He must get her something else pretty some time. It was too long since he had last done so. Her husband was a hard worker, most of the year at sea, as Stoker himself had been. But money had a long way to go to support a wife, and four children who grew out of their clothes and were always hungry.
Stoker was full of thoughts of Kitty Ryder, and relief that the hat with the red feather was not hers. He had not realised until Pitt told him about Talbot, and Carlisle’s rescue of the situation, that he had been sad at her death. It was ridiculous! He had never even seen the woman!
Gwen was looking at him.
‘What’s the matter, Davey?’ she asked. ‘You’ve got a face on you like a burst boot! You said the hat wasn’t hers. She could still be alive.’
He looked up. ‘I know. But if she is, why doesn’t she come forward and say so? Everybody in London knows we’re trying to identify the body in the gravel pit, and that there’s speculation it’s her. And don’t tell me she can’t read! I know she can.’
‘Are you staying to dinner? You’re welcome, you know? You’re always welcome,’ she assured him.
He smiled at her, quite unaware how it lit his face. ‘I know. And no, I’m not. I’ve got to be on duty tomorrow.’ That was not strictly the truth; he chose to be. But he had also made a good assessment of the meat in the stew and how if he accepted a portion, someone else would go without — almost certainly Gwen herself.
‘They work you too hard,’ she criticised.
‘We’ve been over that,’ he reminded her. ‘I like the work, Gwen. It matters. I don’t tell you much about it because it’s secret. But Special Branch keeps us all safe, if we do it right.’
‘What about this new guv’nor, Pitt?’ she asked. ‘Does he work as hard as you do? Or does he go back to a nice big house somewhere with servants to look after him and parties to go to?’
Stoker laughed. ‘Pitt? He’s not a gentleman, Gwen. He’s an ordinary man, like anyone. Worked his way up. He’s got a decent home, on Keppel Street, but no mansion. You’d like his wife. I don’t know her well, but she’s not all that different from you.’ He looked around the room quickly. ‘Kitchen’s bigger than this one, but like it; smells of clean laundry and bread as well.’
She looked at him and smiled back. ‘So why the face? And you might be Special Branch, an’ all that, but you never could fool me, and you can’t now, so don’t waste both our time trying it.’
‘Where is she?’ he said simply.
‘In love with the man she ran off with?’ she suggested, reaching out to pour him another cup of tea.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘It’s been over four weeks since she disappeared. No one’s that much in love.’
She shook her head. ‘You know, Davey, sometimes I worry about you. Have you ever been really in love? You haven’t, have you? When you are, you can’t see anything else, believe me. You walk into a hole in the road, because your head’s in the air and your eyes full of dreams. Would you like some cake?’
‘Yes, and no, not so that I fall into holes in the road,’ he answered.
She stood up, still looking at him. ‘You’ve got your head screwed on all right, so tight it’s a wonder you can fasten your shirt collar.’ She opened the pantry cupboard and took out the cake, cutting a really large wedge for him and putting it on a plate.
‘Thank you,’ he accepted, taking a bite of it immediately. ‘That isn’t the answer, Gwen,’ he said with his mouth full. ‘She knew something, and that’s why she ran away. And the only thing that’d be safe for her is if she came out from wherever she’s hiding and told people. Then there’d be no point in hurting her, it would only prove she was right.’
‘For heaven’s sake, use your common sense!’ she said exasperatedly. ‘Who’s going to believe a lady’s maid over a lord, or his wife?’
‘He’s not a lord, he’s an inventor of some sort, working on experiments with new undersea weapons.’
‘Under the sea?’ she said incredulously. ‘To kill what? The fish?’
‘Ships,’ he said succinctly. ‘Hole them under the waterline, where they’ll sink.’
‘Oh.’ She paled. ‘And you’re saying he isn’t a gentleman either?’
‘No! He’s a gentleman, and he’s got money and influence. And I suppose you’re right, she’d have to have proof, and maybe she doesn’t. I’ve got to find her, Gwen. I’ve got to prove what happened to her, I just don’t know where else to try!’
She looked at him as if he were five again, and she were seven. ‘What do you know about her?’ she said patiently.
He described what he knew of her appearance. ‘And she came from the country,’ he added. ‘Somewhere in the west. The local police looked to see if she’d gone home, and she hasn’t.’
‘Well, she wouldn’t, if she were hiding, would she!’ Gwen said, shaking her head. ‘But she might go somewhere like it.’
‘We thought of that. We can’t find a trace of her at all.’ He heard the note of panic in his voice and deliberately lowered it. ‘She was very handsome to look at, easy to notice. And she was quick, and sometimes funny, so the other staff said, and her friends at the local pub. They were all surprised she took up with Harry Dobson. Said he wasn’t anywhere good enough for her.’
‘Nobody ever is,’ she said with a sudden wide smile. ‘But we love you anyway!’
She was teasing him and he relaxed a little, taking several more bites of the cake. She was a good cook, and the taste of it carried him back in memory to being home on leave from the sea, and sitting in another kitchen, before she moved out here to King’s Langley. Everything had been different there — sparser, poorer, much smaller, back door opening into a small, grubby yard — all except the cake. She never stinted with cake.
‘She liked the sea,’ he went on. ‘Used to carve little boats, real little tiny ones, out of soft wood. What kind of a man would kill her just because she couldn’t help seeing that he was having an affair? And he was. Pitt caught him in lies and he had to admit it. But Pitt doesn’t think Kynaston killed her. I think he’s off on another world sometimes.’
Gwen frowned. ‘It doesn’t make sense,’ she agreed. ‘Who’s she going to tell?’
‘His wife,’ he replied.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ she said impatiently. ‘Do you think she doesn’t know? What’s she going to do about it? Nothing now — except pretend she didn’t see. It’s not a crime, just a betrayal. And nobody else will want to know, I can promise you that. It could upset all sorts of applecarts to be admitting to that kind of thing … unless …’ She stopped.
‘Unless what?’ He put the last of the cake into his mouth.
‘Unless it’s with someone that really matters?’ she answered thoughtfully. ‘Someone whose husband would throw her out. That could happen, and then she’d be ruined. That’s … possible … I suppose.’
‘How do you know about things like that?’ he said curiously.
‘For goodness’ sake!’ she repeated exasperatedly. ‘I was a laundress before I got married! I didn’t live all my life inside a box with the lid on, Davey!’ She stood up again. ‘You’d better go and catch your train, before it gets late and you’re out half the night. And don’t leave it so long next time.’ She came around the table and hugged him. He felt the warmth of her body, the softness of her hair, and how strong her arms were when she clung on to him. For a moment he hugged her hard in return, then put on his coat again and went out of the door into the yard and up the steps without looking back at the lights, or to see her standing there watching him.
While Stoker was in the train rattling through the darkening countryside back to London, Pitt was in the chair beside the fire in Vespasia’s sitting room with its warm, pale colours. He was so comfortable it was an effort to keep awake. The fire was burning low, its embers glowing, the light reflecting in the facets of the small crystal vase in which were a few delicate snowdrops. He was startled at how richly their perfume filled the room. There were faint sounds of footsteps in the hall, and now and then the patter of rain on the window. It was only the urgency of the matter weighing on his mind that prevented him from relaxing.