‘I’m going to believe she isn’t,’ he said firmly.
‘But some poor cow is, eh?’ She bit her lip. ‘An’ yer still gotter find out ’oo she is, an’ ’oo done that to ’er?’
‘If it isn’t Kitty, and isn’t anything to do with the Kynaston household, then it’s the police’s job to find out,’ he replied.
‘’Cos you’re special, right?’
He drew in breath to explain it a little less self-importantly but, seeing her bright face, changed his mind.
‘Something like that,’ he agreed awkwardly. ‘But I still want to find Kitty, and prove she’s alive.’
She put her head a little to one side. ‘Ter save Mr Kynaston?’
He found himself slightly uncomfortable. Her eyes were bright, almost black, and both quick and innocent at the same time. He hesitated as to how he should answer her. He needed information from her, and yet she was second-guessing him. If she caught him in any deception at all he would lose her trust, and therefore her honesty. He would also find that painful. He was getting soft.
‘Mostly,’ he agreed. ‘But I’d like to find Kitty just to know she’s all right as well.’
The tea came, with a whole plate full of little cakes and pastries. Maisie looked at them, then up at Stoker, then back at the plate.
‘Which one would you like?’ he asked.
‘The chocolate one,’ she said instantly, then blushed. ‘’Course, if you like it, the one with the pink sugar on it’d be all right.’
He made a note not to take the one with the pink icing, which he rather liked the look of too.
‘I’ll take the apple tart,’ he assured her. ‘You begin with the chocolate.’ He considered asking her if she would pour the tea, then changed his mind. He did ask her how she liked hers, and then poured for each of them.
She ate the chocolate cake slowly, savouring each mouthful.
‘To find Kitty, I need to know more about her,’ he began. ‘I know a few things. She could sing really nicely. She liked the sea, and ships, and used to collect pictures of ships from all over the world — with different kinds of sails.’
Maisie nodded with her mouth full. As soon as she had swallowed she answered. ‘Real clever with ’er ’ands, she was. Course, bein’ a lady’s maid an’ all, she could sew real well, even mend lace when it got tore.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Please find ’er, mister. Tell us she’s all right … I mean … alive, an’ well …’
‘I will,’ he promised, and knew even as he was saying it how rash he was being.
Maisie sniffed. ‘P’raps she just went off wi’ that great dollop, ’Arry. D’yer think?’ She looked at the last piece of the chocolate cake on the plate. ‘But why couldn’t she ’ave told us? Why don’t she even write a letter, nor nothing?’
‘Are you sure she can write?’ he asked.
‘Yeah! She used ter write lists an’ things. She were teachin’ me.’ She looked again at the last piece of her cake.
‘Why don’t you finish that, and then take the pink one?’ he suggested. ‘I’m going to have that one with the raisins.’
She looked at him to make sure he meant it, then did as he said, taking a delicate sip of her tea in between.
He hid his smile. Perhaps he was going about this the wrong way. Maybe he should be looking not for where Kitty would go, but for where Harry Dobson would choose.
‘What was he like, this … dollop?’ he asked.
Maisie giggled at his use of her word. ‘’E were all right. Crazy about Kitty, ’e were. Thought as the sun shone out of ’er eyes. An’ I s’pose that’s worth something, in’t it? She just smiled at ’im, an’ ’e were made.’
‘But he wouldn’t suit you?’ he concluded. ‘Why not?’
She looked down at the pink-iced cake, a little embarrassed. ‘I in’t never goin’ ter be pretty like ’er, but I want ter better meself, all the same. I’d want someone wi’ a bit o’ fire, like; someone as wouldn’t let me run rings around ’im.’ She stopped, ashamed of her words. It was too self-revealing to say what she meant to somebody who didn’t know her — or any man at all, for that matter.
‘You might have to work hard to find someone you couldn’t run rings around Maisie,’ Stoker warned. ‘But I heard that Kitty was ambitious too. Was that wrong?’
Maisie sighed. ‘I s’pose when yer fall in love yer kind o’ lose yer wits. Least that’s wot they say.’ She bit into the pink cake, then looked at it. ‘This ’as got cream in it, all squashy and sweet.’
‘Don’t you like it?’ he said quickly. ‘You don’t have to eat it. Choose another …’
She looked up at him. ‘Oh, I like it. It’s a bit like bein’ in love, though, in’t it? I s’pose yer don’t know it’s goin’ ter ’appen until yer already bit into it, eh?’
‘Maisie, you are so clever sometimes you worry me. All these cakes are for us, so take as many as you like. Tell me more about Harry Dobson, and if you really think she liked him enough to have gone off with him … without telling anyone. She must have had a reason for that. What might it be?’ He drank some of his tea and added a little more, to keep it hot. Then he took another cake, because he was sure she would not take another until after he had. He had seen her count them, and she was going to be scrupulously fair.
‘Do you think he would have made her go secretly?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘No! ’E wouldn’t ’a made Kitty do nothin’ as she didn’t want. I reckon she must ’a bin …’ She hunched her shoulder a little and gave a tiny shiver, then she looked up at Stoker. ‘Mebbe she were scared? I used ter think as she knew one or two things as she’d sooner not a’ knowed about the mister an’ missus, like. Then I thought as it were just talk. But mebbe it weren’t? D’yer think?’
‘I think that’s very possible,’ he agreed, trying not to make too much of it and twist what she was going to say. ‘Any idea what she knew?’
She shook her head. ‘There are things as I don’t want ter know. Me ma always said that, told me not to see things or ’ear things as I shouldn’t. An’ if I did, ter forget it like it never ’appened.’
‘Very wise indeed,’ Stoker said gravely. ‘I am telling you exactly the same thing, and I mean it just as much as she did. Now tell me more about Harry Dobson. We’ve asked the regular police, but nobody seems able to find him. Did he do any special kind of carpentry work? Windows, doors, floors? Any particular builder he worked with?’ He reached for the teapot. ‘And have some more tea. If you’d like more cakes, we’ll ask for them.’
She took a deep breath, scooped up all her courage, and asked for another chocolate cake.
‘Kitty said as ’e were goin’ ter get a place ter work on ’is own, like,’ she answered. ‘’E were good at doors. Wanted ter make fancy ones, carved, an’ all that. But ’e could ’a gone anywhere for that.’
‘Where did he come from?’ Stoker persisted. This looked more hopeful.
‘Dunno,’ Maisie admitted. ‘North o’ the river, I think.’
‘Thank you. That’ll narrow the search quite a bit.’
She frowned. ‘Should I ’a said that before? Nobody asked. It were only wot ’e wanted. I dunno as ’e ever did it.’
He smiled at her. ‘Maybe he didn’t, but it’s worth a try.’
She sighed with relief and ate the cake.
Stoker had naturally been assigned to other cases since the failure to identify the body in the gravel pit, and then the assumption that it was indeed that of Kitty Ryder. Those cases could not be ignored; they genuinely affected the security of the country. Therefore it was wiser that he continue to look for Harry Dobson in his own time. He did not relish trudging around the streets, in and out of public houses, music halls, taverns, but it was very possibly a task that he would gain little from doing at midday. He had learned a lot from Maisie that would narrow the search. He must forget the local area and go north of the river and at least try to find someone who specialised in good doors, even ones with carving on.
It took him four evenings walking in the late February rain, his sodden trouser legs flapping around his ankles, his boots letting in the water from puddles and overflowing gutters. He spoke to local builders from Stepney, Poplar, east to Canning Town, then to north of Woolwich before he finally found Harry Dobson.
Stoker stood in the sawdust of the carpenter’s workroom and faced a fair-haired young man with heavily
