saw in Ailsa’s vivid eyes, and the fear of everything that exposure would bring? To whom? Scandal to Kynaston? Or disillusion to Rosalind? But he was days ahead of himself, and quite probably mistaken.
Ailsa was waiting, somewhat impatiently.
‘I am sorry to inform you that we have discovered the body of a young woman up at the gravel pit to the west of here,’ Pitt told her. ‘We do not know who she is, but we would like to assure ourselves, and you, that it is not Kitty Ryder.’ Out of the corner of his vision he saw Kynaston relax a little. It was no more than a slight change in his stance, as if he breathed more easily.
Ailsa gave the ghost of a smile. Rosalind did not stop staring straight at Pitt.
‘Why don’t you find out who she is, and then you would have no need to disturb my sister-in-law?’ Ailsa said with an edge of criticism in her voice. She did not like Pitt and she had no intention of concealing the fact. It might not have any meaning in this case, or with Kitty Ryder, but he wondered why. Rosalind did not seem to have any such feelings. But perhaps she was too numb to feel anything. Did she usually need Ailsa to protect her?
If the body were that of Kitty Ryder, Pitt suspected that there was going to be a difficult mass of emotions to untangle, many of them irrelevant. Everyone had secrets, old wounds that still bled, people they loved or hated, sometimes both.
‘You would have heard of it within a day or two at the outside,’ Pitt assured her. ‘And if we have not eliminated the possibility that it is anyone from your house, it will be far more distressing.’
‘For goodness’ sake why don’t you know now?’ Ailsa demanded. ‘She was a perfectly recognisable young woman. Get the butler, or someone, to go and look at her. Isn’t that your job? Why on earth are you here bothering us?’
Rosalind put her hand on her sister-in-law’s sleeve. ‘Ailsa, give him a chance to tell us. I dare say he has his reasons.’
Pitt avoided the answer, aware of Kynaston’s eyes on him and a sharp, almost electric tension in the air.
He looked at Rosalind. ‘Mrs Kynaston, I imagine that, like most ladies, you have a number of handkerchiefs, some of them embroidered with your initials?’
‘Yes, several,’ she replied with a frown.
‘Why on earth does that matter?’ Ailsa snapped.
Kynaston opened his mouth to reprove her, and changed his mind. He looked even tenser than before.
Pitt took the handkerchief from the corpse out of his pocket and passed it across to Rosalind.
She took it, damp in her fingers, and dropped it instantly, her face white.
