‘Just all by pure coincidence?’ Talbot said sarcastically.
‘Hardly,’ Carlisle replied with exaggerated patience. ‘He was the one who found it!’
Talbot was standing motionless, his face filled with bafflement and even further mounting anger.
Carlisle was still smiling, as if the atmosphere in the room were one of co-operation, not open enmity.
‘Policeman’s job to be sceptical,’ he went on, now looking at Pitt. ‘Good thing you were. Made a highly embarrassing mistake if you’d reported to Downing Street that the body was Kitty’s on evidence discovered by the man who put it there. Looked a bit of a fool. Not good for the reputation of Special Branch.’ He shook his head. ‘No doubt some journalist would have got hold of it and put it all over the front pages. Somehow or other they find these things.’ He shrugged. ‘And then, of course, they put all kinds of other bits of fact — and imagined fact — together and come up with accusations. Too late to apologise when you’ve ruined a man.’
Pitt had recovered from his amazement, although he had no idea how Carlisle had known he was here, or become involved in the matter at all.
‘Exactly,’ he agreed aloud.
Talbot was still fighting the issue, his body stiff, his face pale.
‘What unbelievable good fortune that you happened to be aware of all this … eccentric behaviour, Mr Carlisle,’ he said sarcastically. ‘I suppose we should be grateful some extraordinary chance took you to … what?’ His voice became even more grating. ‘How was it you learned that this particularly irresponsible man knew of Ryder’s passion for a hat with a red feather, and also exactly where her body was found, and that he should purchase such a hat, plus feather, of course, and place it there? Such a piece of good fortune seems … beyond belief.’ He pronounced the words slowly, giving every syllable emphasis.
Carlisle merely smiled a little more widely.
Pitt’s heart was racing, but he dared not intervene. He had no explanation either.
‘And of course that you should also, purely by chance, of course, know exactly where Commander Pitt was,’ Talbot went on. ‘And race here just in time to rescue him from having to give me some explanation as to why I had to hear of the whole apparent farce from someone else, and demand he explain to me why he had not reported to me, as I had instructed him. I suppose you have answers for all that also?’
Carlisle spread his hands in an elegant gesture, rather like another shrug of his shoulders.
‘The man who bought the hat is a constituent of mine,’ he said calmly. ‘He’s been in trouble a few times for trying to draw attention to himself.’
‘Kitty Ryder’s desire for a hat with a red feather was not in the newspapers,’ Talbot said icily. ‘And your constituency is miles from Shooters Hill.’
Carlisle laughed. ‘For heaven’s sake, man! People move around. He’s a hound for scandal. He went and drank at the Pig and Whistle. He asked questions, listened to gossip. And as to finding Pitt here, when I put the pieces together I called his office and was told he’s been sent for to come here. Not exactly the work of a genius.’ His eyes were bright, his arched eyebrows even higher. ‘Anyway, I’m delighted if I’ve saved you embarrassment — not to mention poor Kynaston.’ He turned to Pitt. ‘If your business here is finished, I’ll walk to Whitehall with you.’
‘Yes … thank you,’ Pitt agreed quickly, then turned to Talbot. ‘I shall keep you informed of anything I learn that is relevant to Mr Kynaston, especially should we find out the identity of the woman in the gravel pit. Good morning, sir.’ And without waiting for Talbot to answer or give him leave to go, he turned and followed Carlisle out of the door, through the hallway and into the street.
They walked several paces along the quiet pavement, past the usual police presence, since Downing Street was the home not only of the Prime Minister, but also of the Chancellor of the Exchequer.
‘Was any of that true?’ Pitt asked quietly as they turned into Whitehall.
Carlisle’s expression barely changed. ‘Close enough,’ he replied.
‘Close enough for what?’ Pitt demanded, still uneasy.
‘To pass muster, should Talbot choose to have it investigated,’ Carlisle replied. ‘Don’t ask anything further, because you don’t want to know, and I certainly don’t want to tell you.’
‘Does the hat have anything to do with Kitty Ryder?’
‘Nothing at all, except that she did want one. Or, at least, she did want a red feather of some sort. It is entirely true that that was not her hat.’
Pitt let his breath out slowly. ‘I’m extremely grateful.’
‘You should be,’ Carlisle agreed pleasantly. ‘Don’t cross Talbot; he’s a nasty bastard. Doesn’t mean Kynaston’s innocent, of course. Just can’t hang a man on a manufactured piece of evidence. And … and I wouldn’t like to see you replaced by someone a lot worse. Good luck! Watch your back!’ And with that he turned and walked in the opposite direction towards Westminster Bridge, leaving Pitt to go east, and down to the river.
It was only as he was nearing the riverbank and could hear the slurping of the incoming tide that Pitt allowed the wave of relief to run through him with a sudden warmth. He realised how close he had come to giving Talbot a reason to dismiss him. Of course he knew that many people did not find him a suitable person to follow Victor Narraway, who was undoubtedly a gentleman.
Pitt himself was the son of a disgraced gamekeeper, transported to Australia for theft when Pitt was a boy. He could scarcely remember him, only the shock and the indignation, his protest of innocence that was disregarded, then his mother’s grief. She and Pitt had been allowed to remain in the large country estate; indeed, Pitt had been educated with the son of the house, to encourage the boy. It would not do for a servant’s son to outdo the heir, and it was felt this might prevent such a thing. Although looking back on it now, Pitt thought that that had been an excuse to mask a kindness that was always intended.
Still, it was hardly a background to equal Narraway’s, or one that a man such as Talbot — and to be honest, many others — would be happy with. He must remember that, and not let anger or complacency lead him into error again. Carlisle had rescued him this time, and Pitt was just beginning to appreciate now just how much. He had been gracious enough to make light of it, as if it were in his own interest, rather than in Pitt’s, but that was a courteous fiction.
That there was also an antipathy between Carlisle and Talbot was clear, and Pitt would be wise to remember that and avoid being caught in the middle. Nevertheless his step was light as he made his way to the ferry.
Stoker sat at the kitchen table at his sister’s house. He quite often came here on his days off. King’s Langley was an ancient and very pleasant village in Hertfordshire beyond the outskirts of London, about an hour’s journey on the train. Gwen was the only family he had left, and quite apart from that, he really liked her. All his best memories were somehow attached to her. She was two years older than he and had looked after him in the earliest times he could recall. It was she, more than the schoolteacher, who had taught him to read. She was the one who encouraged him to join the navy, and to whom he had recounted his adventures, enlarging the good and mostly skipping over the bad. Perhaps that was why he remembered the good so clearly, trying to share it with her, seeing her eyes widen, her holding her breath as she waited for the next turn in his stories.
It was also Gwen who had travelled miles by train, spending the little money she had, to come and visit him in hospital when he was injured. And of course it was Gwen who told him off when she thought he was wrong. She who had brought him the news of their mother’s death, and she who nagged him about putting flowers on the grave, saving for the future, and even occasionally about getting married.
Now she was cooking dinner for her husband and children when they came home. He watched her with pleasure because the kitchen was warm and smelled of baking pastry and clean sheets drying on the airing rail above them. There were strings of onions hanging in the corner and a small dresser with plates on it, and two copper pans, the pride of her possessions. The shine and the colour of them were too good to spoil with over-use.