‘Of course,’ Pitt agreed. ‘We haven’t searched diligently enough yet. Admittedly I think we are guilty of also hoping that the body was not hers.’
‘But now …?’ Kynaston’s mouth pinched at the ugliness of the thought, and with something that appeared to be pity.
‘His name is Harry Dobson,’ Pitt replied. ‘And yes, we will ask the police further afield to co-operate with us in finding him. So far we’ve looked only locally.’
‘If he’s any sense he’ll have gone away as far as possible,’ Kynaston observed with a grimace. ‘Liverpool, or Glasgow, somewhere with a lot of people where he can get lost. Although I suppose it’s not hard to lose yourself in London, if you’re desperate enough. Even ship out … go to sea. He’s able-bodied.’
‘That’s possible too,’ Pitt admitted.
‘Thank you for telling me.’ Kynaston gave a bleak half-smile. ‘I will inform my wife, and the staff. They’ll be upset, but I imagine they will be half-expecting it.’ He leaned forward as if to rise to his feet.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Pitt said quickly. ‘But that is not all.’
Kynaston looked taken aback, but he relaxed into the chair again, waiting for Pitt to explain.
Pitt drew in his breath and held Kynaston’s gaze. ‘It is not just a matter of finding this wretched young man and charging him, which is a police matter. I’m Special Branch, and my concern is the safety of the state …’
Kynaston was now very pale and his hands were clenched on the arms of his chair, knuckles white.
‘… And therefore exonerating you,’ Pitt continued. ‘And anyone else in this house. Unfortunately questions have been asked in the House of Commons as to your part in this, and your personal safety. I have to be able to assure the Prime Minister that he has no cause for concern.’
Kynaston blinked and there was a long silence as the seconds ticked by on the clock on the mantel. ‘I see,’ he said at last.
‘I’ve checked over all the questions I asked you previously,’ Pitt replied. He knew already that he was going to turn up something private and painful. It was there in Kynaston’s face and in the stiff angles of his shoulders. He would like to have stopped it now. Possibly it had nothing to do with Kitty Ryder’s death, but then it might have everything to do with it. He could not afford to believe anyone without proof. It had gone too far and was too serious for that.
‘I have nothing to add,’ Kynaston told him.
‘You have a few errors to correct, Mr Kynaston,’ Pitt answered. ‘And a few omissions to fill in rather more fully. And before you do, sir, I would prefer to tell you in advance than embarrass you afterwards, I shall be checking with other people, because this matter is too serious to allow what can be merely unintentional misstatements of fact.’ He let hang in the air between them the awareness that they could also be deliberate lies, even damning ones.
Kynaston did not answer. It had gone beyond the point of pretence that he was not deeply uncomfortable.
Pitt could have asked him the questions one by one, and tripped him in the lies — or if they were, the errors — but he loathed doing so. This had to be lethal, but it could be quick.
‘Your diary states that you went to dinner with Mr Blanchard on the evening of 14 December …’ Pitt began.
Kynaston moved very slightly in his chair. ‘If I had the date wrong, is it really important?’ he said reasonably.
‘Yes, sir, because you left the house dressed for dinner, and according to our enquiries, you did not see Mr Blanchard. Where did you go?’
‘Certainly not anywhere with my wife’s maid!’ Kynaston said sharply. ‘Perhaps the dinner was cancelled. I don’t remember. Has Special Branch really got nothing better to do than this?’
Pitt did not answer his question. ‘And just over a week later, on 22 December, again you have Mr Blanchard’s name in your diary, and again you did not see him,’ he went on.
Kynaston sat absolutely motionless in the chair, unnaturally so. ‘I have no idea where I went,’ he replied. ‘But it was probably an engagement to do with a society I belong to, and couldn’t possibly have anything less to do with my wife’s maid.’ He swallowed, his throat jerking. ‘For God’s sake, do you do this to everybody? Read their diaries and cross-question them as to whom they dined with? Is this what we pay you for?’ There was a faint flush of colour in his cheeks.
‘If it has nothing to do with Kitty Ryder’s death, then it will go no further,’ Pitt said, perhaps rashly. He felt grubby pursuing something that was clearly private, and embarrassing. Were it not, Kynaston would not be still evading an answer.
‘Of course it has nothing to do with it!’ Kynaston snapped, leaning forward suddenly. ‘If anyone killed her, then it was this wretched young man she walked out with. Isn’t that obvious, even to a fool?’ He looked away. ‘I apologise, but really, all this probing into my life is unnecessary and completely irrelevant.’
‘I hope so,’ Pitt said sincerely. He felt vaguely soiled that he had to pursue this to the bitter end. ‘There are a few errors in your diaries, which is to be expected. We all get hours or dates wrong from time to time, or forget to note something at all, even do so illegibly. It is only the occasions when you left home, dressed for dinner, and consistently did not go where you stated that I am asking you about. There are at least a dozen of them in the last two months.’
Kynaston’s face was now dark with colour.
‘And I will not tell you, sir!’ His voice wobbled a bit. ‘Except that it had nothing whatever to do with Kitty Ryder. For God’s sake, man! Do you think I am dining out in full evening dress with a lady’s maid?’ He managed to sound incredulous, even though his voice cracked a little.
‘I think you are going somewhere that you feel the need to lie about,’ Pitt answered. ‘The obvious conclusion is that it is with a woman, but that is not the only possibility. I would prefer to think that rather than anything else you feel the need to keep secret from your family, and from the police, and Special Branch.’
Kynaston blushed scarlet. He caught Pitt’s implication immediately. Pitt regretted it, but the man had left him no choice. He waited.
‘I dined with a lady,’ Kynaston said in little more than a whisper. ‘I shall not tell you who it was, except that it was certainly not Kitty Ryder … or anyone else’s … servant.’
Pitt recognised that that was the truth, and also that Kynaston did not intend to reveal who it was. The question in Pitt’s mind was whether Kitty Ryder might have known of it, and asked for some kind of favour not to tell her mistress. There was no purpose in asking Kynaston. He had already implicitly denied it.
Pitt stood up. ‘Thank you, sir. I’m sorry I had to pursue such a thing, but a woman is dead — violently — and her body dumped in a gravel pit for wild animals to eat!’
Kynaston winced.
‘That is more important than anyone’s sensibilities as to privacy for their indiscretions,’ Pitt concluded.
Kynaston stood up also, but he said nothing more except to wish Pitt a good evening, icily, and as a matter of form.
Outside in the cold, damp night, the wind was blowing clouds across the stars and streetlamps dotted occasionally here and there. Pitt was glad to walk briskly for some considerable distance. He was likely to find a hansom easily to take him all the way back across the river to Keppel Street.
What should he tell Talbot? That Kynaston was having an affair, but with some woman he could dine with in full formal clothes? Certainly not a servant of any kind. Someone else’s wife? That was the obvious conclusion, although perhaps not the only one.
Had Rosalind Kynaston any idea?
Possibly she had. It was then conceivable that she did not mind, as long as he was meticulously discreet. Pitt knew of marriages where such agreements were made.