‘You can depend upon my discretion, Lord Riley,’ Maynard replied. ‘Only myself and my most trusted assistant worked on Miss Ferguson and neither of us will say a word. You will have a full report on my findings by tomorrow.’
Riley thanked him and they left the building. Back out in the heat, Salter breathed in huge gulps of gritty London air, claiming it to be the sweetest taste ever to pass his lips.
‘How he can work with that stench is beyond me,’ he grumbled.
Riley laughed, slapped his sergeant’s shoulder and they were soon in another cab, heading for Scotland Yard.
‘The chief inspector wants to see you the moment you get back.’ Sergeant Barton looked up from the desk to deliver that unwelcome but not unexpected message.
‘I am sure he does,’ Riley replied as he swept into the Detective Department’s main office. It was after five in the afternoon and the room was virtually deserted. Constable Peterson was still there, writing up his report on the interviews he had conducted with the other coachmen. Nothing of significance had arisen from them, but Riley hadn’t supposed that it would. He thanked Peterson for his diligence and asked him to return to the same men on the morrow and ask if they could recall Paxton unlocking the gate before they were able to regain access to the mews. Peterson accepted the assignment with a happy smile, no doubt glad to avoid immediate return to his regular duties.
‘Right, Salter,’ Riley said, sighing. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
The two men walked the short distance to Danforth’s office and tapped at the door.
‘They you are.’ Danforth looked up from the single sheet of paper that rested on an otherwise completely clear desk and frowned. ‘What progress?’ he asked, leaning back in a chair that squeaked in protest beneath his considerable weight. ‘I hoped to have this all tied up by this evening.’
‘Unfortunately it’s not that straightforward,’ Riley replied, seating himself when it appeared Danforth had no intention of inviting him to do so, damned if he would stand in front of him waiting to be chastised. It had been a long day, Riley was tired and in no mood to play Danforth’s games of one-upmanship. Salter shrugged and seated himself as well. ‘But we have made some headway.’
‘So I should hope. Tell me.’
Riley succinctly related most of what they had learned. He kept some of his suspicions and half-formed theories to himself for fear that Danforth would leap on them an easy solution that wouldn’t necessarily be just. He also failed to inform his superior of the punch that had been inflicted upon Emily. He wondered if it was distrust of Danforth or a sense of protection towards Emily, concluding it was a little of both.
‘I have asked Peterson to check with the other coachman and have them confirm that it was necessary for Paxton to unlock that gate before letting them back into the mews. It’s a formality since I believe Paxton spoke honestly and the gate was locked behind them.’
‘Damn!’ Danforth swivelled a paperknife between his fingers. ‘There goes the intruder theory.’
‘Almost certainly. Someone could have scaled the wall. I have not dismissed the possibility, but apart from that button, I have yet to find any evidence of an intruder. However, we have several other lines of enquiry to follow tomorrow. Most vitally, we must discover the identity of the young man whom Miss Ferguson had formed an attachment to.’
‘Ha! How the devil will you do that?’
‘The only place she went unescorted and could have met a young man who was considered unsuitable was at her music lessons. Jute escorted her to them but didn’t go inside with her.’
‘Ah! It was most likely him who was torn apart by jealousy and did her in.’
‘Having calmly walked into a house where he had no place and no means of gaining access. He then opened a bottle of champagne when anyone might have seen him, poured two glasses, poisoned them with a drug he happened to be carrying and then, dressed in a footman’s uniform, ordered a guest to call Emily inside.’
‘Well, when you put it like that…’
Riley heard Salter cough to cover a chuckle. ‘We have to find Emily’s diary and re-interview Mrs Ferguson, who knows more than she is saying. We must also trace the two servants who were dismissed and might have reason to get revenge upon Lord Ashton.’
‘And who know the layout of the house,’ Danforth said, brightening considerably. ‘They might have poured champagne just for the hell of it, intending to drink it for themselves, and then…well, you work it out. It’s what you’re paid to do.’ Danforth ran a finger around his collar, a habit of his that Riley found irritating. He looked away until he could be sure that Danforth’s layers of flesh would have resettled themselves. ‘They probably knew where Farlow kept his master keys and could easily have had a copy of the gate key made. I bet you hadn’t consider that possibility, eh?’ Danforth looked pleased with himself. Riley didn’t bother to tell him that the same thought had indeed already occurred to him. ‘Best ask them about that.’
Riley had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. Was Danforth really so naïve as to imagine he would get an honest answer to such a question? ‘We need to interview the other young people who were in attendance,’ he said, his deliberately bland countenance failing to give his thoughts away. ‘Two of the men were sweet on Emily and Gloria Dalton was jealous of her. Perhaps Terrance boasted that he had her father’s permission to address Emily again and that her acceptance was a formality. One of the others might have taken exception to that.’
‘I say, Rochester! These are gentlemen you’re talking about.’
‘Precisely, sir. Which is why I have no difficulty believing any of them capable of such behaviour.’ Riley paused, knowing what he said next would create an explosion of protest. ‘There are also rumours of financial difficulties within the Ashton household that need to be investigated.’
‘Why?’ Danforth barked. ‘What possible bearing could that have on the girl’s death?’
‘I shall not know until I look into it,’ Riley replied calmly. ‘But if there are financial hardships, Ashton will need his son to make an alliance with an heiress, rather than an impecunious debutante such as Emily Ferguson.’
The threatened explosion materialised. Danforth jumped to his feet, spluttering oaths, red in the face, cheeks bulging. ‘Utter rot! Leave Ashton’s affairs out of it.’
‘If I am to conduct a thorough investigation, that will not be possible.’ Riley fixed his chief inspector with a measured look. ‘If I do not ask these questions, you can be sure that the gentlemen of the press will. With a high profile case such as this one, they will do their very best to root out a scandal from other sources, since we are not giving out any facts for them to speculate upon. Which is all the more reason for us to be seen to be scrupulously fair. If a member of the aristocracy did kill the girl,’ he added, ‘which seems likely, then it will deter a lot of our critics if we bring him or her to book. It will also reflect well upon the Detective Department as a whole, and your determination to chase down all criminals, no matter their position in this world.’
Danforth pondered Riley’s words as he resumed his seat, apparently mollified, just as Riley had known he would be.
‘Very well, but tread cautiously. In the meantime, what am I to tell Lord Ashton?’
‘I would strongly recommend that you tell him nothing at all.’
‘He will demand a progress report.’
‘Which he is not entitled to. If you say anything to him, sir, he could use what you tell him to confuse the investigation, sending us off on wild goose chases. If that were to happen the trail will go cold and Emily’s killer might never be found.’
‘But I…’
‘Simply tell him that it’s early days, sir. Tell him we are busy following several leads and will inconvenience him as little as possible.’
‘Just get on with it then, Rochester, and report to me again tomorrow.’
Riley and Salter left Danfor
th’s office with alacrity.
‘What now?’ Salter asked.
‘Go home to your family, Jack. It’s late and there is nothing more to be done today. We will start again tomorrow with fresh enthusiasm.’
‘Good night then, sir. Have a pleasant evening.’
‘Good night,’ Riley replied, heading for his own office and the pile of paperwork that awaited his attention.
It was after seven by the time he went home, ready for a meal, a decent bottle of burgundy and solitude in which to mull over the day’s developments. He knew, as soon as his cab dropped him outside his house in Sloane Street and he saw his mother’s carriage waiting outside, that he would be denied even those simple pleasures.
‘Visitors?’ he asked Stout unnecessarily as he walked through the door. ‘Have this note taken round to Mrs Cosgrove,’ he added, taking a letter he had written whilst still in his office from his pocket and handing it to Stout.
‘I’ll see to it.’ Stout nodded towards the reception room. ‘The dowager marchioness, Lady Gaston and—’
‘Uncle Riley, there you are!’ His fourteen-year-old niece, Sophia, burst from the reception room in a flurry of bouncing curls and good humour. ‘We’ve been waiting for an age. Grandmamma is becoming quite impatient.’
‘Hello, Cabbage.’ Riley draped an arm around the young girl’s shoulders and walked with her into the lion’s den. He was inordinately found of Sophia, his brother’s eldest child, and her exuberant and sometimes challenging presence always lifted his spirits. ‘What brings you here?’
‘Murder,’ Sophia replied, rolling her eyes. ‘We want to know all the grisly particulars.’
Riley thought of poor Emily, cold on the slab, her nakedness revealing the extent of her assault. ‘I don’t believe you do,’ he said.
‘We most emphatically do not,’ Riley’s mother said as he and Sophia walked into the large room in which he had been hoping to relax for the evening. It was the first time his mother had agreed with him in a very long while. ‘Really, Sophia, I don’t know when you developed such a macabre interest in such matters, but it really won’t do. You are a young lady now, not a ghoul.’
Riley winked at his niece and then greeted his mother with a chaste kiss on the cheek before turning to greet the youngest of his three sisters, Martha, now Viscountess Gaston.
‘Mother, Martha,’ he said as he seated himself, wishing that it wasn’t still so damned hot. His mother’s presence prevented him from loosening his tie, which would otherwise have been the first thing he did. But Sophia felt no requirement to stand on ceremony and he was unsurprised when, half-child, half-young woman, she sank onto the rug beside his chair and leaned the side of her face against his knee.
‘Sit in a chair, Sophia,’ Lady Chichester chided. ‘You will wrinkle your gown.’
‘Do as you’re told, Cabbage,’ Riley said in an undertone. ‘It’s easier that way. Take it from one who knows.’
‘Must you refer to your niece as a vegetable?’ his mother demanded to know. Clearly, her hearing wasn’t failing her in her advancing years and she caught the words that Riley had intended only for Sophia.
‘Oh, I don’t mind in the least, Grandmamma. Uncle Riley has always called me Cabbage. It’s a sign of affection and I rather like it.’ Affection was in short supply in his brother’s household, Riley knew, and he had long worried that Sophia’s high-spirits would be suppressed by the prevailing atmosphere of rigid conformity that had marked her upbringing. He hoped she wouldn’t be as easily swayed with a few affectionate words by the young bucks who would pursue her for her dowry and connections when she came out. Riley would do his best to ensure that didn’t happen. Not that he would be given much opportunity, he knew, since he and his brother possessed very different characters and they seldom saw eye to eye on any subject. ‘If you want my opinion,’ Sophia continued, ‘cabbages are not nearly as humble as people make them out to be. They are quite pretty, in fact, with curly leaves that don’t always conform, and pretty colours. I would like to be curly and pretty and unconventional.’
‘You are,’ Riley said, reaching out to tug one of her curls. ‘So stop fishing for compliments, irritating child.’
‘Much as I hate to raise such a vulgar subject,’ Lady Chichester said, putting aside her tea cup, ‘we want to know if the rumours are correct and that a murder took place in Ashton’s house in full view of his guests.’
‘There was certainly a murder,’ Riley confirmed.
‘Was there lots of blood?’ Sophia asked, her eyes bulging with curiosity.
‘Sophia!’ her grandmother said sternly.
‘There was a suspicious death which I am charged with investigating. I am sorry to disappoint you, Cabbage, but there was no blood and the crime wasn’t committed in front of a roomful of witnesses.’
‘Apart from the murderer,’ Sophia pointed out with childish logic. ‘He must have witnessed it.’
‘Apart from him or her,’ Riley conceded.
‘Do you think a woman did it?’ Sophia asked, eyes wide with interest. ‘Was it a crime of passion?’
‘We heard Emily Ferguson was the victim,’ Martha said. ‘Is it true?’
‘Yes,’ Riley answered. ‘Unfortunately, that is the case.’
‘I saw her a few times during this last season,’ Martha remarked. ‘She certainly made an impression. A remarkably pretty girl with plenty of admirers, and pleasingly modest, but no money and little in the way of connections. But I can easily imagine young men coming to blows over her favours.’
‘Well, I have connections and money,’ Sophia pointed out, ‘so I live in expectation of young men coming to blows over me constantly.’
‘Sophia!’ her grandmother and aunt cried simultaneously.
‘It was you who mentioned money and connections, Aunt Martha,’ Sophia replied with wide-eyed innocence, causing his mother to frown and Riley to suppress a smile.
‘Miss Ferguson will go down in history as a beautiful and tragic heroine,’ Sophia said dramatically. ‘A bit like Juliet.’
‘Nonsense,’ the dowager replied. ‘Everyone will forget all about her as soon as your uncle brings her murderer to book.’
Riley smiled inwardly. His mother and brother both thoroughly disapproved of his chosen career, frequently expressing the view that it denigrated the family name. And yet it seemed his mother had total faith in his abilities. Despite her gruff exterior and strong views, he knew she had a soft heart and that he, Riley, was her favourite son—possibly her favourite child. But sometimes, when she was at her most imposing, it was difficult to return that affection.
‘That would be a shame,’ Sophia said pensively. ‘It would be a great pity to be murdered and then forgotten all about.’
‘She will be avenged, Cabbage,’ Riley assured her.
‘I expect she’s gone to heaven, which is supposed to be a much nicer place,’ Sophia remarked. ‘But I think it would be much better fun to stay here on earth.’
‘What is the world coming to?’ the dowager demanded. ‘Mind you, that’s what comes of elevating the likes of Ashton to the peerage,’ she added, sniffing. ‘Class will out. You wouldn’t find one of us murdering our guests,’ she added stoutly.
Don’t tempt me, Mother.
Riley and Sophia shared an amused glanced, accustomed to Lady Chichester’s forthright views that often had no basis in logic.
‘What do you know of Ashton?’ Riley asked, accepting the glass of burgundy that Stout handed to him with a grateful nod. He was sorely in need of its medicinal qualities and took a healthy and appreciative sip.
‘As much as I want to,’ his mother replied with another disdainful sniff. ‘He only got his peerage because…well, he bought it by giving favourable loans to those with influence. I cannot abide such crass sycophancy. He has been unable to find a toehold into our family, thank goodness, hard as he has tried. None of us need loans and standards must be maintained.�
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‘Daniel invested with him, I think,’ Martha said. ‘Quite heavily, but he mentioned that he had recently withdrawn his funds from Ashton Investments and placed them elsewhere.’
‘Good for him!’ Riley’s mother said with satisfaction. ‘I would have advised him most strongly to do so long before now if I had been aware of the investment.’
Riley put his glass aside and fixed his sister with a look of mild interest, designed to conceal the fact that he was actually extremely interested in what she had just told him. Of his three sisters, Martha was the only one whose company he could tolerate. The elder two were both married and living in the north, so Riley seldom saw them, except when they showed their faces in London during the season. They were both as pompous and self-aware as Henry, Riley’s brother and the current marquess. But Martha and Riley shared the same less pretentious personas, and it seemed against all the odds that Sophia’s exuberant character had not been squashed by the rigidity of the household in which she grew up. His niece was delightfully impulsive and Riley would do all within his power to ensure that situation endured.
‘Do you happen to know why Daniel withdrew his funds from Ashton’s?’ he asked.
‘No, sorry.’ Martha frowned and shook her head. ‘I don’t think that I do. Daniel never discusses such matters with me.’
‘I should think not,’ the dowager remarked. ‘Sit up straight, Sophia. You are not a question mark.’
‘I am not a punctuation mark at all, dear grandmamma,’ Sophia agreed. ‘Nor should I like to be. Question marks are terribly dull and, in my opinion, not really necessary. I mean, it’s obvious when you read something that someone says whether it’s a question or not. But I will sit up straight, for if I were punctuation I should like to be an exclamation mark.’
Death of a Debutante (Riley Rochester Investigates Book 1) Page 13