Death of a Debutante (Riley Rochester Investigates Book 1)

by Wendy Soliman

  ‘And yet you encouraged her to select a rich husband,’ Riley said gently.

  ‘I encouraged her to find a husband, that much is true. But I also encouraged her to follow her heart.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Riley was convinced he must have misheard her, but one glance at Amelia’s face told him that he had not. ‘I wanted her to marry a man who would make her happy, so that I could leave my abusive husband.’ Mrs Ferguson sent Riley a defiant look. ‘Make what you will of that,’ she added. ‘I no longer care what people think of me.’

  A dozen questions clamoured for ascendency is Riley’s mind. He had envisaged many outcomes to this interview, but Mrs Ferguson possessing the courage to walk out of her marriage hadn’t once occurred to him. Why she chose to make the admission now was even less clear. It couldn’t have any bearing on her daughter’s murder, but might, he supposed, be a grieving mother’s way of shouldering the blame she probably felt for Emily’s unhappiness.

  People never failed to surprise him. She seemed so weak, so malleable, yet that frail exterior hid a backbone of steel. She must be aware that she would become the subject of gossip and criticism and that the court of public opinion would find her to be the one at fault, if for no other reason than she remained an attractive woman. She really must be desperate, Riley thought, since she must know that her actions would create an almighty scandal and that she would be ostracised by her friends. Riley felt a grudging admiration for her. He glanced at Amelia and could see from the set of her features that she was of a similar mind.

  ‘You couldn’t leave until your daughter was married, safe from your husband’s tyranny,’ he said.

  ‘Precisely so. He would never have permitted me to see her again if I had left before then. I might not have been permitted by her husband to see her, of course, but if I knew she had selected a man whom she loved, who cared for her and would not bully her, then that would have been enough for me.’ She sat a little straighter. ‘I most emphatically did not want to see history repeat itself. I am tired of being a victim and didn’t want Emily to follow in my footsteps.’

  ‘Did Emily know what you planned to do?’ Riley asked, thinking of the headaches Jute had told him his mistress frequently suffered from, and her instructions not to be disturbed until they passed. He assumed there were no headaches and that she used them as an excuse to meet with her lover.

  ‘Heavens, no! She was already under enough pressure.’

  ‘I see.’ Riley crossed his legs and took a moment to assemble his thoughts. ‘Your daughter had permission from you to follow her heart, but her father was pressuring her to marry a man of means. Terrance Ashton, to be precise.’

  Mrs Ferguson dealt him a startled look. ‘How—’

  ‘I have seen a cable that your husband sent to Ashton, granting his permission to the match. Were you not aware of it?’

  ‘No. I was not.’

  ‘Since Emily knew nothing of your own plans, she must have assumed when you advised her to follow her heart that you meant for her to select the man she liked best from her bevy of admirers,’ Riley suggested. ‘I have heard it said that you favoured Terrance Ashton for her, too, despite maintaining you were unaware that he was your husband’s choice for her.’

  ‘That’s untrue. I did not favour him in the least. I found him unambitious and lazy, truth be told. But if Emily liked him, that was her affair. Of the three young men in attendance at Lord Ashely’s soiree, I preferred Mr Leith. He seemed charming and cultured. Attentive too, but he didn’t attempt to monopolise Emily, which I know she found refreshing.’

  Mrs Ferguson would be shocked if she knew the reason why, Riley thought. Or there again, perhaps she would not be. He had thought her to be a shrinking violet, incapable of forming thoughts of her own, much less plotting to leave her husband, but fear and desperation had obviously brought her strengths to the fore.

  ‘You were not aware of any other attachments on your daughter’s part?’

  ‘What do you mean, Lord Riley?’

  ‘Had she developed feelings for a man of lesser means? Someone from outside her circle of admirers?’ he asked, watching her reaction closely.

  ‘If she had, she didn’t mention it to me,’ Mrs Ferguson replied without prevarication. ‘But I cannot think where she would have met such a person, or what makes you suggest that she had.’

  ‘Did your daughter keep a journal?’

  ‘Religiously, since the age of ten.’

  ‘My sergeant found them in her room when he looked through her things.’

  Mrs Ferguson blinked in evident confusion. ‘Then I’m surprised you asked me the question.’

  ‘We found diaries going back years, but not her current one.’

  Mrs Ferguson’s look of surprise was simply too genuine to be contrived. Riley had interviewed hundreds of people who had attempted to lie to him, and he almost always knew when they did. Little things gave them away. Evasive looks, elaborate explanations, contradictions. But Mrs Ferguson’s incredulous expression could not have been contrived—of that he was certain.

  ‘Then I cannot imagine where it is.’ She shrugged. ‘Is it important?’

  ‘I cannot say until I inspect it, but I rather imagine it will contain pertinent information and possible clues.’

  ‘Then if it comes to light I will certainly pass it on to you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Riley cleared his throat, watching the cat in the garden, who was now toying with some hapless rodent. ‘Where will you go?’ he asked.

  ‘I am not prepared to tell you that.’ Mrs Ferguson’s expression was dignified yet rigid. ‘With respect, it is none of your affair and has nothing to do with the investigation into my daughter’s death.’

  ‘How can I know that if you don’t confide in me?’ Riley leaned towards her. ‘You have been very candid, so I shall return the favour. I imagine that you have no money of your own and must therefore have attracted the interest of a man who has the means to support you in the style to which you are accustomed. But you couldn’t go to him until your daughter was safely married. Perhaps he got tired of waiting, or worried that you would think the better of leaving the security of your marriage once Emily had married and you were solvent again. He must be a person of some standing himself and is risking his own reputation by taking you in. Therefore, he must be very much in love, and reluctant to lose you.’

  Riley could see that Mrs Ferguson resented the suggestion. She inhaled sharply and gripped the arms of her chair with both hands until her knuckles turned white. ‘Nonsense!’ she said sharply, standing. ‘Thank you for calling, Detective Inspector Rochester, but I have nothing more to say to you, other than that I loved my daughter very much and hope you catch the person who so brutally ended her life.’

  ‘Yet you will not help me,’ Riley replied, slow to stand himself. ‘If your friend is innocent then he has nothing to fear from me.’

  ‘I know you are under pressure to find the perpetrator and my friend, always assuming I have one, would be a convenient scapegoat. I am not prepared to take that risk.’

  She was right, of course, Riley thought, imagining Danforth’s reaction when he learned of Mrs Ferguson’s mystery protector. Even so, he resented the woman’s highhanded attitude and wasn’t prepared to concede the point. He was trying to help her, yet she seemed to think she could keep secrets from him. Why tell him that she intended to abscond if she was only prepared to reveal half the story?

  ‘If you imagine that I would manipulate the facts to suit my own purpose then you wrong me, madam.’ Riley claimed his hat, as angry now as Mrs Ferguson obviously was. ‘Good day to you.’

  Amelia followed him into the hall.

  ‘You were a little hard on her,’ she said.

  ‘I was kinder than she deserved. Your Mary Ferguson is tougher than she appears, and full of surprises.’

  ‘Yes, I thought the same thing when she confided in me this morning. And no, I don�
�t know who her admirer is. Nor would I tell you if I did, since it would be breaking a confidence, and you would not ask me to, I hope. I admire her spirit. It’s not pleasant being married to a man who treats his wife as a punch bag.’

  Riley looked at her askance. ‘You sound as though you speak from experience.’

  She shrugged. ‘Perhaps I do. The law is on the husband’s side and women in Mary’s situation are stuck in brutal and loveless marriages, often through no fault of their own. But times are changing, Mary has the courage to risk society’s disapproval by putting her own happiness and safety first, and I applaud her for that.’

  Riley, who knew nothing about Amelia’s marriage and had never asked, found himself wondering.

  ‘I tend to agree, but I have to think like a policeman, not a sympathetic friend.’

  ‘Poor Riley. It can’t be easy.’

  ‘If it was, anyone could do it. Even Salter here,’ he said, jerking a thumb towards his sergeant in an effort to relieve the tension between them.

  ‘Don’t let him bully you, Sergeant Salter.’

  ‘He ain’t so bad, most of the time, ma’am.’

  ‘I am very glad to hear it.’ Amelia paused. ‘I had a quick search for the missing diary but no luck, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I actually believed Mary when she said she hadn’t seen it. If I’m right and Emily had a secret admirer whose affections she returned, and if she committed her thoughts and feelings to paper, she couldn’t take the risk of anyone reading those thoughts when she knew what was expected of her. Your friend denies it, but I’ll wager Emily knew that her father didn’t treat her mother well and she probably felt conflicted. No, that diary is either hidden somewhere in this house or kept somewhere outside of it.’

  ‘Well then, I’m relieved of my duties,’ Amelia said. ‘Mary has recovered so well that I don’t think she needs me. I shall return home and see you later.’

  ‘I look forward to it,’ Riley told her. ‘Sorry you had to endure Ashton’s visit, by the way. How did he seem?’

  ‘Much as Mary suggested. More anxious that Mary didn’t spread rumours implicating him than anything else.’ Amelia shuddered. ‘I cannot abide the man.’

  ‘This case gets more complex by the minute,’ Salter said as they left the house and he hailed another cab to take them to the East End.

  ‘It certainly does,’ Riley agreed, settling into the conveyance that had cut dangerously in front of a private carriage in response to Salter’s loud whistle. ‘I hadn’t anticipated quite such a dramatic revelation.’

  ‘I agree with Mrs Cosgrove. You have to admire the woman’s determination.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘I wonder if she knows what she’s letting herself in for,’ Salter mused. ‘Your lot can be that judgemental. Mine too for that matter. “Whom God has joined together” and all that. Aren’t you going to try and discover the identity of her lover?’ he added with a rueful smile. Riley smiled back, thinking of the crimes of passion they dealt with as a matter of routine. The way the ordinary coppers on the beat seemed to revel in blaming one side or another for the infidelities. Drunkenness, violence and the sad roster of broken humanity that represented the dark side of the empire’s capital. Riley could think of many occasions when Salter had launched himself into a melee of arguments and recriminations and risked life and limb to break up fighters of both genders before they did themselves serious damage. This murder was just an upper-class version of such a melee, with manners and contrivance replacing fists and yelling.

  ‘No, Jack, at least not yet. If an outsider did kill Emily, he would have had to scale that garden wall. Mrs Ferguson is in her late thirties, perhaps even forty. Her gentleman friend must be of a similar age or older, one assumes, and scaling walls topped with broken glass to discourage said scaling is a young man’s game.’

  ‘And no intruders were seen.’

  ‘Exactly. Besides, we have yet to account for those champagne glasses. Someone met Emily in the music room. He went out of his way to get a woman to attract her attention, which is the only way he could be sure of getting her alone.’

  ‘Has to be Terrance then,’ Salter concluded. ‘He could have got that housemaid who’s sweet on him to do it.’

  ‘It was Terrance or one of the other billiards players. Leith is a theatre manager, don’t forget. I dare say he’s picked up a few tricks of the actor’s trade along the way and knows how to disguise his voice to sound like a woman’s.’

  ‘Perhaps, but we know he didn’t want to marry the girl.’

  ‘No, but he did need to marry in order to disguise his inclinations.’ Riley was thrown against the side of the hansom as the roads became rougher on their journey to the East End. He straightened his hat and continued. ‘His father is as rich as Croesus and highly influential. Leith is his only son, set to inherit all that wealth, but I dare say he’d be cut off without a penny if the truth came out.’

  ‘So, he’d picked up on Emily’s disinclination to marry any of them and planned to offer her a marriage of convenience. She needed money and he could give her that—as well as her freedom, provided she was discreet.’

  ‘It’s just a thought.’

  ‘A very astute one, an’ all.’

  Riley sighed. ‘Except for the trifling fact that all three young men were with Emily when she was called back to the house, and they all insist that they went together to the billiards room. So who or what detained Emily for long enough that one of them, if it was one of them, eventually joined her there?’

  ‘Blimey, I hadn’t thought of that.’

  ‘I have no evidence to support the theory that Leith sought a marriage of convenience, and I mention it only so that we don’t concentrate our suspicions on Terrance alone.’ Riley rubbed his chin as the hansom rattled along, its worn springs and deteriorating quality of the road making the journey increasingly uncomfortable. ‘Ashton’s house has terracing on three sides and all the principal rooms have access to that terrace. It was a warm night, so all the doors to the terrace would have been open. The dining parlour where the champagne was on the sideboard is next door to the billiards room. Any one of the young men only had to step onto the terrace from the billiards room and enter the dining parlour by the same means, unseen by those in the drawing room. There was a chance that someone might have stepped into the room, but they wouldn’t think anything of a guest helping himself to another drink. Whether that guest is also our murderer is open to debate.’

  ‘Seems to me that we’ve got a plethora of suspects but no evidence to convict any of them.’

  ‘It’s early days, although Danforth won’t see it that way,’ Riley replied, sighing as he glanced disinterestedly at the passing buildings.

  They entered Bethnal Green, once prosperous, now overcrowded and crime-infested. A place of small-scale manufacturing and shabby working-class housing that in the hot and stagnant air smelled of open sewers, rancid vegetables and lost hope. The jarvey dropped them at the doors to a small tailor’s establishment, accepted his fare and lost no time in heading back to a more salubrious part of town. The street-merchants, drunks and whores eyed the well-dressed policemen with suspicion. Riley knew they looked as out of place as they felt. A soldier missing a leg sat in a doorway, begging for alms. Riley felt immense sympathy for him and tossed a coin into his lap. Bare-footed urchins hung about in gangs. They glowered at Riley and Salter, but wisely refrained from attempting to pick their pockets.

  Riley glanced up at the freshly painted sign that looked incongruous swinging from the bracket above the door of the shop they intended to call upon. Border and Son, Tailors and Outfitters. The shop windows were clean, the frames also freshly painted. Riley shared a look of surprise with Salter as he pushed the door open and a bell tinkled above it. The shop’s interior was as clean and fresh-smelling as the outside of the premises, the boarded floor swept clean and samples of materials tastefully displaced behind clean
glass. Vases of newly-picked flowers kept the scent of the streets at bay. A pretty woman, heavily pregnant, stepped from the back room and smiled at them.

  ‘How can we be of service, gentlemen?’ she asked, taking in Riley’s superbly tailored person with an expert sweep of her eyes.

  ‘Jessie?’ Riley asked.

  ‘It’s Mrs Border now,’ she replied, placing a protective hand over her bulging stomach. Her accent slipped a little as she realised she didn’t have to put on airs for a potential customer. ‘You’re police, ain’t you? We’ve been expecting you, ever since we heard what happened up at Ashton’s place. Come round the back. We can talk there. I’ll fetch me ’usband.’

  Riley and Salter followed Mrs Border into a cramped back room. A table was covered with offcuts of material, tailor’s chalk, reels of thread and various accoutrements pursuant to the proprietor’s trade. There was a window at the back of the room that looked out over a workshop where four women could be seen industriously working at sewing machines. A man leaned over a table, cutting cloth, presumably for a suit of clothes. The lad Mrs Border had sent to fetch her husband tapped him on the arm. He nodded, put down his shears and headed for the room that seemed already cramped with three people in it. But Border was tall and lean and managed to squeeze into it without difficulty.

  ‘Business is brisk,’ Riley remarked, nodding towards the workroom.

  ‘Ain’t no need to look so surprised,’ Mrs Border replied, grinning. Riley had already decided that he liked the woman. She had a ready smile, and it seemed she had a lot to smile about. This was certainly several steps up for her from being an underpaid kitchen maid at Ashton’s establishment. Her husband moved to stand beside her, placing a protective hand on her shoulder. ‘We give good service at good prices. At least to those as can’t afford more. As for yourself, sir,’ she added, with another grin, addressing her comment to Riley, ‘I knows class when I see it, and we’d fleece you rotten.’