Free Thomas & Charlotte Pitt 29 - Death On Blackheath by Anne Perry

sense that it was the room at the heart of his family’s life. Their closest friends had sat around this table in anxiety, working on desperate challenges, in grief when they seemed beaten, and in celebration when victory was grasped.
    Now he ate hot beef stew with vegetables, lots of onions, and dumplings.
    The discovery of the woman’s body in the gravel pit was in no way secret, reported, as it had been, in the newspapers. Of course the usual speculations had accompanied the few known facts.
    ‘Is it the missing maid?’ Charlotte asked, leaving her own portion of stew untouched.
    ‘I wish I knew,’ he replied when he had swallowed his mouthful.
    ‘Are they going to admit it, if it is?’ She looked at him directly, demanding his attention.
    He smiled in spite of himself. He should have known she would say that, or something like it. She had learned to curb her tongue over the years, but never her thoughts, and never with him.
    ‘Not if they can help it,’ he replied.
    ‘Will you go along with that?’ she persisted. ‘I suppose you’ll have to. Is Kynaston really so important? Thomas, for heaven’s sake, do be careful.’
    He heard the sudden gravity in her voice and realised she was genuinely afraid for him. She had been proud when he was promoted, and never for an instant doubted he was able to fill Narraway’s position. Furthermore, until now she had concealed almost completely her understanding of the danger of it. Or was it that he had never told her the worst? There were whole areas he could not speak of, not as he had in the past when he was merely a policeman.
    ‘My dear, it is simply a missing maid,’ he said gently. ‘It seems she ran off with a rather unpleasant young man who had been courting her. If it is her body in the gravel pit, it is a tragedy. But regardless of who it is, it is a young woman dead. The fact that she used to be Mrs Kynaston’s maid – if it is her – draws attention to him it would be better to avoid, no more.’
    She waited for a moment, then relaxed and smiled. ‘I saw Emily today.’ Emily was her younger sister, now married to Jack Radley, for some time a Member of Parliament. ‘She knows Rosalind Kynaston slightly. She says she’s very quiet and frankly rather boring.’
    Pitt took another mouthful before he replied. ‘Emily is easily bored. How is she?’ He had not seen Emily since Christmas, now six weeks ago. Once she and Charlotte had helped in some of his more colourful cases, particularly those involving the wealthy and socially prominent, where they had access, while he, as a policeman, was sent round to the servants’ entrance. It felt like a long time ago now. Emily’s first husband had had both wealth and title, and had died tragically. For a short and desperate time in her life, Emily had been suspected of his murder. That, too, was well in the past.
    Charlotte shrugged very slightly. ‘You know how it is in winter.’
    He waited, expecting her to add something. Instead, she stood up, went to the stove, lifted a treacle pudding out of its steaming pan and turned it out, upside down on to a large plate, watching with satisfaction as the rich, melted golden syrup ran down its sides. She knew it was one of his favourites. There was nothing more satisfying at the end of a long, cold, wet day. He found himself smiling in anticipation, even though he was quite aware that she had deliberately evaded his question about Emily, which had to mean that there was something wrong.

Chapter Four
    IT WAS two more days before Pitt heard from the police at Shooters Hill – or to be more precise, from the police surgeon, Dr Whistler. He received a short note, sealed in an envelope and delivered by a messenger who did not wait for an answer.
    Pitt read it a second time.

Dear Commander Pitt,
I have further examined the body of the woman found in the gravel pit on Shooters Hill. I have learned a number of facts, not previously visible, which change the situation