Stoker wanted to be gentle, and it was almost impossible.
‘Probably she did,’ he agreed. ‘But we didn’t find her, so we’ve got no proof of it. Got to know who this woman is in the gravel pit. I’d like to know for sure it’s not her.’
She looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears. ‘Yer saying as that ’orrible … fool … did that to ’er?’
‘No, ma’am, I’m saying I’d like to prove it’s got nothing to do with this house at all, and keep the police away from having to trouble you.’
She sniffed and searched for a handkerchief in her apron pocket. When she had found it and had blown her nose, she gave him her full attention. ‘Well, what do you want to know about Kitty? She might ’a been a fool about men, goin’ an’ picking the stupidest great lummox she could find.’ She glared at him, daring him to argue.
‘How did she meet him?’ Stoker asked.
‘Came an’ did a carpentry job ’ere,’ she answered. ‘Kept coming back even after it were finished, just to see ’er.’
‘Was she frightened of him?’ He tried to keep the sudden anger out of his own voice, and his face.
‘Not ’er! Ask me, she were sorry for ’im,’ she responded. ‘More fool ’er! ’E played on it. ’Oo wouldn’t?’
‘She was gentle?’ he said with some surprise. The idea he had in his mind was of a strong woman, handsome and sure of herself. But the cook might know of a vulnerable side to her that her mistress didn’t.
The cook laughed and shook her head. ‘Yer just like all men, aren’t yer! Think because a woman’s ’andsome, an’ got a mind of ’er own, that she can’t be ’urt, can’t cry ’erself ter sleep when no one sees ’er, like anyone else. She were worth ten of ’im, any day, an’ ’e knew it.’ She was obliged to blow her nose again, hiding the tears on her face.
‘Did that make him angry with her?’ Stoker asked.
‘Didn’t think so.’ She glared at him. ‘You tellin’ me I’m wrong?’
He did not answer. He needed to know more: for example, if it was indeed Kitty lying in the morgue, how had she come by the gold watch that had been stolen from Dudley Kynaston?
‘Who else did she know?’ he asked. ‘Anyone who gave her expensive presents?’
‘No she didn’t!’ the cook snapped back at him. ‘If she were a fool like that, you think she’d ’a bin a lady’s maid?’ There was contempt in her voice, and she was too hurt to try to govern it. He was only a policeman of sorts and she had done nothing wrong to fear him. ‘If you mean to stay in a quality house like this, you don’t never let your greed get the better o’ you,’ she said witheringly. ‘You’re thinking just because she got soft over a young man what wasn’t worth it, that she were stupid all the time? Well, she weren’t. If she’d ’a been born in the right family, and learned ’ow ter be’ave ’erself like a lady, she could ’a married the best an’ never ’ad ter work a day in ’er life. Yer take wot life gives yer, an’ get on with it. You too, an’ all!’
Stoker smiled, something he did not often do on duty. Most of his work was grim — and, more often than not, he did it alone. Perhaps he was too sober? He would have liked Kitty Ryder, if he had known her.
‘You are quite right,’ he conceded. ‘So apart from her choice in admirer, she was wise in her friends.’
‘I’m not sayin’ as she didn’t ’ave some daft ideas,’ the cook said more amiably. ‘An’ some dreams as wouldn’t never ’appen. Course she did. Wot girl don’t? An’ she could fight ’er corner if she’d a mind to. But not like some, she could own up if she were wrong … sometimes, any’ow.’
‘Thank you, you’ve been very helpful. I’d like to speak to the rest of the staff, if you please.’ He did not expect them to add much, but it was possible some of those nearer Kitty’s age might know other things, details he could use. He had spoken to them before, but this was different. Now there was the matter of the gold watch. The handkerchief might be Rosalind’s, and possibly given to Kitty. The watch was unquestionably Kynaston’s, and stolen from him, but seemingly by a pickpocket in the street. It was essential that they prove beyond any reasonable doubt that the woman in the gravel pit was someone else. That was his job, in order to protect Dudley Kynaston. Then the presence of the watch would be a coincidence — probably!
Late that same afternoon Pitt received a message that he should report to the Home Office at his very earliest convenience. Perhaps seven o’clock that evening would be a good idea.
He read the note at quarter past six, but knew that he had no choice but to make it convenient. So after changing his wet jacket and his muddy boots, he took a hansom. Shortly after ten past seven, he entered a pleasant room with portraits of Home Secretaries of the past, some of their faces from every child’s history books, pompous and unsmiling.
Pitt glanced at the newspapers on the table near the fireplace. The headlines caught his eye. ‘Mutilated Corpse in Gravel Pit still Unidentified’. And underneath it: ‘Police Say Nothing!’ Pitt deliberately looked away.
He waited for a further twenty minutes before being greeted by a well-groomed young gentleman who came in and closed the door behind him.
‘So sorry to keep you waiting, Commander Pitt,’ he said with a slight smile, as though well-mannered in spite of his own importance.
Pitt thought of several terse replies, and then how he could not afford to make them.
‘I was late, Mr Rogers,’ he said equally politely. ‘I could not come here covered in mud.’
Rogers’ fair eyebrows rose. ‘Mud?’
‘It is raining outside,’ Pitt said, as if perhaps Rogers had not noticed.
Rogers glanced down at Pitt’s immaculate polished boots, and then up at his face.
‘We found a body in a gravel pit at Shooters Hill before dawn yesterday,’ Pitt explained. ‘I had occasion to go back there.’
‘Yes … yes. About that …’ Rogers cleared his throat. ‘Extremely distasteful, of course. Have you identified her yet?’
‘No. There is a possibility that it is the missing maid from Dudley Kynaston’s house, but the butler was unable to confirm or deny the body is her.’
‘Really?’ The young man’s eyes widened. ‘I find that hard to believe. Is the man lying, do you suppose? I assume he did look? He didn’t … evade it, turn away? Faint?’
‘She has been dead for some time, and is badly mutilated,’ Pitt told him. ‘Apart from her very serious facial injuries, the flesh is beginning to decay. I can go into detail, if you wish, but I imagine you would prefer that I didn’t. Her eyes are missing, but her hair is unusual.’
‘Yes, I see,’ the man said hastily. ‘That makes it difficult … I appreciate the …’ He stopped. ‘However, the important thing is that you cannot say for certain that it is Kynaston’s maid, correct?’
‘Correct,’ Pitt agreed.
The young man relaxed the stiff line of his shoulders. His voice, when he spoke, was suddenly softer. ‘Excellent. Then it will not be difficult for you to leave the matter to the local police. She is probably some prostitute who was unfortunate in her choice of customer. Sad and extremely ugly, but not a Special Branch matter, and certainly nothing to do with Kynaston. The Home Secretary asked me to convey to you his appreciation of your discretion in stepping in so quickly, just in case the local police were clumsy and caused any degree of embarrassment to the Kynaston family, and therefore to the Government. We have enemies who would seek to profit from even the slightest appearance of an … unfortunate association.’ He inclined his head slightly. It was dismissal.