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.’
Chapter Sixteen
Stoker drew in the help of two colleagues to help him rule out several of the places where Kitty Ryder might have been. But he was beginning to feel a flicker of desperation at how few possibilities there were left. Who was she so afraid of that she had run from Shooters Hill at night, and without taking any of her belongings? What had she seen or heard in the Kynaston house?
He had asked so many questions about her, heard so many bits of stories, that he felt as if he knew her. He knew the songs she liked, the jokes that made her laugh, that she loved roasted chestnuts, green apples, flaky pastry, although she wouldn’t eat much because she did not want to lose her figure. She liked walking in the rain in the summer but hated it in the winter. She wanted to learn about the stars, and one day, if she ever had a house of her own, she would have a dog. He could imagine liking that too. It reminded him of the dreams he had once had about Mary. It seemed like ages ago, and yet the emotion returned with a sharpness that took him aback. He realised how much he missed the friendship of a woman. There was a tenderness to it that was different from that of men.
Kitty loved the sea, not the beach or the cliffs, but the endless horizon and the great ships that sailed as if they had white wings spread in the wind. If he ever met her he would be able to tell her about some of the voyages he had taken, and the places he’d seen. She loved to watch the sea birds flying at sunset with the light on their wings, and dream about how it would feel. He had never been able to tell Mary, because she hated the sea. To her it meant loneliness, separation, an exclusion of all that she cared about. The sea’s endless horizons were full of dreams, and Mary was practical.
Where had Kitty gone to? Was she still alive, or had someone else already found her and …?
He refused to follow that thought.
Where could she go to hide, and yet still be able to see the things she loved? Water, ships. He needed to stop chasing every clue and use his intelligence. From what he knew of her, if she were frightened and lonely, where would she go for comfort, to gather her courage or make a decision?
Somewhere where she could see water, smell the salt tide, watch sea birds in the fading light. Let her dreams take wing also, just for a while.
Greenwich, down by the Royal Naval College? Except that was too close to Shooters Hill. What about the other side of the river, near the railway station, where she could stand on the shore and look across at where the sailing ships were riding at anchor? Somewhere like that. That is where he would go.
He had no better idea. It was close to dusk as he got off the train and walked down towards the river to watch the light die over the water in limpid silvers and greys. One brilliant bar blazed like a banner across the west, reflecting in the ripples of a barge’s wake, as if each crest were burning with it. He stood in silence, pleasure touching him, warming him with its untarnished beauty. Nothing could mar it; it was safe beyond the reach of human hands.
He waited until the very last of it faded and his skin was cold. Then he turned and saw a woman a few yards away, her face still towards it as if she could see some essence of it left behind. She was tall, maybe only two or three inches shorter than he, and what he could see of her face in the fast gathering dusk had a beauty that held him from speech. He simply stared at her. She seemed as if she belonged here, in the evening and the wide, darkening sky where the only colour left was an echo of the smouldering sun now slid below the west.
Then she became aware of him and her eyes widened in fear.
‘Don’t be frightened!’ he said quickly, taking a step towards her. Then he realised that only made it worse and he stopped. ‘I’m not going to hurt you. I’m only watching the …’ He nearly said ‘sunset’ but it was not the colour that held him, it was the quality of the light, the softness, the gentleness of the shadows. Did that sound ridiculous for a man to say?
She was staring at him. What had he to lose? She was a stranger he would never see again. ‘… the way the light changes,’ he finished. ‘The darkness comes so softly …’
‘Most people don’t see that,’ she said with surprise. ‘They think it’s all a kind of … dying. Are you an artist?’
He wanted to laugh; the idea was so absurd, so far from the truth, but actually it was also beautiful. A wave of longing washed over him. ‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘I wish I were. I’m just a kind of policeman …’
The fear was back in her face. He should not have said that.
‘Not an ordinary policeman,’ he said quickly. ‘Just for spies and anarchists, people who want to change the whole country …’
‘What are you doing down here?’ she asked.
‘Just taking time for myself,’ he said honestly. ‘I’ve been looking for someone for weeks and I haven’t found her yet. I’m not giving up, I’m just … taking a little … peace. Maybe I’ll get a new idea where to look.’
‘Is she a spy?’ she asked curiously.
He laughed very slightly. ‘No! She’s a witness, I think. But I know she’s in danger. I want to protect her.’ He should be more honest. The twilight, the shared perception of the beauty of the sky over the river demanded it. ‘And I want to know what she saw or heard that made her run. She left everything behind her, all her possessions, her friends, everything.’
She stood without moving, not even to change her balance. ‘Then what?’
‘Then we’ll know much better exactly what the treason is, and be able to stop it going on.’
‘What about her? Will you put her in prison, because she didn’t tell you?’
‘Of course not! We’ll make sure she is safe …’
‘How are you going to do that? Won’t they know you’ve found her? Why would anyone believe her, not them?’
He stared at her. In the delicate, grey half-light her face was beautiful, not just pretty but really beautiful. Her hair looked dark, but not black. In the sunlight it could have been any colour, even auburn. And she was frightened, wanting to believe him but not able to.
‘Kitty …’ The moment the name was on his lips he felt ridiculous. He was letting this get to him, send his brain soft!
She froze, like an animal ready to run but knowing it was useless. She was caught by a predator far stronger and far swifter than she was. But she would fight, he could see that in her face too.
He let out a sigh. ‘I’ve been looking for you for weeks! We know Kynaston’s betraying secrets, but we don’t know why! Or how he’s doing it. There’s no point in just catching him, we need the people he’s passing them on to
