The Strange Fate of Kitty Easton by Elizabeth Speller, Georgina Capel

hell of a long time to still be wanting—or expecting—an answer.’ He reflected on the intensity of Julian’s request. ‘But then he didn’t actually say that. I think it’s more that he genuinely believes we might find her and was warning us. And that he’s scared of that happening.’
    ‘Because of the effect on Lydia?’
    ‘Possibly.’ Then Laurence added, ‘Do you think he wants clarification? So the estate can be properly his?’
    ‘Easton?’ William said. ‘I think it’s hardly entered his head. Unless he’s uncommonly disingenuous and I don’t believe for a minute that he is. In fact, I suspect he didn’t even realise it might look like that to us. He’s not stupid but until just now I wouldn’t have said he was a complicated man. He simply tries to do the right thing.’
    Laurence nodded. ‘Do you think she’s dead?’
    William shrugged. ‘What’s the alternative?’ Then he said slowly, ‘I saw a painting once. Well, a print. My nanny had it in her room. It used to terrify me. A gypsy family stripping the clothes off a wealthy child they’d abducted. Would someone steal a child for profit?’
    ‘How would they chance on Kitty Easton? A child who lived deep within a rural estate?’ Laurence said.
    William’s idea was the most appealing of the options, largely because it left her alive, but it was also far the least likely.
    ‘And it would hardly be a spur-of-the-moment thing. How would they get her away? Or, indeed, if they killed her, dispose of the evidence?’
    ‘A grudge, then?’
    ‘A child isn’t a pet mouse. It needs care, concealment. If it was a grudge, then her chances weren’t good from the start. And she was old enough to tell someone where she lived, surely? And what her name was?’
    ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ William said. ‘If she was killed here, then it had to be somebody local. Somebody who already knew of a place where they could hide her body.’
    ‘But a place that other people didn’t know about...’
    The sound of footsteps echoed down the stone corridor. Their eyes turned to the door. It was Eleanor.
    ‘We’ve probably emptied the Kennet of tiddlers. I’ve dissuaded Nicholas from having them fried for high tea.’ She regarded them with mock suspicion. ‘What are you two actually up to?’
    William looked amused. ‘Up to?’
    ‘Laurie? My husband may be happy to blur the line between truth and fiction but I’m sure you’ll tell me?’
    She perched on the end of the table, gingerly moving one of William’s plans to the side, with an ominous air of having settled.
    ‘God damn it,’ William said with affection. ‘You see what I have to put up with? A woman who can read my mind? Who would hang a man on a thought?’
    ‘Actually I wouldn’t hang anybody. It’s inhumane. It’s corrupting. It’s just vengeance...’
    William raised his hands in the air in mock surrender. ‘See, here I am, a poor cripple, and a sitting duck for political lectures.’ Eleanor went over to him and kissed him on the forehead, then assumed a villainous face and a vaguely foreign accent. ‘But ven the day comes you vill do vat you know to be right, my darlink. Anyway I’m off to Marlborough.’
    She gave a theatrical wave goodbye, then suddenly spun around.
    ‘Still, you smell of whisky. And in the middle of the day. Tut tut. Tell me if it’s all going to be downhill from now on.’
    William laughed. Laurence thought how lucky they were, despite everything. Outside in the sunshine once more, Eleanor pressed her face up against the window and made a face before walking away. She was in such good spirits these days. The country life seemed to suit her and company, of course. Was it difficult at home, with just her and William and Nicholas and their restricted life? Was she lonely?
    He turned back to look at the house plan again.
    ‘So Kitty slept here,’ he guessed, pointing to the bedroom nearest the one labelled ‘Nanny’ in the east wing. ‘Nursery, bedroom,