Death of a Debutante (Riley Rochester Investigates Book 1)

by Wendy Soliman

  ‘Any more than she would have access to wine,’ Riley said, picking up the glass and sniffing its contents. ‘I’ll wager this contains the poison that killed the poor girl, but Maynard will be able to confirm it. Any odour one might expect is masked by the scent of the wine. A decent claret, unless I miss my guess. Someone came up here and encouraged Susan to drink it.’ Riley rubbed the back of the neck, stepping out onto the corridor to avoid the worst of the stench that was starting to make his own stomach roil. ‘And it doesn’t take a genius to work out who that someone must be.’

  ‘Terrance Ashton,’ Salter said, his expression dour.

  ‘Precisely. But why make it look like suicide? Without the letter or the wine we would have probably assumed she had died from dysentery. It happens far too frequently, and things go off badly in this heat. So it comes back to what you said, Jack. Terrance, or whoever the guilty party is, is trying to deflect our suspicions by having us think that Susan enticed Emily into the music room at the behest of one of the other guests.’ Riley shook his head. ‘“Behest” is another word used in the letter and is not one that would form a part of a servant’s vocabulary. So I think we can assume that the first part of your hypothesis is correct. The second, however, is still open to question. Are they trying to shift the blame away from their class to protect their reputation, or are they trying to shift the blame away from Terrance to save him from the rope?’

  ‘Terrance probably feels uneasy because he knows we suspect him, sir,’ Salter said. ‘Shame he didn’t know earlier that Grant is a better suspect?’

  Riley stepped back into the room and opened each of the drawers in the chest. They revealed nothing of interest, other than a few undergarments and a moth-eaten tippet. There were no love letters, diaries, nothing of a personal nature. There were no books in the room either, no sewing or knitting, and Riley wondered how she passed her few leisure hours. Not that she would get many, he realised, since Ashton demanded his pound of flesh from his servants. Even so, she had to have occupied her time with something. Unless she came to this room only to sleep. If that were the case, where did she while away her free time?

  ‘Who were you, Susan?’ he said aloud. ‘I have never known a room to reveal so few clues about its occupant,’ he added, turning to Salter, closing his eyes as he thought about the Ashtons’ public display of family unity the previous evening. ‘Terrance seemed down in the dumps at Lady Bilton’s last night,’ he remarked. ‘Something was certainly preying on his mind.’

  ‘He was very upset about Miss Ferguson’s death,’ Salter replied.

  ‘Indeed, but whether that was genuine grief or the product of a guilty conscience I have yet to decide. Or perhaps he was still visibly shaken from the murder of Susan here.’

  ‘Maybe Susan did lure Miss Ferguson to the music room at Mr Terrance’s request,’ Peterson suggested from behind Salter and Riley, ‘in return for…well, some sort of unrealistic promise that the young man had no intention of keeping, but which Susan took seriously.’

  ‘Good point, Peterson.’ Riley was impressed by the young constable’s flair for detection work. Sergeant Barton, he knew, would be less than pleased if Riley tried to lure one of his better men over to the dark side. ‘Susan took umbrage when Terrance didn’t deliver on that promise, felt she was under suspicion for having lured Emily to the music room and threatened to tell the truth if Terrance didn’t live up to his side of their bargain.’

  ‘But it still doesn’t explain the staged suicide,’ Salter said, frowning.

  ‘Terrance must have known that we would be suspicious if a strong young woman employed in this house dropped dead for no reason so soon after Emily was murdered in it, and that we would order a post mortem,’ Riley said. ‘Maynard would discover the poison. Everyone knows that methods of tracing poisons have improved and that in cases of unexplained death, it would be the first thing we’d look for. So Terrance did the next best thing, and tried to make it seem as though Susan had killed herself in a fit of conscience.’

  ‘A right clumsy attempt it was too,’ Salter said, curling his upper lip disdainfully. ‘Trouble is, sir, if anyone other than you was investigating, they would likely be intimidated by Lord Ashley into accepting that it actually was suicide.’

  ‘Which is perhaps why they delayed summoning us. Ashton would have known from…’ He glanced at Peterson, unwilling to express his suspicions about Danforth in front of such a junior officer. ‘Let’s just say, he knew we intended to interview Grant first thing this morning. He had probably also been informed that charging the young man would be a formality.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’ Salter flashed a mirthless smile. ‘From the Yard’s perspective, it was safe for Lord Ashton to assume that Emily’s case would be closed. There would be no reason to inform you of a servant’s suicide, so a more junior officer would have been despatched to investigate it.’

  ‘Fortunately for Susan, that didn’t happen, and I don’t intimidate easily.’ Riley’s expression was grim. ‘This isn’t looking good for Terrance. And I don’t enjoy being taken for an idiot.’

  ‘Arsenic would be readily available in a household of this size, sir,’ Peterson said, clearly eager to make another contribution. ‘They use it to kill rats and the like.’

  ‘Inconvenient servants too, it seems.’

  Farlow’s stately gait could be heard on the stairs as he led Doctor Maynard and two mortuary assistants up them.

  ‘Ah, Lord Riley, we meet again,’ the doctor said, wiping perspiration from his brow. ‘Two bodies in the same house in a matter of days.’ He shook his head. ‘Makes you wonder.’ Farlow tutted his disapproval at the implied criticism and removed himself from the scene. ‘Let’s take a look then. Good lord, what a pong.’

  His examination was brisk and professional.

  ‘Almost certainly poison,’ he said. ‘The girl was fit and healthy. No reason for her to turn up her toes otherwise. I will do the post-mortem later today and let you have my findings by tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Thank you. Be so kind as to analyse the contents of this glass as well, and let me have the results from the earlier glasses as soon as you have it. I’m fairly sure there’s arsenic mixed with that wine.’

  ‘Ah, but who did the mixing, Lord Riley, that’s what you need to decide.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Riley said with a droll smile.

  The doctor beckoned to his assistants. They covered the body with a sheet, fastened it to the litter with black straps and hard steel buckles and made their way awkwardly down the stairs. Riley knew that they would have to use the main staircase. The servants’ stairs would be too narrow and they ran the risk of dropping the body if they attempted to negotiate them. The Ashtons, he suspected, would be clustered behind closed doors, hoping the removal of the body would be the end of the matter.

  Riley set his lips. They were about to discover that any such hope would be in vain.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘What now, sir?’ Salter asked.

  ‘Take yourself off to the kitchens, Salter. Go with him, Peterson. I want to know who found the body and anything else of interest they have to impart. Talk to them individually. Keep Farlow away from them—lock him in the scullery if you have to—and you’ll get more out of them. I want to know what Susan did on her afternoons off, who her friends were, and anything else you can find out about her. We also need the address of her family. They will have to be informed. Farlow will have that information.’ Riley glanced at the closed doors to the drawing room, from behind which male voices could be heard raised in argument. ‘I will speak to the family.’

  ‘Rather you than me, sir,’ Salter said, shuddering.

  Riley offered up a droll smile. ‘The privileges of rank, sergeant.’

  Salter grinned. ‘Remind me of that if I ever take it into my head to look for promotion.’

  Riley smiled to himself as he tapped on the drawing room door. The shouting stopped abruptly. Lord As
hton wrenched the door open and blinked up at Riley in bald astonishment, as though he had forgotten that he was in the house.

  ‘Ah, Rochester, there you are. What do you make of this sorry business?’

  ‘The body has been taken away for examination, Lord Ashton,’ Riley replied, avoiding a direct answer.

  ‘But the silly girl poisoned herself. I read that letter. Seems she was manipulated by one of my guests and couldn’t live with herself.’

  ‘That is certainly the impression the writer wished to convey.’

  ‘What man, surely you don’t doubt…’

  ‘I doubt a great many things. It’s my job, Lord Ashton.’

  ‘I dare say, but if you have the man Emily was seeing in custody, then at least that matter is solved.’

  ‘Which makes one wonder why Susan felt guilty about calling Emily into the music room. If Emily’s friend is also her killer, that is.’

  ‘The girl didn’t have much sense,’ Terrance said, looking unnaturally pale, his hands shaking.

  ‘What do you mean, if he’s the killer?’ Lord Ashton blustered. ‘Stands to reason that he must be.’

  ‘To you, I’m sure it would,’ Riley responded in a deceptively calm tone. ‘I have yet to reach that conclusion.’

  Riley watched Lord Ashton’s countenance go through several colour changes, settling upon a fiery red that highlighted the bulbous blue veins that decorated his cheeks. Even his whiskers appears to bristle with indignation. His mouth opened and closed with no sound emerging. His cheeks bulged, putting Riley in mind of children playing a game to see which of them could hold their breath the longest. But there was nothing childish about the abject fear that flitted through Ashton’s eyes. Either he was the guilty party in one or both murders or he had been struck dumb because he’d encountered a person in his own household whom he could neither bully nor coerce.

  ‘Can either of you tell me when you last saw Susan?’

  ‘No idea,’ Lord Aston said briskly, the power of speech restored to him. ‘I think she must have been here when we left for Lady Bilton’s but I wouldn’t have expected to see her when I returned.’

  ‘The family dined at home?’

  ‘I dined at my club,’ Terrance said.

  ‘No doubt your friends will back you up.’ Riley turned towards Lord Ashton. ‘Farlow sees to your requirements, I understand, since you dispensed with Border’s services.’

  ‘What? Oh yes. Haven’t got round to replacing Border as yet. Farlow does for Terrance and me, as well as discharging his other duties.’

  ‘When did you see Susan last?’ Riley asked, fixing Terrance with a penetrating look that seemed to make him uncomfortable.

  ‘Not sure. Don’t have much to do with the maids. Mother gives them their orders and Farlow ensures that they do their work.’

  ‘You all left for Lady Bilton’s at the same time?’

  ‘I say, Rochester. What’s the point of this inquisition? The silly girl killed herself and there’s an end to the matter.’

  ‘Is there any reason why you are trying to avoid answering my question, Lord Ashton?’ Riley asked.

  ‘Don’t see the need for it.’

  ‘I went separately,’ Terrance said, reaching for the decanter on the sideboard and pouring himself a glass of brandy with an unsteady hand. ‘As I say, I looked into my club first, stopped for a bite to eat and then went on.’

  ‘Which club would that be?’

  ‘Brooks’s actually. I had arranged to play cards with some friends but stopped by to tell them I’d changed my plans. Father thought it important that we were all seen together at Lady Bilton’s.’

  Riley refrained from asking the names of Terrance’s friends. Instead he would check with the club’s porter. They kept careful track of who called in, and had remarkably good memories. Terrance was nervous, too nervous, and Riley didn’t believe for a moment that he had been to Brooks’s for long, if at all. It was much more likely that he had remained at home to murder a maid and fake her suicide.

  But why?

  Both Ashtons appeared relieved when Riley asked no further questions and excused himself, probably thinking that they had seen the last of him. Ashton would waste no time in contacting Danforth, trying to bring the investigation into Susan’s death to an early conclusion by having it confirmed as a suicide. He might as well save himself the trouble since Riley would not be bullied into accusing the wrong man. Susan and Emily’s deaths were linked in some way, he was absolutely sure of it—which exonerated Grant.

  Now all he had to do was to find that elusive link so that he could release the budding genius.

  He made a detour to the music room and searched through the sheet music neatly stacked on a small table at the side of the piano. He felt mildly euphoric when he found the piece of handwritten music with Emily’s name scrawled across the top of it. Riley folded it and put it in his pocket. Grant had been telling the truth, at least about leaving part of his opus for Emily to find, and it had been tidied away with the rest of the music.

  He took himself off to the kitchens, where Salter and Peterson were concluding their final interview.

  ‘Susan kept herself to herself,’ Salter said, a note of frustration in his voice. ‘No one knows what she did on her afternoon off and they are not aware that she had any friends. They all say the same as Mrs Border did. That she was aloof, given to taking on airs, and wasn’t popular. She did confide in the kitchen maid, who told the cook that she expected an upturn in her circumstances in the near future, but she wouldn’t say in what respect. The cook sent the kitchen maid up to wake Susan when she didn’t report for duty this morning. She screamed the place down when she found her dead, by all accounts, and we still can’t get an intelligible word out of her.’

  ‘It’s not important. She didn’t kill the girl. What time did she find her?’

  ‘At six this morning.’

  ‘And woke the entire house with her screaming, yet we were only told of the death at…what time did the report come in, Peterson?’

  ‘At around eleven o’clock, sir.’

  ‘Hmm.’ It seemed Riley had been right to suppose that Ashton deliberately held back reporting the death, either hoping it wouldn’t reach Riley’s ears or working on stories and alibis before it did. ‘Do you have her parents’ address?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Peterson said, waving his notebook in the air.

  ‘Go back to the Yard, collect Harper and take yourselves off to Bethnal Green to break the news to her family. I was going to do it myself but I have other priorities. Do it gently, Peterson. It’s never an easy task but it’s essential experience for you. See if her relations can shed any light on their daughter’s activities. Someone must know something about her. I specifically need to know if she was walking out with a young man, which would explain the anticipated improvement in her circumstances.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Peterson said, standing a little taller as though pleased to be given the responsibility. ‘You can rely upon us.’

  ‘Off you go then.’

  ‘We missed young Murray,’ Salter said. ‘It’s his afternoon off.’

  Riley pulled his watch from his waistcoat pocket, surprised to see that it was gone one o’clock. ‘It’s Wednesday,’ he said, ‘and the Gaiety puts on a matinee on a Wednesday afternoon. No prizes for guessing where we will find Murray. Come along, Jack, let’s take a bite of luncheon, then it’s high time we had a frank discussion with Mr Leith and his gentleman friend.’

  They ate quickly at the nearest pie stall and then took a hansom to the Strand, which was crowded with shoppers and matinee theatre-goers. The temperature was a few degrees down on yesterday and a breeze fanned the shop awnings and flags adorning the street. Today the shadows were sharper, the city’s smell not as strong and the sky a lighter shade of blue, a welcome contrast to the steely grey skies of the last few days. They approached the theatre from the stage door, where a burly doorma
n halted their progress. They showed him their identification and he said he would advise Mr Leith of their presence.

  ‘No need,’ Riley said, sweeping past him. ‘We’ll find our own way.’

  The manager’s office was situated at the end of a long corridor. The door was closed, but Riley opened it without bothering to knock and succeeded in catching Leith and Murray in a passionate embrace. The two men pulled quickly apart, clothing dishevelled, their obvious arousal tempered only by their expressions. Young Murray looked appalled, Leith amused.

  ‘Taking a risk, are you not?’ Riley asked conversationally. ‘I would advise locking your door in future if you cannot contain your passions.’

  Murray whimpered and cowered in a corner.

  ‘Don’t worry, dear,’ Leith said, placing a hand gently on the young man’s shoulder. ‘The inspector isn’t interested in our activities.’

  ‘Not unless they have anything to do with two murders. But as I say, you enjoy taking public risks, don’t you, Leith. I wonder what measures you would take to silence anyone you thought might have accidentally observed you.’

  ‘Two? That can’t be right.’ Murray was shocked into finding his voice. ‘Everyone said Susan topped herself.’

  ‘Everyone was wrong,’ Riley replied crisply. ‘When did you last see her, Murray?’

  ‘Last night, sir. The family dined early because they were going out. All except Mr Terrance. He dined out. We cleared up the kitchen, finished our duties and was let off early. About eight, I think. I went to the room I share with Paxton. I like to read. Improve myself, like. Peter gives me books,’ he said, gazing up adoringly at Leith from beneath those ridiculously long lashes of his. Riley realised with a shock that he was wearing makeup. His cheeks were not coloured through embarrassment, but with rouge, his plump lips stained the colour of ripe plums and someone—Leith presumably—had attached a heart-shaped patch to his cheek.

  ‘And Susan?’

  Murray shrugged. ‘I imagine she went to her room too. If we loiter about downstairs after we complete our duties, either Mr Farlow or Cook will find us something else to do.’