‘Precisely. Anyway, I know I locked it and the coachmen can bear witness to the fact since I had to come and get the key again and unlock it when they finished supper.’
Riley nodded, pleased there was independent corroboration for what he had already decided was an honest account. ‘Who holds the second key to the gate?’ he asked.
‘Farlow. He has a master set that he keeps locked away in here somewhere.’
‘Now, when the first lot of guests left through the mews, did you unlock the gate to let them out?’
‘I did, and I left it unlocked on Mr Farlow’s orders because he said the remaining guests, that would be you, sir, and Mrs Cosgrove, would soon also be leaving. After you went, I made sure it was locked up tight. We still thought there might be a prowler about somewhere, you see.’
‘I do see.’ Riley leaned back in his chair and decided to ask the crucial question he had not asked Farlow, thinking it more likely that Paxton would give him an honest answer. ‘Were more drinks served after supper?’
‘Some of the gentlemen asked for whisky or brandy,’ he replied. ‘The ladies either had coffee or fruit punch, seeing as how it was such a warm evening.’
‘And if anyone wanted anything else?’
‘We were told we weren’t needed once we’d served the drinks, so we came down here to help with the remaining duties. But,’ he added shrewdly, ‘anyone wanting champagne could have gone into the dining parlour, opened the bottle that had been left on ice and helped himself to glasses.’
‘Indeed,’ Riley said, absently plucking his lower lip with his forefinger. ‘Do you know if that bottle had been opened?’
Paxton shook his head. ‘When Miss Ferguson was found, it kind of put paid to our routine. Farlow would know, I expect.’
‘Undoubtedly.’ Riley paused. ‘Is there anything else you would like to ask, sergeant?’
‘No sir. I think that covers it.’
Riley thanked Paxton and dismissed him. He seemed an intelligent enough man, Riley thought, and he was as certain as he could be the Paxton had not murdered Emily. He had no reason to, and wouldn’t risk the hangman’s noose by aiding or abetting the person who carried out the deed. If the time ever came when Stout needed permanent help in Riley’s household, Riley wouldn’t hesitate to offer the lad a position. He recognised integrity when he saw it. Paxton might be a jack the lad but Riley would wager that he was honest and hardworking.
Susan, the senior maid, was the only other member of staff who interested Riley. She was a nondescript little thing of about twenty, who had worked at the house for three years. She confirmed that she had cleared the music room while the guests took supper. Riley suspected that an eagle-eyed butler like Farlow would ensure that she discharged her duties diligently. No short cuts that would be evident to the Ashtons, no slipping of standards, no matter how pressed they were. She swore on her mother’s life that she left no glasses in the room but failed to look him in the eye when she made that assertion. Perhaps, Riley thought, she didn’t hold her mother in much affection.
‘Do you enjoy working for Lady Ashton?’ Riley asked.
She allowed a telling pause before responding. ‘Yes, sir,’ she eventually said with no real conviction.
‘What do you most enjoy about it?’ Salter asked gently.
‘Well, sir, I like to follow the activities of the young people.’
‘Miss Prudence.’
The evasive look in her eye told Riley all he needed to know.
‘You prefer Mr Terrance’s company?’ he suggested.
Her plain face brightened. ‘I can’t deny it, sir. He’s ever so kind and always remembers my name. You never hear a cross word from him, even when we’re behind and we don’t always answer his bell as fast as we should.’
‘That would be Paxton’s duty, surely? To attend to the young gentleman’s bell, I mean.’
‘Yes, but sometimes I have to do it ’cause Paxton has ever such a lot to do, and I don’t mind.’
Riley was perfectly sure that she did not.
‘What do you talk about when you respond to Mr Terrance’s summons?’
‘Oh, this and that,’ she replied evasively. She had a lazy eye, Riley noticed, and found it disconcerting that her left eye didn’t follow the same direction as her right. It was almost as though she possessed the ability to look in different directions simultaneously.
‘He hoped to marry the young lady who was killed, I think?’
‘It’s not my place to say, sir.’
The angry frown that marred her brow told a different story. Susan didn’t like the idea of Terrance marrying Emily one little bit, but he found it hard to imagine that a maid with limited intelligence would have been able to formulate such a clever ploy to get Emily alone, much less strangle her. Be that as it may, he wouldn’t put it past her to collude with another in order to permanently rid the world of the lovely young girl who was everything Susan was not, and never could be.
Riley shared a look with Salter as he dismissed the girl. They hadn’t found the murderer yet, but had perhaps found the woman who had called Emily to her fate.
Chapter Seven
‘Well, sir,’ Salter said as they left Ashton House and he hailed a hansom. ‘Susan would walk over hot coals to please young Terrance.’
‘Or to stop him from marrying Emily.’ Riley gave the jarvey the address of King’s College hospital and the cab moved off with a jerk. ‘There was a look of awareness about her when I asked what she and Terrance discussed in private.’
Salter frowned. ‘You think he compromised her?’
‘He wouldn’t have had to try too hard.’ Riley attempted to find a comfortable position on the worn seat of the hansom. ‘It’s a common enough story in some of the better households, I’m sorry to say. A plain servant besotted by a young master. The young master in question is frustrated because the object of his affections doesn’t return those affections, and he has to relieve the aforesaid frustration somehow. He knows Susan makes excuses to answer his bell, just so that she can breathe the same air as him and…well, her willingness and adoration helps heal his wounded pride.’
Salter made a disgruntled sound. ‘You think Terrance did for the girl?’
‘There are some among the elite who make sport of such practices. There are fathers whose reputations are precious, and who would prefer their sons enjoy a dalliance with a maid than be caught with a whore. If a young buck takes out his frustration on a willing staff member—or even an unwilling one, sad to say—the older men will nudge each other and share a chuckle, remembering their own youthful indiscretions. It is not hard to imagine Lord Ashton being such a man. I think Terrance knows more that he has thus far told us, as does his father, but I’m not ready to press them on the matter yet. A hidden truth it may be, but perhaps one that remains unconnected to Emily’s murder. I would prefer to gather as much information as I can and question them again from a position of strength. Let’s see what the good doctor has to tell us about the cause of death and those damned glasses.’ Riley sighed. ‘Then I suppose we’d best return to the Yard and report to Danforth.’
‘Those champagne glasses have a significance, even if they were not poisoned,’ Salter mused. ‘You were right about that. Left to my own devices, I doubt whether I would have thought anything of them.’
Riley gave his sergeant an assessing look. A diligent uniformed officer Riley had taken from the ranks as much for his intelligence and sensitivity as his knowledge of the streets. There were officers, Riley knew, whose snobbery went the other way, who would condemn the aristocracy without need of proof. While Salter had little time for the frills and fancies of the elite, he kept an open mind, making the two of them an ideal team for investigating crimes such as this. Riley could take on men like Ashton as an equal while Salter nagged the truth out by irritating them. Salter could approach the staff as an equal when Riley’s rank and position cowed them into tongue-tied
obedience. There was a future here, a partnership forged by mutual respect and the nature of the crimes they investigated. But their partnership had yet to be tested on a major case, and Riley knew that there were still times when Salter needed some assurance about his abilities.
‘Everything you observe during your initial appraisal of a crime scene is highly significant, Salter,’ he said. ‘Always remember that. Even the most hardened of criminals has been known to panic and leave evidence behind that might seem innocuous at first glance. Evidence which might easily disappear in the initial confusion if you don’t have a care.’
‘Right.’ Salter nodded. ‘Someone filled them glasses with the expectation of a romantic interlude, implying that one of the gentlemen at the soiree is our killer.’
‘One of the gentlemen certainly planned the interlude. Whether he also killed Emily we have yet to decide. It seems likely but it doesn’t do to jump to conclusions. Hard evidence is what we need, Jack, before we go accusing any of Ashton’s guests of murder. Was there poison in those glasses, and who put it there? When we find out those two things, we will be a lot closer to our mark.’
‘Whereas if it were a couple of louts from Whitechapel who’d knocked a harlot about, we’d haul them into the station and keep ’em in the lowest cell with the damp and the rats until one of them confessed.’
Riley offered Salter a grimace of acknowledgement. ‘I’m not suggesting that the law treats everyone equally, sergeant,’ he said, ‘but I can assure you that if one of the privileged coves at that soiree murdered the chit then he will be charged with the crime and kept in the very same dungeon. I simply have to tread more carefully. That’s the way it is, I’m afraid, but you can be sure that I won’t shirk from my duty, no matter how much pressure is brought to bear to have me let the investigation slide. The means may be different, but the end is the same. Crime is like death. The great leveller.’
‘I know that, sir. I was just remarking.’
‘If two men had planned a meeting, they wouldn’t drink champagne,’ Riley remarked, returning to the question of the glasses, ‘so it’s safe to assume a female was involved. But what does it say about the state of mind of the provider of the champagne? Was he perhaps anticipating a life-changing decision from young Emily? If she acquiesced, the champagne, if she denied him, the poisoned chalice. Assuming of course the provider was a man, and that he was not altogether ignorant of the additive in the champagne. And further assuming that the killer was acting alone and had not ordered an accomplice to drug the wine.’ Riley rubbed his chin and glowered at the passing buildings. ‘A planned killing or a celebration that turned deadly? What’s your view, Jack?’
‘Not enough evidence for me to have formed one as yet. You’re always telling me not to jump to conclusions.’
Riley grunted. ‘True enough.’
‘But it seems to me that we have to assume it was Emily who met the gentleman, that the champagne wasn’t meant for someone else, because she is the only lady who was on her own and…well, because she finished up in the music room. Dead. We’re not that much closer to the heart of the matter, are we sir?’
‘I don’t like it, Jack.’ Riley continued to stare out the window as the cab made slow progress through heavy traffic. An omnibus cut in front of it, scaring the jarvey’s horse and causing the cab to jerk sideways. The jarvey responded with colourful language as he struggled to regain control of his conveyance. ‘There is more to this matter than we have yet discovered, but I fully intend to get to the truth.’
‘I say you should question young Ashton again, perhaps at the station this time, where he won’t feel so comfortable. If he’s capable of compromising a maid, there’s no telling what he might do if a young woman rejects his proposal a second time. Or worse, confesses that she’s in love with someone else. Perhaps one of the other young men at the soiree. That would be enough to tip the arrogant sod over the edge.’
Riley shot his subordinate a sharp look. ‘I won’t accuse him of anything until I have more proof. Danforth would salivate with glee if I did anything so foolhardy.’
‘Well, there is that.’ Salter grunted his amusement. ‘He’s been looking for a way to get rid of you ever since he was appointed chief inspector. How that happened, by the way, I shall never know, but there you are. None of the men like or respect him, but most of them have a lot of time for you, sir, or are coming round slowly. Probably politics,’ he concluded.
Definitely politics, Riley knew. He had earned the grudging respect of some of the men, but far from all of them. Because of his status as the younger son of a marquess he was either resented from below or constantly required to prove his ability from above. In the eyes of his uniformed colleagues, opinion had been poisoned against him, Riley suspected, by the influential Sergeant Barton. He had always known he would have to work harder than the other inspectors in order to prove his mettle, which didn’t especially concern him. Riley had never been one to back away from a challenge and, for the most part, enjoyed pitting his wits against the criminal fraternity.
This case, though, could well prove to be his Waterloo. Danforth lurked in the wings like a predatory spider, waiting for Riley to put a foot wrong. The chief inspector had made it apparent from the first that he resented everything Riley represented, mainly because he was jealous of his elevated status and harboured a secret desire to change places with him. Riley had met prejudice before but Danforth was the first person to be in a position to exert bias against him because of it.
Danforth’s determination to appease Ashton proved to Riley that he was anxious to gain a foothold in the upper echelons of society. Riley shook his head, wondering at the man’s naiveté. The upper classes were infamous for closing their ranks against infiltrators. Danforth was fighting above his weight.
Riley’s mind was jolted back to the present when the cab finally reached the hospital. The two men alighted, paid the driver and descended into the bowls of the hospital.
‘Ah, Lord Riley.’ Doctor Maynard greeted Riley with a cheerful smile that seemed incongruous compared to the blood-splattered apron that he wore, a testament to his grisly occupation. ‘Perfect timing. I have just finished my examination of the unfortunate young woman.’
‘And your conclusions?’
‘She was strangled. No doubt about that.’
‘Can you explain why she didn’t put up any resistance?’ Salter asked. ‘Was she drugged?’
‘I very much doubt it.’
‘You haven’t had an opportunity to analyse those glasses?’ Riley asked.
‘I really don’t think there’s any need. You didn’t look at the young lady’s body?’
‘Only those parts of it that were exposed,’ Riley replied. ‘She wasn’t wearing gloves. Either she removed them to play the piano or decided it was too hot to continue wearing them once the musical part of the evening was over. Either way, we noticed bruising on one wrist. And, of course, the strangulation marks on her neck.’
Salter blanched when the doctor beckoned them into the adjoining room, where several bodies lay on tables in varying states of decomposition. Oblivious to the appalling stench, Maynard led them to the table containing the remains of Miss Ferguson. He pulled back the sheet covering her body. Riley saw Salter avert his eyes to the body’s sudden nakedness. Respect even in death. Riley liked Salter all the more for it. Maynard pointed to extensive bruising around her abdomen.
‘Good grief. Someone hit her. Someone punched the poor girl.’ Riley was appalled.
‘Unquestionably. The damage was done while she was still alive. My guess is that she got into a disagreement. Someone grasped her wrist to prevent her from leaving the room she was found in. When she tried to free herself, he struck her. A blow like that would have incapacitated such a slight little thing. She would have been in no fit state to fight back. Might even have been rendered unconscious by it.’
‘And if the aggressor was known to her, as he must have
been,’ Riley said, a slow, burning anger working its way through his bloodstream, ‘then he knew Miss Ferguson would report his actions when she recovered her senses. He hadn’t meant to lose his temper with her but couldn’t allow her to ruin his reputation, and so…’
‘It certainly appears thus,’ Maynard replied. ‘You are looking for a man with a temper who dislikes being gainsaid.’
‘Which hardly narrows the field,’ Salter offered. ‘There were three young men that we know of at that soiree who all had designs upon the victim.’ He scratched his head vigorously. ‘Jealousy is a horrible emotion.’
‘That it is, sergeant,’ Maynard replied, pulling the sheet up over Emily’s frail body. ‘That it is.’
‘Could a woman have inflicted those injuries?’ Riley asked.
The doctor took a moment to consider the question. ‘It’s possible,’ he conceded thoughtfully. ‘The victim didn’t weigh very much and an angry, bigger woman could have grabbed her wrist and caused the bruising. But that’s your area, I’m afraid. All I can tell you is how she died. Do you still want the contents of those glasses analysed?’
‘In view of the damage to her stomach, I tend to agree that poison wasn’t used to subdue the victim,’ Riley said. ‘But if you could test for the presence of anything untoward in the champagne, I’d appreciate it. Best to be thorough,’ he added, unwilling to leave any loopholes for Danforth to pounce on. ‘And can you analyse those bruises? I want to see the crime in my mind. A right-handed person takes the poor girl’s wrist in his left hand, leaving the stronger hand to strike. A left-handed assailant would do the reverse. If you can find a pattern to that bruising, I would be very grateful.’
‘Right-ho then, your lordship. I will attend to the matter.’
Riley offered his hand to the doctor, who took it in a firm grasp. Aside from his perfunctory report on the night of the murder Maynard now seemed to be working hard for a resolution to the case. Emily’s body on the slab was a stark contrast from the broken weekend drunks, the stabbings and the waterlogged, half rotted corpses as the Thames gave up its dead. Even in death, the young debutante held a dignity that brought out the best in people. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Please try to ensure that news of the assault on Miss Ferguson’s person doesn’t leave this building. If someone admits to the punch during questioning, I don’t want a canny lawyer citing a press leak.’
Death of a Debutante (Riley Rochester Investigates Book 1) Page 12
