‘No, I’ll walk. It will be quicker.’
Stout merely grunted as he waited for Riley to don the clothing he had so gratefully shed a few hours earlier, then handed him his hat.
The evening air was humid and even the whores appeared lethargic, their approaches to Riley half-hearted as he strode along the quiet streets. Business in this part of town was slow. The upper classes would be resting—those without prior appointments or engagements anyway—captive to the oppressive heat, not prepared to put on evening-wear and frock-coats, the ladies unwilling to swathe themselves in high-necked velvet and floor-length muslin. If the ladies of the night wanted business on an evening such as this, it would not come without risk in areas far less salubrious than this one.
It took Riley just ten minutes to reach Ashton House, set in the most fashionable part of Knightsbridge. The building was ablaze with light and a uniformed constable stood on the steps, preventing anyone from entering or leaving the house. Well, he had damned well better be or Riley would know the reason why. He nodded to the officer, whom he recognised but whose name he couldn’t recall.
‘Stay alert…er—’
‘Peterson, sir,’ the constable responded eagerly. ‘No one will get past me. Don’t you worry none about that.’
‘Side doors? Back doors? Servants’ entrances?’
‘All covered sir.’
‘Good man.’
Riley suppressed a smile, wondering if he himself had ever been so keen to make an impression. A lot of the young uniformed constables harboured ambitions to become detectives, Riley knew, and a high-profile case like this one would be Peterson’s opportunity to make his mark.
Riley ran up the steps and was met at the door by Salter and two other detective constables—one of whom he had worked with before. The other was a stranger to him.
‘Evening, Sergeant,’ Riley said to Salter, nodding to the constables. ‘What do we know?’
‘Constables Carter and Soames.’ Salter introduced his colleagues. Carter, of course—that was the name of the man he recognised. ‘A young woman has been found dead and everyone’s in an uproar. The ladies, half of ’em anyway, have had fits of the vapours. They’re swoonin’ in the heat, sir. The gents are trying to appear in control but most of ’em look a bit green around the gills. We haven’t let anyone leave, but Lady Ashton wasn’t happy about that. Tried to pull rank on me, so she did, until I told her you were on your way.’
‘Glad to be of service,’ Riley replied with a wry smile.
‘Newspaper men have got word of it somehow,’ Carter said.
‘Damn! Make sure no one says a word to them. I’ll deal with the gentlemen of the press later.’ Or, more likely, Danforth would. He enjoyed getting his name in print, which suited Riley. His brother would sniff if Riley’s profile hit the front pages. Bad for the family image, according to Henry. Riley failed to comprehend why maintaining law and order—or attempting to in the face of opposition from every side—was anything other than a noble ambition. No one sneered at younger sons keeping the wolf from the door by becoming lawyers, soldiers, doctors or priests. He was at a loss to understand why keeping the streets safe shouldn’t evoke similar levels of respectability. ‘Do we know the name of the victim?’ he asked, conscious of the quiet rumble of conversation emanating from the drawing room, to which he assumed the guests had been restricted. ‘And are all the servants accounted for and in one place?’
‘The doctor’s confirmed that life is extinct.’ Salter sniffed. ‘I could have told him that much for myself. Still, he’s been, thrown his weight around and gone again. We interrupted his night out, it seems.’
Riley rolled his eyes, a little surprised to hear that the doctor had rushed his examination. From the upper middle classes, Dr Maynard had received a decent education and had aspirations to join the ruling classes, never wasting an opportunity to ingratiate himself within their ranks. So why had he been was in such a tearing hurry to leave Lord Ashton’s establishment?
‘The men from the mortuary are here to take the body but I told ’em to leave it where it was,’ Salter said. ‘Thought you’d want to see it first. It’s in the music room.’
‘Quite right.’ Riley sighed. ‘Don’t suppose the good doctor offered an opinion as to the cause of death?’
Salter chuckled. ‘It’s fairly obvious. The gal was strangled.’
‘But is that what caused her death?’
‘Ah.’
‘Precisely,’ Riley replied, resigned to the fact that he must now wait for the results of the post mortem to establish even that basic fact.
Before Riley could remind Salter that he still didn’t know the name of the victim, a vision in pale lilac with tawny curls, dramatic eyes and a tragically pale complexion burst from the drawing room and ran up to Riley.
‘I thought I heard your voice,’ Amelia Cosgrove said breathlessly. ‘Thank goodness you’re here. It’s too awful for words.’
‘Good evening, Amelia.’
Riley took her elbow and led her to a chair situated in the entrance vestibule. He and Amelia had been childhood acquaintances, with Amelia’s family owning an estate next door to the Rochesters. At thirty she was five years Riley’s junior, so he’d had little to do with her during their youth. It was only a couple of years ago when she returned from America, looking far too fresh and vibrant to be a grieving widow, that Riley really noticed her. Their paths had crossed on several occasions since then, Amelia happily accepting Riley’s invitation to those social engagements he was unable to avoid. It was a useful means of keeping his mother at bay and preventing her from introducing him to a welter of suitable females.
‘It’s Emily,’ Amelia said, her eyes swamped with tears. ‘But I expect you already know that. Sweet little Emily Ferguson. Who would want to do such a terrible thing?’
Riley hid his surprise at the victim’s identity. He knew Emily. No one with a connection to society, or who read the society columns, could fail to recognise the name. She was not only a debutante, but widely accepted to have been the debutante of the previous season. Riley had seen her, usually in the middle of a gaggle of friends or surrounded by groups of potential suitors, at parties to which he had been forced or persuaded to attend. He had looked at her, and those like her, from his usual position at the side of whatever room he found himself in, somewhere back in the shadows, or finding safety in the swathe of tropical plants in various conservatories. Beautiful, lively and with a slightly irreverent attitude, Riley had been surprised how unspoiled she had always seemed. Her head had not been turned by all the attention and everyone—even Riley, who took little interest in such matters—was astonished when she didn’t accept any of the proposals that came her way at the end of her first season.
His policeman’s mind clicked into action, and he started wondering if a disappointed suitor had taken the ultimate revenge.
‘I am very sorry to hear it,’ Riley said, patting Amelia’s hand. ‘She was a charming girl, and far too young to die. Now, I know this is awful, but I need you to remain strong. Can you do that for me? I expect, when you recover from the shock, you’ll remember details, and those details will be of good use to me.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Amelia produced a crumpled handkerchief from one of her sleeves and wiped her eyes. ‘I am so sorry. It’s not like me to be such a watering pot. What can I do to help?’
‘You’ve had a terrible shock. Of course you will be affected by it—although perhaps not quite so profoundly as many of the other ladies will be. You are far too level-headed to give way to fainting fits. Salter, have you established how many people were in attendance and where they were at the time? The sergeant nodded with a hint of reproach. Of course he had, Riley realised. He was nothing if not efficient. ‘We will get to that directly, but first I would like to see the victim.’
‘It all sounds so soulless, referring to Emily as a victim,’ Amelia said with a wan smile. ‘Not an hour ago,
I was talking with her, and now…’
‘I’m sorry, my dear,’ Riley took Amelia’s hand. He knew that his bluntness was one factor that precluded him from enjoying the company of the class to which he belonged. ‘Who did…’ Who did she come with? That’s what he’d been about to ask. He remembered the company he was in and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. ‘With whom did she attend?’ he asked in steady voice, injecting a degree of what he hoped was sympathy.
‘Her mama. That smarmy doctor gave her a sedative. Mrs Ferguson that is, not Emily. I mean, it’s too late for a sedative to help Emily. Of course it is, the poor girl…’ Riley placed a calming hand on her shoulder. He’d seen shock manifest itself in so many ways. He felt Amelia trembling under his hand, heard her let out a half sob before continuing. ‘Anyway, Mrs Ferguson has been put to bed in one of the guest chambers.’
How, Riley wondered, had the doctor managed to examine the body, administer sedatives and leave the scene before Riley’s arrival? The wretched man probably knew that Riley would have had questions for him, questions that would have kept him from his engagement, but those very questions would have offered the good doctor the chance to preen, to stand centre stage offering his knowledge so he could later claim to have solved the crime for the police. So why had he scurried off? Was there a reason, or was it perhaps because he could find no incriminating evidence and wished to disassociate himself from potential failure?
Riley sighed. Personal arrogance, ambition and class-consciousness clouded every corner of investigations at this level of society. Part of him wished he was down in the slums near the river, sorting out some prosaic blood-letting without having to surround himself with such attendant nonsense as this. And how had Salter got here so soon, secured the premises and assembled the lists of guests and servants in his usual efficient fashion? Riley could only assume that Danforth had delayed sending for him, probably hoping to take the case on himself, until perhaps he’d spotted those same human foibles Riley was looking at now and washed his hands of the whole process, deciding instead to throw Riley into the lion’s den and stand back to watch him being torn to shreds. Either that or the commissioner had insisted upon Riley taking it. If that was the case then Riley and the commissioner were in agreement. It would be easier for Riley to ask the questions he already knew would be viewed with distaste and resentment. The whole thing was a colossal pain in the neck.
But Riley knew that it was also a highly delicate situation that required tact and resolve, and that as such he was the best officer to run the case. The trivial fact that a murder had been committed in the middle of a society soiree would not prevent its attendees from taking exception to being looked upon as suspects. Even the most experienced officers, unaccustomed to the dictatorial ways of the rich and titled, would be cowed by their authority, unwilling to push for answers if the interviewees prevaricated or pulled rank.
‘Stay here for now, Amelia, if you would be so kind. I shall speak with Lord Ashton. I expect he’s very anxious and I need to keep him as calm as possible. I will be back as soon as I can.’
‘Yes, of course. Go and do what needs to be done.’ Amelia shuddered. ‘Only to think, one of us, one of the people here tonight, is a murderer.’
‘If it reassures, I am certain the murderer killed Emily for a reason. No one else is in danger now. Especially not with Salter here to keep order.’ Riley’s demeanour was becoming authoritative, rising to the occasion as his mind clicked into gear.
‘That is indeed reassuring,’ Amelia offered Salter a faint smile.
‘Blimey, sir,’ Salter said in an aside as the two men turned towards the drawing room’s ornate double doors. ‘Nothing like creating expectations.’
Riley chuckled. ‘It’s called taking charge. All part of the job, Sergeant.’
‘Seems to me, sir, if you don’t mind my saying so, as the young lady would prefer for you to keep her safe.’
‘That particular young lady, I can assure you, is a good deal stronger than she seems. So many women are when the need arises. Right, are you ready, Salter? This is going to be akin to walking into a burning building. Society’s elite don’t take kindly to having debutantes murdered in their music rooms, and will be anxious to transfer the blame elsewhere. Abandon hope all ye who enter here…’ Riley offered Salter a half smile as he pushed the doors open with a theatrical flourish.
‘Ah, Rochester, there you are at last.’ Lord Ashton stepped up to Riley, peering up from his five-foot six frame, his bushy grey brows twitching with annoyance. ‘This is a rum affair. What the devil kept you?’
Chapter Two
‘Good evening, Lord Ashton.’ Riley inclined his head. ‘I regret the necessity for our meeting again under such tragic circumstances.’ The room fell silent as all eyes in it turned to the inspector. It was a typical Knightsbridge drawing room. Large and opulent and over-decorated, like most of its occupants. The men stood, eager to see Ashton test the mettle of the detective. The ladies reclined, most showing varying degrees of emotion, all fanning themselves against the heat.
Ashton sniffed, causing his waxed moustaches to twitch. ‘Damned inconvenient,’ he barked.
‘Especially for Miss Ferguson,’ Riley suggested. He heard one of the ladies catch her breath on a sob.
‘Yes, well.’ Ferguson’s fleshy cheeks bloomed with colour. ‘I trust I can rely upon your discretion, Rochester.’
Riley wasn’t surprised to discover that Ashton’s only concern was for himself and his reputation. There wasn’t an ounce of sympathy for Emily in his manner, reinforcing Riley’s low opinion of the man. He was the type whose high-handed attitude typified the behaviour of many of the aristocracy, causing resentment and mumblings amongst the masses about outdated privileges. There was a scribbler called Marx working somewhere in London—Highgate, Riley recalled. His ideas were amusing, although Riley doubted anything would come of them. But Ashton was a cantankerous devil, accustomed to getting his own way by either browbeating, bullying or pulling rank against those who had the temerity to oppose him.
Riley suspected that he was about to be subjected to Ashton’s authoritarian manner. Ashton would doubtless tell him how to run his investigation, and it was already apparent that he didn’t care if Emily’s murderer was brought to book or not, just so long as his precious name wasn’t tarnished by association. A quick resolution to the unfortunate matter—regardless of the facts—would be demanded, so that the whole unsavoury business could be swept beneath the drawing room’s vast rug as hastily as could be considered decent. If Ashton didn’t get his way, no doubt he’d go over Riley’s head to Danforth, and once again Riley would find himself squeezed between privilege and umbrage. Unfortunately for Ashton, Riley had never been one to tolerate coercion from either of those directions.
‘I shall endeavour to keep your inconvenience to a minimum, Lord Ashton.’
‘Now that you’re here, I hope it will be possible to let everyone leave. Your man here has all but kept us prisoners,’ he added, casting a scathing glance at Salter. ‘As though anyone in my drawing room would murder the silly girl.’ He huffed indignantly. ‘The idea is preposterous.’
Riley was tempted to point out the obvious flaws in Ashton’s argument but decided not to enter into a battle of wills with the man quite yet. Just now they were jockeying for superiority like a pair of prize-fighters sizing each other up, and apart from anything else, such a reaction would play right into Danforth’s hands.
‘My sergeant followed procedure,’ he said instead. ‘Your guests will soon be able to leave, but I must beg your indulgence and ask you to entertain them for a little longer. My officers will want to question them individually, as well as the servants, who will be left until last, of course.’ Riley’s tone was perhaps a little too condescending.
‘But that will take hours. It’s ridiculous. I’m not happy about this, Rochester. I shall be taking this matter up with your superiors.’ Riley exhaled at the she
er predictability of the man. He raised an eyebrow with Salter, who returned the gesture, and was pleased to see that some of the guests took note of it. He opened his mouth to speak, but Ashton continued. ‘It’s obvious what happened. Some ne’er-do-well sneaked into the gardens, saw Emily in the music room alone and took his chance. We ain’t safe in our own homes nowadays, and that’s a fact. The country’s gone to the dogs. Not sure what good all the money we’re spending on this fancy new Detective Department is doing if we can’t even risk opening our windows on a hot summer night.’
Ashton had worked himself up into a state of righteous fervour. Riley didn’t bother to contradict his view, aware that the man was attempting to hand Riley a neat solution to the murder that would see it quickly resolved. Absolving himself and his guests from culpability in the process, of course.
‘Lord Ashton, your theory is interesting, and it is no doubt one that we will consider. Now, if I might examine the deceased.’
‘Why?’ Ashton’s bushy brows twitched. ‘The doctor’s been and gone. She’s dead and that’s all there is to it.’
‘Even so, it’s my job to view her in the place where she died. The scene of a crime often provides invaluable clues, even if they are not immediately apparent as such. I shall look at the scene and then have her body removed from the house as discreetly as possible.’
Ashton grunted. ‘Do what you must. You know the way.’
‘Can you tell me who discovered Miss Ferguson?’
Ashton’s entire body vibrated. ‘What’s that to do with anything?’
Riley considering the question to be self-evident. He sighed again. ‘I am simply trying to establish the sequence of events.’
Ashton grunted. ‘I found the gal, since you insist upon knowing. Just as well that I did. Don’t care to think of the hysterics we would have had to endure if one of the other ladies had come across her. At least this way I was able to break the news to the women gently and keep them away from Miss Ferguson.’ He shot Riley a defiant look. ‘I take it that meets with your approval.’
Death of a Debutante (Riley Rochester Investigates Book 1) Page 2