‘Absolutely.’ But Ashton hadn’t answered Riley’s question to his satisfaction. In fact he’d told him almost nothing, other than that he’d had adequate time to drill the others in what ought to be said. Fortunately he was unaware of Riley’s close friendship with Amelia, and knew she would reveal whatever she knew, so Riley let matters rest as they were. For now.
‘Right, well we shall remain here in the drawing room until you’ve finished.’ Ashton stood close to Riley and wagged a finger in his face. ‘Don’t keep us waiting all night.’
Riley had a near exhaustive supply of patience as a general rule but it had already been almost…well, exhausted by Ashton’s attitude. He was sorely tempted to bend back Ashton’s finger until it snapped, but common sense prevailed.
‘I shall be as fast as I possibly can,’ he replied, speaking very slowly. He looked at Ashton’s pointing finger, then into Ashton’s eyes. Ashton put his hand down and took a step backwards.
‘Can’t understand why you got yourself involved with this detecting business, Rochester. Have to agree with your brother in that regard. It ain’t seemly.’ Ashton scratched his head, as though seeking inspiration. ‘Ain’t seemly at all.’
‘I have been told that more than once.’
‘Well, you ought to listen. A man in your position don’t need to lower himself.’
Ashton returned to his guests, still muttering about unsuitable occupations.
‘I want you two to search every inch of the terrace,’ Riley said to the two eager detectives awaiting his instructions. ‘If memory serves, it folds round three sides of the house and all the principal rooms have doors opening onto it. Pay particular attention to the area outside the music room. Try not to be too obvious when you’re outside the windows of the rooms that are occupied, and don’t let anyone turn you away.’
‘What are we looking for, sir?’ Carter asked.
‘I have absolutely no idea,’ Riley replied frankly. ‘But it’s a warm night, and on occasions such as these the terrace sees a lot of activity. Our killer could have slipped from the drawing room onto the terrace and into the music room that way. No one would have known he was there. If he was missed they would simply assume he was taking the air. Look for anything untoward. The killer might have left the room that way and even the coldest of hearts would be agitated, having just done what he did. There might be evidence.’ Riley called them back as they turned to follow his order. ‘Oh, and best look to see if there’s any evidence of a person having scaled the garden walls.’ Riley doubted if they would find any, but he had to consider Ashton’s theory. ‘Right, that’s it. Off you go.’
The young men nodded and trotted off in the direction of the terrace, accessing it from the corridor. That was a third place from which the killer could have approached Emily, Riley thought. If a servant was responsible for the crime, it would be the most likely route for him or her to have taken, since Ashton’s retainers would be experts at keeping out of sight. It was worth bearing in mind, and he said as much to Salter as they walked further along the oak-lined corridor past the paintings of Ashton’s ancestors and entered the music room from the side door. He nodded to the two mortuary assistants who leaned against the wall, waiting with their litter to remove the body.
The pervasive aroma of death assailed Riley’s nostrils the moment he walked into the room, filling him with sadness at the curtailment of such a young and vibrant life. He realised that the smell was coming from the mortuary assistants, who had probably undertaken similar tasks that day in far less salubrious circumstances. Emily was lying on her back in the centre of the rug, her arms crossed neatly over her silk bodice, the bustle on her gown gathered to one side of her prone form. Her face looked peaceful, but for the angry ring of bruises around her neck. There were red marks on one wrist too, Riley noticed. He looked up at the mortuary assistants.
‘Was this how she was found?’ he asked. ‘With her hands folded in that manner?’
‘Yes, sir. No one’s moved nothing,’ one of the assistants replied.
‘She has been posed,’ Riley said to Salter. ‘Her killer was known to her, and either cared about her or wished to make some sort of obscure point. Either way, he treated her body with respect—once he had squeezed the life from her, of course.’
‘She was killed by someone who cared for her?’ Salter asked.
‘Love and hate are said to be opposite sides of the same coin, Salter.’
‘This is a crime of passion, like?’
‘Possibly. The killer, her or she—’
‘She? You think a woman would be strong enough to strangle another healthy young female and no one heard nothing?’
‘We must keep an open mind. Young ladies in society circles can be ruthlessly ambitious and even more ruthlessly jealous. All I can say for now is that the killer would have been known to her if he or she was a guest here this evening.’
Salter nodded slowly as he continued to contemplate the body. ‘She was a lovely woman, right enough. That’s enough to cause resentment, no matter what class you come from.’
‘We cannot ignore the possibility that a servant carried out the crime, although no reason springs immediately to mind,’ Riley said, circling the body and noticing how it had been placed precisely in the centre of the rug. ‘One could have been paid, of course. Money, ambition or jealousy is behind this crime, I suspect.’
‘This’ll be like looking for a needle in a haystack then,’ Salter complained. ‘We have a roomful of suspects next door, a load more below stairs and the possibility of a rogue intruder.’
‘You can forget the intruder. I’m simply going through the motions there to pacify Ashton. The man’s an idiot…’ Salter smiled in agreement. ‘An intruder wouldn’t strangle a girl he doesn’t know. If she caught him stealing he’d have just knocked her down and scarpered. He wouldn’t take his time strangling her, then pose her body and not steal her jewellery. Besides, there’s nothing obviously missing from this room.’
‘Right. Well, that’s something, I suppose, but his lordship won’t be pleased.’
‘His lordship is never pleased. I know him of old and care little for his pleasure. Anyway, Emily was definitely posed. One doesn’t fall to the floor after being strangled and calmly place one’s own arms over one’s chest. And see how she’s right in the centre of the rug.’ Riley rubbed his chin. ‘The killer has a tidy mind.’
‘There’s no sign of a struggle,’ Salter said, glancing round the room. ‘No furniture overturned, nor nothing.’
Riley nodded his agreement. There was a magnificently carved harp sitting in the corner of the room and a grand piano next to it. The only sign of recent activity was a spread of sheet music across the top of the piano, as though the guests had been sifting through it, deciding either what to play or what they would like to hear. Two half-empty champagne flutes sat on a side table. Since they were the only glasses in the room they implied to Riley that Emily had drunk from one of them. Someone else, a guest no doubt, had brought her a glass in the hope of stealing a few moments alone with her. Presumably she had agreed, with fatal consequences.
A cluster of chairs looked as though they had been recently vacated following a recital. Double doors to one end of the room led, Riley knew, to the drawing room beyond. The sound of Lord Ashton’s voice, raised in annoyance, confirmed the fact.
‘Notice anything else? The one thing above all others that convinces me she knew her killer and that the killer either cared for her or respected her.’
Salter examined the body for some time, muttering to himself. ‘Can’t say as I do,’ he finally admitted.
‘Her eyes, Salter. Her eyes. The killer closed them. He couldn’t bear to have her cold, dead eyes staring up at him. It was remorse or affection, one of the two. My money is on the latter, but time will tell.’
‘Sorry sir, I should have spotted such a detail. But I see what you mean.’
‘She defini
tely died of strangulation,’ Riley said, crouching beside the body, looking at the red finger-shaped bruises on her throat and the broken capillaries beneath the skin on her face. ‘Strangulation is the ultimate form of punishment and control. Miss Ferguson did something to severely upset a person who dislikes being gainsaid.’
Salter sniffed. ‘Well I can certainly think of at least one such person,’ he said. ‘But his lordship wouldn’t have shat in his own nest, if you’ll pardon the expression, gov’nor. Especially when it was full of people. Anyone could’ve seen the killer from out there on the veranda, sir. Bit risky, wouldn’t you say?’
Riley shrugged. ‘Someone with a calculating mind committed this crime, Salter. That person attacked her with force and yet she put up no resistance.’
‘How do you know, sir? Because there’s no upset furniture? It’s a big room…oh, of course, the hands.’
Riley picked one up and examined it. ‘What’s the first thing you would do if someone tried to strangle you?’
‘Fight back.’
‘Precisely. But she has no scratches, no broken fingernails, and not a hair on her head is out of place. There are no marks on her face to indicate that the murderer struck her, rendering her unconscious. And nothing to indicate that she put up any resistance.’ Riley tutted. ‘It’s deuced odd.’
‘It has to have been a man then.’
‘I think,’ Riley said slowly, nodding towards the champagne glasses, ‘that she met someone in here, either by accident or design, but was definitely alone with him. They argued. The man grasped her wrist and tried to reason with her, lost his temper and…unless—’ Riley walked across to the table with the empty glasses on it. He bent down and sniffed the contents, but nothing appeared untoward. ‘I want these taken back to the laboratory for analysis.’
‘Poison, sir? A soporific, perhaps?’
‘I’m not sure, but something here doesn’t ring true.’ Riley rubbed his lips with the edge of his forefinger. ‘Emily’s unwillingness to defend herself concerns me. Why wouldn’t she fight for her life or scream for help? I can only suppose that she either thought she could reason with her assailant or was incapacitated.’
‘Hard to scream when you’re bein’ strangled, sir. But you think her killer put an opiate in her drink to make her more cooperative.’ Salter, a family man with a daughter not much younger than Emily, scowled. ‘When that didn’t work he lost his temper and killed her.’
‘I can’t afford to ignore such a possibility.’ He looked up to the mortuary assistants. ‘I assume the necessary photographs have been taken.’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Right then,’ Riley said as he took a last look at the scene. ‘Take her. I want our doctor friend to analyse her stomach contents. If she was rendered insensible—’
‘Wouldn’t someone have noticed?’
‘Depends upon how fast acting the drug was and how soon afterwards she found herself alone with her killer. It’s just a thought,’ Riley said as he opened the door to the corridor. ‘But if I’m right then it’s a planned crime. No crime of passion, this. Anyone could have put that opiate into her drink, making it possible, at least in theory, for a female accomplice to finish her off. She would be powerless to fight back and, somehow, the tidy manner in which she was posed makes me suspect a woman’s hand somewhere in this sorry affair. It’s a cold business, and I’ll have someone swing for it.’
Salter looked grim. ‘That ought to make for some interesting interrogations.’
‘Precisely.’ Riley, pleased to leave the music room and the smell of death behind him, moved into an anteroom and sat at a table. He nodded to Salter to take the chair on its opposite side. ‘Before I go in there, let me see the list of guests. How many people were here this evening?’
‘Twenty-eight.’
‘An intimate gathering then. Thank heavens for small mercies.’
Riley took the list from Salter’s hand and scanned the names. Every single person on it was known to him.
‘We can dismiss the majority of these after an initial interview, or send them home and follow up with them tomorrow. The older ones wouldn’t have the strength to kill Emily and, even if they did, they wouldn’t lower themselves to carry out the crime themselves.’ Riley ran his finger down the neatly written list.
‘They’d have a servant do it for them,’ Salter said, rolling his eyes.
‘Yes, but none of them would have brought their own servants into the house, so unless we unearth evidence to the contrary in our search of the grounds, we can rule them out.’
‘I’m told that the older people all moved into the drawing room once the music was over and never left it.’
Riley knew that wouldn’t be true. They might all have been there for the majority of the time but one or more of them would at some point have been required to answer a call of nature. Any guest here would have been capable of disappearing for long enough to murder Emily.
‘Only the younger set wandered outside in search of air and…well, whatever young people hope to find at these events. You’d know more about that than I do, sir,’ Salter added with a sly smile.
‘I try to avoid such events as often as possible,’ Riley answered. He didn’t tell Salter he’d been invited. There was only so much noblesse oblige his sergeant could take. ‘Anyway, what you tell me reinforces my decision to send the older men home. This is a young person’s crime, I’d stake my reputation on that. But older ladies especially are very observant,’ he said, thinking of his mother and how she seemed to know who had an interest in whom, just by seeing a shared look, an admiring glance or the flutter of a brow. She was almost always right. ‘Some of them might have seen something to help us, even if they don’t realise it. My difficulty is,’ Riley added, stroking his chin reflectively, ‘that they are likely to close ranks, especially if they think they are protecting one of their own.’
‘Even if he’s a murderer?’ Salter cried, aghast.
‘Especially then. You saw how Ashton reacted. We need to speak with everyone tonight or first thing tomorrow, before they’ve had time to get over the horror and decide upon their stories between them.’
Salter sighed. ‘No rest for the wicked.’
‘You should be accustomed to that,’ Riley pushed himself to his feet, just as the two constables returned from their search of the gardens. ‘Any luck?’ Riley asked.
‘Nothing so far, sir, and it’s too dark to continue looking.’
‘Right, take yourselves down to the kitchens,’ he said. ‘Talk to all the servants and get a full list of their names from the butler. What’s his name, Salter?’
‘Farlow, sir.’
‘Farlow, that’s it. Treat him with respect, Peterson. Try to make him understand that we are not accusing any of his staff of wrongdoing but need his help in order to resolve the crime quickly. He will be as keen as Ashton for it to be cleared up. Butlers are touchy devils but we need him on our side, so treat him with kid gloves. Get a list of all the servants’ names and their positions from him. Try to find out which of them were above stairs at the time of the crime, what their duties were and where precisely they were in the house in order to carry them out. Spend time on the servants. They gossip about anything and everything. They’ll know things the gentry are blissfully unaware of, I’m sure.’
‘I will do my best, sir.’
‘Good man. Come on then, Salter. I’ll ask the questions, you watch everyone carefully. What they don’t say is often more enlightening than what they wish you to hear. Look for gestures, twitches, signs of nerves.’
Riley pushed both drawing room doors open, making a deliberately flamboyant entrance. All conversations ceased as every head turned in his direction—a tableau momentarily frozen in time. The younger gentlemen were all standing, while the older ones and all the ladies occupied the seats scattered about the large room. The fans were still busy. A couple of the men had loosened their cravats. Most of
the gentlemen in the drawing room nursed brandy snifters and the ladies were sharing pots of tea. ‘A pot of tea on a hot day is better than water or chilled lemonade. It opens the pores, dear.’ Riley remembered his mother’s advice and smiled to himself. The only occupant of the room uninterested in Riley’s appearance was a rotund marmalade cat stretched full length across an open window ledge, sound asleep. Riley struck the creature from his internal list of suspects and smiled again. The game was afoot. This was the part he enjoyed, the part that made him realise he had found his vocation. Humanity, in all its strengths and flaws, waiting to be laid open.
Lady Ashton stood and walked swiftly over to Riley, her skirts swishing and a lace-edged handkerchief clutched in her hands. But her eyes were dry and Riley wasn’t surprised to see that she appeared more agitated than upset. The ignominy of having a guest murdered in her household was not something she was likely to recover from quickly. She would be the gossip of the ton for some time, and she knew it well. Riley would be compassionate, but for the fact that her distress was for her own situation, not Emily Ferguson’s death.
‘This is terrible, Lord Riley,’ she said. ‘Simply terrible.’ Riley knew that the use of his title was meant to bring him onside with his fellow aristocrats whose evening had been so inconvenienced by Emily’s murder. ‘I’m sure I don’t know what the world is coming to. Indeed I do not.’ She shook her head and squeezed out a tear that trickled down her wrinkled cheek. ‘Such a wicked, wicked crime.’
‘I am very sorry that this has happened, Lady Ashton,’ Riley said, perhaps a touch too dismissively, before turning his attention to the rest of the room. ‘And I am sorry to have kept you all here for so long, ladies and gentlemen. I realise it has been unpleasant and inconvenient.’
‘I should say it has,’ grumbled one of the older gentlemen. ‘Not good form to keep the ladies confined after such a shocking occurrence, Rochester. Night like this as well. You ought to know better.’
Death of a Debutante (Riley Rochester Investigates Book 1) Page 3