‘Good morning, Lord Ashton.’
‘Oh, it’s you.’
‘You were expecting someone else?’ Riley asked, with exaggerated courtesy.
‘I wasn’t expecting anyone. I gave strict instructions not to be disturbed.’ Ashton waved irritably at the papers scattered across his desk. ‘Can’t you see that I’m busy?’
‘Murder is no respecter of how busy you are,’ Riley replied. ‘Murder’s no respecter of anything much, come to think of it.’
He waited for Ashton to either invite him to sit or to himself stand so that they could conduct their conversation at the same level. When he did neither, Riley lost patience. Unwilling to be disadvantaged by being made to stand in front of the mahogany monolith like a recalcitrant schoolboy summoned to a headmaster’s study for six of the best, he seated himself on the chair in front of the desk. Having done so, he turned the tables on Ashton by taking his time to settle himself into a comfortable position. He critically examined the fall of his grey Scotch stripe trousers and inspected the high polish on the toes of his pointed shoes.
‘I thought I made it clear that—’
‘Then you have the advantage of me, since nothing is yet clear to me.’ Riley allowed a significant pause before continuing. ‘I understand that you were the first to come across the body. Can you tell me how that came about? I was given to understand last night that you were all of you, apart from the young people, in the drawing room together.’
‘Not every second of the time. Use your sense, man!’ Riley elevated a brow at Ashton’s tone, recalling what few manners the older man possessed. ‘I’m sorry, Rochester,’ Ashton sighed. ‘This damned business has got to us all and tempers are frayed. It’s a rum affair and that’s a fact.’ Riley stayed silent and waited to see what explanation Ashton would give for discovering the body. ‘Anyway, you asked about the drawing room,’ he said. ‘I stepped outside to smoke a cigar, if you must know. Lady Ashton doesn’t like cigar smoke in her drawing room, which provides me with an excuse to escape the women’s chit-chat for the ten minutes it takes me to enjoy a smoke. Can’t abide gossip myself but the ladies seem to thrive on it.’
‘And that’s when you saw Emily.’
‘Shocked me rigid, I don’t mind telling you.’ Ashton shuddered, probably the first genuine reaction that Riley had managed to elicit from him. Perhaps the man did possess a few, a very few, finer feelings. Riley decided to reserve judgement. He also tried very hard to put aside his dislike of the man and remain impartial. ‘I checked to see if she was still alive but it was obvious that she wasn’t.’
‘And then?’ Riley prompted.
‘And then I took a moment to think how best to break the terrible news to the ladies. To Mrs Ferguson. Miss Ferguson was definitely dead so it seemed prudent to try and manage the situation with tact and sensitivity.’
Sensitivity? Ashton? Riley suspected that Ashton’s first and only concern had been to minimise his own involvement.
‘And after informing everyone, you contacted Chief Inspector Danforth rather than the local police station. That shows a cool head in a time of crisis but doesn’t explain why you went directly to the top.’
‘He is a personal friend,’ Ashton said, returning his attention to the papers on his desk. He seemed incapable of meeting Riley’s cool gaze. ‘I knew the newspapers would be all over this and that word would leak to them in no time flat if I went directly to the police. Some of your more junior colleagues will do anything to earn an extra shilling or two.’ Riley compressed his lips and said nothing, since Ashton spoke the truth. ‘It needed a senior figure to keep a tight lid on things. You know how it is, Rochester.’ Ashton tried a comradely smile that failed to reach his eyes. ‘Murders are ten a penny in this city and no one bats an eye. But a debutante killed in the house of an aristocrat…well, that makes for sensational headlines. I didn’t want Mrs Ferguson to be exposed to the uncouth and intrusive attentions of the gentlemen of the press.’
‘Very thoughtful of you,’ Riley said with a wry smile, thinking it interesting that Ashton considered himself to be an aristocrat, when he most decidedly was not.
‘I asked Danforth to bring you in. It’s better to keep these things amongst ourselves.’
Riley allowed another pause as he formulated his next question. In the corner of the room, a grandfather clock ticked loudly. ‘You didn’t see anyone running away, or any other members of the party loitering close at hand?’
‘I would have told you so if I had.’
That Riley very much doubted. To have a murder occur in his establishment was an abomination. To have it proven that one of his guests was the murderer would be a travesty from which Ashton’s reputation would not recover. And if his finances were as precarious as Salter seemed to think—a matter that Riley had yet to explore further—maintaining a spotless reputation amongst the wealthy plutocracy was vital to his survival.
‘The young people were inside by that point,’ Riley remarked. ‘The men were playing billiards, the young ladies joined you in the drawing room…all but Emily, who was in the music room, inconsiderately getting herself strangled.’
Ashton shuddered. ‘Not need to use quite such graphic language, Rochester.’
‘I prefer plain speaking.’
‘The only other person not inside was Mrs Cosgrove. But she was at the other end of the terrace. It wraps round the house, so she wouldn’t have seen anything.’ Ashton paused. ‘Fine woman, Mrs Cosgrove, and an exceptional harpist. Shame she had to be outside and one of the first on the scene when I raised the alarm. Don’t do for ladies to have to witness that sort of thing, especially those with Mrs Cosgrove’s sensibilities.’
Riley turned a burst of laughter into a cough. A less delicate flower than Amelia Riley he had yet to encounter. But Ashton’s outspoken appreciation of her talents explained why he had ensured she received an invitation to his wife’s musicale. He clearly had a fancy for her, damn his impudence! Riley thought of Amelia and felt a bright flash of jealousy, reinforcing his suspicion that Emily’s secret admirer could have been moved by jealousy to commit unthinkable acts. If I can’t have you, no one else will. Jute, he wondered, but as quickly put the possibility to the back of the queue. Intuition told him that Jute wasn’t a violent man. Besides, he had more promising leads to explore.
‘We have accounted for everyone’s whereabouts,’ Riley said, crossing one leg over his opposite knee, ‘but I am still unaware who you were arguing with before you broke the devastating news.’
‘Arguing?’ A flash of alarm passed through Ashton’s eyes. His cheeks burned scarlet and he looked away to his left. He was lying. ‘Who told you that? I am not in the habit of talking to myself, so I couldn’t have been arguing with anyone.’
‘Well then, I must have been misinformed,’ Riley replied with a negligent shrug, knowing that he had not been, but unwilling to press the point when he knew he wouldn’t receive an honest answer. As usual, he would have to arrive at the truth by a less direct route. ‘Now then, I would like to speak with your son.’
‘He can’t tell you anything that I haven’t already. Besides, he’s not here. He was needed at the bank. Can’t hold up important negotiations just because some silly girl…’
‘In which case, we will not inconvenience him by taking him away from those negotiations,’ Riley said with an easy smile. ‘Instead I will call at the bank with a uniformed constable and interview him there.’
The threat was unambiguous. Clearly unaccustomed to having his authority questioned, Ashton’s eyes bulged in disbelief. He thrust an arm in Riley’s direction, knocking over his ink well and spilling its contents over his blotter. He uttered an oath as he righted it, seemingly unaware that he had stained his cuff in the process. The clock continued its loud ticking and Riley remained silent, waiting for Ashton’s capitulation.
‘Oh, very well, if you insist, but I’m not happy about this, Rochester. Not happy at all.
I wanted you involved because I thought you could be relied upon to…to behave with discretion and a degree of sympathy for those you were dealing with. I will be informing your superiors of your blundering about, just mark my words.’ He huffed and postured for a minute or two more, attempting yet failing to penetrate Riley’s mask of cool superiority. ‘Terrance should be finished with his investors by now. I will send word and have him back here within the hour.’
‘Thank you.’ Riley inclined his head. ‘In the meantime, I would like to speak with Lady Ashton and then your daughter, please.’
‘Oh, if you must. But don’t overset them by going into unnecessary detail. They are still recovering from the shock.’
A stony-faced Farlow escorted Riley to the drawing room, where Lady Ashton would join him directly. No offer of refreshment was forthcoming, which didn’t surprise Riley. He was an unwelcome visitor to this house and Farlow wanted him to know it. But Riley wasn’t going to be upstaged by a butler with ideas above his station. He snapped his fingers at the retreating Farlow, who turned with a look that could best be described as incredulous.
‘It’s a hot day, Farlow. Fetch me a glass of iced water, there’s a good chap.’ Riley turned his back on Farlow and pretended to examine something on the sideboard.
He filled the time that he was kept waiting—deliberately, he was sure—by examining the room, trying it imagine it filled with a cluster of adults engaged in polite conversation, as it had been the previous evening.
Farlow continued his game of one-upmanship by sending a housemaid with the water. Riley tanked her and opened the adjoining doors to the music room, which looked as though it had been cleaned to within an inch of its life, leaving no sign of the terrible tragedy that had occurred the previous night. The murder might almost not have happened, which was doubtless the impression Ashton wanted to create. The walls were thick, Riley discovered by tapping them with his knuckles, and the doors were solid oak. With such barriers to muffle the sound, it would have been quite possible for a loud disagreement to have taken place without it being overheard above the drawing room conversation, Riley concluded. Possible, but exceedingly risky, he thought.
He was searching for a cold-blooded killer, someone secure enough to execute an audacious crime in the middle of a society soiree and confident enough to think he could evade detection.
‘Not if I have any say in the matter,’ Riley muttered.
The door opened to admit Lady Ashton, bringing Riley’s cogitations upon the murderer’s modus operandi to an end. She was simply dressed in a grey gown that, in Riley’s opinion, struck exactly the right note of respect in the face of a tragedy that didn’t directly impinge upon her family. Or so she must hope. She was an attractive woman, Riley thought, looking at her properly for the first time since making her acquaintance as he stood to greet her. He’d not previously had any reason to take much notice of her. A good twenty years younger than Ashton, her style was elegant and, unlike her husband, she hadn’t adopted airs along with her courtesy title.
She smiled at Riley. ‘Lord Riley,’ she said, seating herself and waving him back into the chair facing hers. ‘How can I be of help?’
Straightforward and to the point. Riley liked that. ‘I am talking to everyone who was here last night, ma’am,’ he replied. ‘You were in the drawing room with the rest of your guests when your husband broke the tragic news?’
‘Yes.’ She looked pale yet composed, her hands neatly folded in her lap as she responded. ‘I dislike cigar smoke inside the house. It affects my breathing, you see, especially in this insufferable heat, and so my husband and any other of the gentlemen who wish to smoke usually have enough consideration to do so outside.’
‘You heard nothing from the music room before Miss Ferguson’s body was discovered? No shouting? No sounds of a scuffle?’ he asked, already anticipating the answer she would give.
‘I did not, Lord Riley. The doors were closed and we were engaged in lively conversation about the latest production of Romeo and Juliet at the Theatre Royal. Those who had not seen it were keen to hear the impressions of those of us who have and a friendly disagreement about the abilities of the actors took place.’
‘Your son was keen to win Miss Ferguson’s affections, I understand.’
‘As was every young man in London, Lord Riley. She was a very pretty girl.’
‘Everyone I have spoken to tells me that Terrance was one of her most persistent admirers. How did you feel about that?’
Lady Ashton smiled. ‘I saw no harm in the attraction.’
‘She rejected his proposal. That cannot have pleased Terrance.’
‘If you mean to imply that my son murdered the girl out of some misguided jealousy, then you mistake the matter.’ Lady Ashton locked eyes with Riley’s, but she remained perfectly calm in the face of a question that would have reduced her more volatile husband to a fit of apoplexy. ‘We all experienced the agonies of unrequited love when we were Terrance’s age, I am perfectly sure of it. It’s almost a rite of passage, and yet we none of us resorted to murder when the object of our affections failed to return our regard.’
‘Quite.’ But we are not all as arrogant as Terrance. ‘You invited Mrs Ferguson and her daughter to your soiree, presumably at the request of your son.’
‘And because Emily was a very talented musician. Both ladies would have been invited as a matter of course. As were you yourself, I believe. What a pity you weren’t there, Lord Riley.’ Lady Ashton succeeded in penetrating his carapace of self-assurance in a way her husband never could.
‘Indeed so,’ he muttered.
‘I made up the guest list myself—although my husband suggested adding Amelia Cosgrove’s name to it.’ Riley sent Lady Ashton a probing look, which she returned without blinking. Her husband had his sights set on an affair with Amelia, and Lady Ashton wasn’t the least bit disturbed by the possibility of that affair being instigated. ‘Perhaps it was no coincidence that my husband felt the need for a cigar not long after Mrs Cosgrove wandered outside alone.’
Riley mentally applauded Lady Ashton’s guile. There were depths to the woman that the right choice of mourning clothes and an exterior serenity merely hinted at. She was probably aware of Riley’s friendship with Amelia and hoped to distract his attention away from Terrance with inferences that cast suspicion upon Amelia. Nice try, he thought, revising his opinion of Lady Ashton. Her intention was clearly to charm Riley into looking elsewhere for a suspect. As ruthlessly determined to protect her family’s interests as her husband was, Lady Ashton went about it in a more subtle manner.
‘How did your husband feel about Terrance’s interest in Emily?’ Riley asked, refusing to be drawn into a discussion about Amelia.
She shrugged, a little too casually, and for the first time Riley sensed a crack in the elegant façade she had chosen to present him with. ‘You will have to ask my husband that question,’ she said.
‘I am asking you, Lady Ashton.’
She looked a little annoyed to be pressed. ‘He saw no immediate need for Terrance to wed. He is still very young and doesn’t know his own mind. But since Miss Ferguson had rejected his proposal, he thought that Terrance’s infatuation would soon wane.’
‘And yet you invited the young lady to your house because he asked you to. It doesn’t sound to me as though he had given up hope. Nor does it seem like an effective manner in which to help the boy recover from his disappointment, especially if Emily chose to favour another of your guests with her smiles when she was here.’
‘Which she did not. Besides, having Emily here guaranteed that my son would attend the musicale,’ she replied with a brittle smile. ‘You don’t need me to tell you how hard it is to persuade gentlemen to present themselves at such occasions. You yourself are adept at avoiding mine.’
‘Alas, my occupation leaves me little time for social engagements.’
‘Even so.’
There was a cold d
etachment beneath Lady Ashton’s elegant manners, Riley realised, as he watched her performance. And it was a performance. She had known that Riley would interview her, had anticipated his questions and perfected her answers in advance, not expecting him to probe into areas she preferred not to visit. She had swiftly realised that suspicion would fall upon her son and was doing her level best to deflect that suspicion elsewhere. And all of this was done under the guise of an apparently genuine desire to be of help, along with a calm acceptance of the events that had transpired.
A little too calm.
A young girl had been murdered in her house and she seemed untroubled by emotion or regret.
‘Thank you, Lady Ashton. That will be all for the moment. Perhaps you would kindly have you daughter join me.’
‘Join us, Lord Riley. I will have her sent down.’
‘I would prefer to speak with her alone, if you don’t mind.’
‘Prudence is very upset about the death of her friend. She is delicate and needs my guidance.’
‘I don’t bite, ma’am, and will not bully her.’
Finally, Lady Ashton lost her composure and evidence of her husband’s dictatorial attitude showed in the tightness of her expression. ‘Even so, she can have nothing to say to you that I cannot hear.’
Riley shook his head. ‘You can’t honestly believe that to be the case.’
‘Certainly I do. My daughter and I have no secrets from one another.’
‘But Emily might have confided in her and Prudence would not, I’m sure, betray a confidence if she was sworn to secrecy.’
‘Of course she would not!’
‘Well, there you are then.’ Riley lost patience himself when Lady Ashton’s permission still failed to materialise. He stood and rested one hand on the back of his chair. ‘Please don’t ask me to insist.’
Death of a Debutante (Riley Rochester Investigates Book 1) Page 9