Thomas & Charlotte Pitt 29 - Death On Blackheath by Anne Perry Read Free Book Online Page B

Women see things in other women, whatever their social station. And no woman who runs a house well is ignorant of the character of her maids.’
    Kynaston sighed. ‘Yes, of course you are right. I wished to spare her this distress, but perhaps it is not possible.’
    Pitt smiled a trifle bleakly, knowing in his mind exactly how Charlotte would have reacted had he tried to conceal such a thing from her. ‘If you would be good enough to ask her to give me half an hour or so of her time …’
    ‘What about the other maids?’ Kynaston did not move. ‘Or the housekeeper? Female staff are her concern.’
    ‘I will have Sergeant Stoker speak to them, when he is finished with the scene of the … discovery, and with the local police.’
    ‘I see,’ Kynaston said thoughtfully. ‘I see.’ Still he hesitated.
    This time Pitt did not help him. He had long learned that silence can betray people as much as words, sometimes in the subtlest of ways.
    ‘I …’ Kynaston cleared his throat. ‘… I would like to be present when you speak to her. My wife is … is easily distressed. If indeed it is Kitty, she will take it extremely hard.’
    Pitt did not want Kynaston there, but he had no excuse to deny him at this point. Had it been Charlotte, at the time when Gracie Phipps had been with them, she would have been distraught at the idea of her having been hurt at all, let alone beaten to death. For that matter, so would Pitt himself. Even their new maid, Minnie Maude Mudway, had found a large place in their affections already.
    ‘Of course,’ he agreed. ‘I shall be as discreet as possible.’ He was about to explain further, and realised he was being gentler than was wise. If the body was that of Kitty Ryder, then a great deal of pain, possibly even of embarrassment, was inevitable.
    Kynaston excused himself and returned twenty minutes later with not only Rosalind Kynaston, but his sister-in-law, Ailsa, as well. Both of them were immaculately dressed as if ready for an evening outing.
    Rosalind wore a beautifully tailored costume of dark blue. It was a cold colour for winter, but with pale lace at the throat it became her well enough. There was a dignity in her manner, though she was gaunt and when she met Pitt’s eyes her hand instinctively reached out to clasp on to something. Kynaston offered his arm, and she ignored it.
    Beside her, Ailsa, taller and so very much fairer, looked magnificent in soft greys. Pitt could not have said exactly how, but he recognised the latest cut in sweeping skirt, now short enough not to touch the ground and get wet. The whole costume needed only a fur hat to be perfect, and no doubt she had such a thing. She took Rosalind’s arm, without asking her permission, and guided her to the large, soft sofa, easing them both into it, side by side. She stared at Pitt with sharp blame in her blue eyes.
    Kynaston remained standing, as though he felt that to sit down would somehow relax his guard.
    ‘We do not yet know what happened to Kitty, Mr Pitt,’ Ailsa said a little brusquely. ‘My sister-in-law told you that we would inform you if we did.’
    ‘Yes, Mrs Kynaston, I know that,’ Pitt replied. The woman irritated him and he had to remind himself that although she certainly did not look it, she was probably afraid, more for her sister-in-law than for her own sake. The thought flickered through his mind that she might be more aware of the domestic realities than the younger and apparently more delicate Rosalind. He had a sudden cold vision of Kynaston’s possible affair with a handsome maid: quarrels, embarrassment, even an attempt at blackmail, a flare of temper out of control.
    Was that what he saw in Ailsa’s vivid eyes, and the fear of everything that exposure would bring? To whom? Scandal to Kynaston? Or disillusion to Rosalind? But he was days ahead of himself, and quite probably mistaken.
    Ailsa was waiting, somewhat impatiently.
    ‘I am sorry to inform you that we have discovered the