‘I can’t see why Talbot wouldn’t tell me that,’ Pitt said, both puzzled and angry.
‘Neither can I,’ Narraway agreed. ‘I can only suppose that he thought you had been told.’ Then he hesitated. ‘Except that I imagine if so you would have gone on to ask a lot more questions, and the answers to those might be rather more … delicate.’ Narraway was tense, sitting back in his chair as if casually, but Pitt saw the strain in the fabric of his jacket as his shoulders hunched very slightly.
Pitt could not leave it unasked. ‘Technically delicate, or personally?’
‘Personally, of course,’ Narraway said with a wry twist to his lips. ‘Technically is probably irrelevant, and would require a great deal more study than you have time for in order to understand. Are you aware that Dudley had a brother, Bennett, a couple or so years younger than he?’
‘Yes. There’s a picture of him in Kynaston’s study, behind his desk.’ Pitt could see it as clearly as if it were before him now, even the eyes, the contours of the face. ‘Odd place to put it, except that it’s the best wall space, and the best light,’ he added. ‘And he will see it every time he comes into the room. Strong resemblance to Dudley, but even better-looking. But he’s been dead for several years. What could he have to do with Kitty Ryder, or whoever this woman was?’
‘Probably nothing,’ Narraway agreed. ‘But there was a scandal concerning him several years ago. I haven’t been able to uncover it, which means they took very great care indeed to hide everything, or disguise it as something else. I haven’t even been able to learn if Dudley is aware of it himself. Apparently at least some elements of it happened abroad. Again, I don’t know where. The only thing I gathered from both sources I tried is that Bennett was not to blame for it. Of course that may, or may not be true.’
‘At the time of his death?’ Pitt asked.
‘No, some years before.’
‘Which would mean it was at least a decade ago, or longer,’ Pitt concluded. ‘Kitty Ryder would have been a child.’
‘Relevant only to Dudley Kynaston’s sensitivities,’ Narraway pointed out. ‘And therefore his immediate reaction to conceal things that perhaps other people would not, even if he were completely innocent. He and Bennett were very close, as you have deduced from the portrait in the study.’
Pitt thought about it for a few moments. It would account for Dudley Kynaston’s behaviour, the unease Pitt had sensed, even the tiny errors of omission in his diaries.
‘Yes,’ he said with a degree of relief. Perhaps Kitty Ryder was likeable, but unwise, and she had eloped with the young man the household staff so disapproved of, and the woman in the gravel pit could turn out to be unrelated to the Kynaston house.
Narraway saw the sudden ease in his face. ‘Protect Kynaston as long as you can,’ he said quietly. ‘We need a navy as strong as possible. There’s a hell of a lot of unrest in the world. Africa is stirring against us, especially in the south. The old order is changing. The century is almost worn out, and the Queen with it. She’s tired and lonely and growing weaker. In Europe they’re looking for change, reform. We may think we are isolated, but it’s a delusion we can’t afford. The English Channel is not very wide. A strong swimmer can make it, let alone a fleet of ships. We need to have the best navy in the world.’
Pitt stared at him. None of what Narraway had said was unknown to him but put together as he had just done, it was a darker picture than he had allowed himself to see.
He did not answer. Narraway knew he understood.
Chapter Six
Charlotte had not seen her sister Emily for several weeks, and not spent much time alone with her when they could talk to each other in more than formalities since before Christmas. She decided to write a letter to Emily asking if she would like to take luncheon and, if the weather permitted, to walk in Kew Gardens. Even if it were cold, the massive glasshouses filled with tropical plants would be warm, and a pleasant change from sitting inside.
Emily wrote back immediately, agreeing that it would be an excellent idea. She had married extremely well, just before Charlotte had married Pitt. Emily had gained a title and a very large fortune, if not a commensurate happiness. Tragically, George had been killed in circumstances to which they never referred. Emily found herself first a suspect in his death, then a very wealthy widow with a son, in whose name both the title and the inheritance were vested.
Later she had fallen in love, wildly and quite irresponsibly (so she told herself) with the handsome and charming Jack Radley. He had no profession and no inheritance at all. Everyone else had agreed with her that it would be a disaster, and in their first few years together Jack had done little but enjoy himself, and be excellent company. Then the ambition had seized him to do something of value, and he had fought very hard to win a seat in Parliament. Emily had been enormously proud of him, as indeed had Charlotte. He had more than justified their belief in him.
Young Edward’s inheritance allowed Emily to live extremely well, without using up what would rightfully be his when he reached majority. This was a little while in the future because he was roughly the same age as Jemima, who was now fifteen.
Emily kept a carriage for her personal use, and it was in that that she came to pick up Charlotte for their luncheon.
She came into the house in Keppel Street, barely glancing at its hallway, so much smaller than her own. Nor did she look at the stairs, which went straight up to the first-floor landing, not in the sweeping arc of those at Ashworth House, never mind those at their country seat, which could accommodate twenty guests without inconvenience.
Charlotte was still in the kitchen, giving Minnie Maude last-minute instructions for dinner, and warning her not to let Uffie steal the sausages, which he was presently creeping towards, imagining no one would notice him.
‘See that Daniel and Jemima have no more than hot soup when they come in from school,’ Charlotte added, picking up the little dog and putting him back in his basket. ‘And that they go straight upstairs to do whatever homework is assigned them.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Minnie Maude agreed, giving Uffie a stern look. He thumped his tail happily in reply.
Emily was looking extraordinarily dashing, wearing the very latest fashion in capes. It was double-breasted, with two rows of large fancy buttons down the front. It was very becoming and from the way she walked it was apparent that she knew it. The whole outfit was a mixture of blues and greens, an up-to-the-minute daring combination, frowned upon only a year ago. Her hat was positively rakish. She was younger than Charlotte, only just approaching forty, and had always been slender. Her fair hair had a deep wave to it, the finer tendrils curling delicately. With her porcelain skin and wide blue eyes she had a refinement approaching beauty, and she never failed to make the best of it.
Charlotte felt a little drab beside her, even though her skirt had the latest cut, with five pieces making the fullness fall very gracefully to the back. But it was an ordinary terracotta in colour. She would have added a cape, but she had little spare income to spend on memorable clothes she could not afford to be seen in next year, and the year after, and probably after that too.
She hugged Emily quickly and stood back to admire her. ‘That’s wonderful,’ she said sincerely. ‘You manage to make winter look as if it is fun.’
Emily smiled suddenly, lighting her face, and only then did Charlotte realise that the moment before Emily had looked tired. She made no remark on it. The last thing any woman wanted to hear was that she did not look fresh. It was almost as bad as ill, and approaching the worst of all — old.