Chapter Two
The detectives took hansom cabs to cover the two-mile journey to Victoria station, where they embarked upon the next train to Dulwich. At Sydenham, the majority of passengers disembarked, chattering away about their intended destination, “a very palace of crystal—the Crystal Palace”. The cast-iron and plate glass structure, three times the size of St. Paul’s Cathedral, with innovative glass walls and ceilings that made internal lighting unnecessary, had housed the Great Exhibition in Hyde Park. Now relocated to Penge Park, visitors from around the world still flocked to see it, keeping the British Empire at the forefront of the industrial revolution.
Riley watched the disembarking passengers idly through the carriage window as he pondered upon what little he knew about Lord Vermont.
‘A baptism of fire, sir,’ Salter said from the adjoining seat. ‘A suspicious death on your first day back, I mean.’
‘I didn’t anticipate returning to my duties and sitting with my feet up, sergeant.’ Riley rubbed his chin. ‘I am thinking about Lord Vermont’s situation, in case you mistook my distraction for annoyance. He’s an odd cove. A bit of an intellectual, and a semi-recluse who seldom ventures into society.’
‘He must be a reasonably young man if he has children who require a governess,’ Salter remarked.
‘He’s in his late forties or early fifties, I would imagine. I do know that he sold off the estate that had been in his family for generations upon the death of his father. There was a lot of talk about it at the time.’
‘Letting the side down. Lowering standards,’ Salter said, grinning and shaking his head.
Riley would never make the admission, but he’d missed Salter’s down to earth ribbing about his own social status. ‘Something of that nature, I dare say,’ he replied laconically. ‘Personally, if he was struggling to maintain the place, then I don’t blame him for cutting his losses. Family pride is all very well, but times are changing and the exorbitant cost of maintaining large country piles is rapidly becoming a millstone around their owners’ respective necks. My brother constantly complains about the cost of running Chichester Hall. Especially now that he doesn’t have an heir to leave it to,’ he added softly.
‘But your lady mother would throw a fit if he even thought about selling it.’
Riley nodded. ‘Precisely. However, we were discussing Vermont. He sold up and moved to a more modest…well, modest by his standards, and manageable property in Dulwich. I gather he now lives off his investments. There’s something else nagging at me.’ Riley snapped his fingers. ‘I have it. He was married before, but his first wife died. He has a son from that marriage who works as a stockbroker at Charles Stanley.’
Salter let out a low whistle. ‘Even I’ve heard of them. A prestigious outfit.’
‘Who select their employees with discretion. Being a viscount’s heir wouldn’t have made an iota of difference to…what’s his name?’ Riley furled his brow in an effort to recollect and snapped his fingers again when it came to him. ‘Daniel Vermont. He would have been accepted on merit, not because of his background.’
‘Well, if Papa is an intellectual, perhaps the apple didn’t fall too far from that particular tree.’
‘Right. Anyway, Vermont sold up, remarried and moved to Dulwich. Perhaps it was simply a case of the old place being too much of a drain on his resources. Either that or it held too many memories of his previous marriage. He has children from the second marriage, obviously, but I have absolutely no idea how many or how old they are. There must be at least one daughter, hence the need for the unfortunate governess. Anyway, we shall soon find out.’
The train wheezed as it slowed in a billow of steam and drew into Dulwich station. The four policemen left the train and asked the station master for directions to Village Way.
‘Ah well now, you can’t miss it.’ He pointed in the appropriate direction. ‘Won’t take you above five minutes to walk there. It’s where all the toffs live. Big houses with high walls and gates closed against the riffraff.’ He sniffed. ‘Still an’ all, it keeps the place exclusive like. Tickets now, please.’
‘The station master wasn’t joking,’ Carter said a short time later, looking up at the impressive houses that they passed as they searched for the right address. ‘Not a bad place to live, if you can afford it. Close to London, but rural like.’
‘Here we are, sir.’ Salter pointed to a high brick wall surrounding a large, double-fronted house rising up over three floors and occupying a wide plot. Ivy covered the walls and encroached on the windows. A uniformed policeman stood at the closed gates, deterring gawpers. Salter identified himself and Riley.
‘The body’s in the orchard over yonder,’ the constable told them, saluting smartly and looking relieved that reinforcements had arrived. ‘My guvnor’s there, waiting for you to take over, like.’
‘Has Doctor Maynard arrived yet?’ Riley asked.
‘No, sir. Just all of you.’
‘Very well. Thank you.’
Salter opened the small side gate placed there for the convenience of those on foot, negating the need to open the larger ornate gates that were wide enough to admit a carriage. He stood back and allowed Riley to pass through it first. Riley absently thanked his sergeant as he glanced around, taking stock of his surroundings. Formal gardens in hibernation for the winter months sported wide lawns coated with frost giving way to an orchard on the left of the property. It was enclosed on all sides by an extension of the wall that ran along the frontage.
‘Someone’s keen on their security,’ Salter remarked.
‘What was the victim doing in the orchard?’ Riley mused aloud. ‘And why wasn’t she missed?’
Expecting no answer, he looked up as a burly uniformed sergeant approached.
‘You gentlemen must be from Scotland Yard,’ he said, sniffing.
‘That we are.’ Riley introduced them all.
‘Sergeant Bingham at your service, sir.’ The sergeant scratched his whiskered chin, looking slightly bemused. ‘Been in service here for thirty years and ain’t never known anything like this before, I can tell you that much. It’s not like in the big city where I expect you see girls dead as doornails every day.’
‘We have seen more victims of violent crime than we would like, it’s true,’ Riley confirmed. ‘Now, sergeant, what can you tell me?’
‘Not a lot, sir. Come and see for yourself.’ He started to walk towards a figure lying on her back beneath the bare branches of an apple tree. ‘We didn’t like to ask questions, seeing as we knew you’d be coming to do the job. All I can tell you is that the girl’s name is Miss Melanie Mottram. She was engaged as governess for his lordship’s three daughters and had worked here for six months. It were her afternoon off yesterday. I did have a brief word with the cook. She were the one who sent for me when the groom came upon the body. Right upset they all were. No one knew Miss Mottram hadn’t returned home, yer see. The poor lass must have been out here all night. Happen she died of exposure. She might have come home after dark, tripped and fell, banged her head like, and passed out. It was cold enough to freeze a witch’s tit, begging your pardon for the language sir, and she wouldn’t have survived for long.’
‘Hmm.’
Riley shared a pensive glance with Salter. He thought that if the girl had been murdered—which had yet to be established—and if the crime had been committed outside the house, albeit in private grounds, it would extend the suspect pool considerably. He glanced at the walls, which were high, but not high enough to deter a determined intruder. And there was also the question of the side gate they had entered the property through. Was it kept permanently locked or could anyone stroll in during daylight hours?
‘Let’s take a look.’
The girl’s eyes stared sightlessly up at the bare branches above her head. Perhaps no more than twenty two or three, Riley could see that she had been very pretty in life, but the grey pallor of violent death had robbed her of her vibrancy. This was no accidental death, as portrayed by Sergeant Bingham; that much was immediately obvious to Riley. He crouched down beside the girl and took a closer look.
‘What are you thinking, sir?’ Salter asked, his knees creaking as he too crouched.
‘What I am wondering, sergeant, is why she came into the orchard in the dead of winter, probably after dark.’
‘An assignation?’ Salter suggested.
‘Perhaps. She looks as though she was wearing her best dress and coat. Vibrant violet isn’t a colour that a governess would wear in the execution of her duties. I’ll lay money on the fact that she was meeting someone and had dressed to impress him.’
‘Can’t see any obvious cause of death,’ Salter said, tugging at his ear. ‘I can see why Bingham thought she might have died of exposure. She looks peaceful. As though she fell asleep and didn’t wake.’
‘Look.’ Riley pointed at a discoloured patch of earth, protected by the tree trunk.
‘Blood?’
‘That’s my guess but I would prefer not to move her until Maynard and the photographer arrive.’ His gaze fell upon an embroidered purse that had fallen several feet away from the victim. Riley picked it up and examined its contents. The return half of a train ticket to London, presumably valid for the previous day. The outward half had been used and the return half clipped, implying that she had boarded the train but not handed the used ticket in at her destination, as Riley and his detectives had been required to do that morning. There was a rusty key that didn’t look as though it would open any of the doors to the house, a small amount of money, a handkerchief and a few insignificant odds and ends. He handed the bag to Salter, who placed it in the satchel he carried to collect evidence.
‘Are the family at home, Sergeant Bingham?’ Riley asked.
‘They are, sir. I asked them all to wait in the drawing room until you arrived.’
‘Thank you. You did the right thing.’
Riley had Carter and Soames conduct a methodical search of the immediate area in the hope that Miss Mottram’s assailant might have obligingly left behind a clue or two.
‘There’s a narrow track leading this way, sir,’ Carter said.
‘Find out where it goes.’
Carter disappeared and returned shortly to report that it led to the stables.
‘To the stables but away from the house,’ Riley said. ‘Odd.’
‘The track’s quite well established, sir. I’d say it’s in fairly regular use.’
‘Does Lord Vermont keep many outdoor servants, do you know, Bingham?’ Riley asked.
‘Just the one groom and a gardener what comes in on a daily basis. Only the groom lives in and he’s getting on a bit, iffing you’re thinking that the young lady had an assignation with someone who works here.’
Riley pondered upon that possibility as he stood back. The heel of his booted foot sank into soft earth.
‘Did it rain overnight, Bingham?’ he asked.
‘It did, sir. Heavily, in the early hours. It woke me and the missus up, hammering on our roof. We were worried it would leak again.’
‘I see.’
Riley’s cogitations were interrupted by the arrival of Maynard.
‘Ah, Lord Riley.’ Maynard extended his hand. ‘Welcome back. I trust you and Lady Riley thrive.’
‘We do indeed, which is more than can be said for this young lady.’
Maynard glanced at the body and tutted. ‘Quite.’
The photographer who had arrived with Maynard set to work, recording images of the unfortunate victim. When he had taken pictures of the body in situ, Maynard crouched beside her and conducted an examination. Riley watched him work, unsurprised when he gently moved the body onto its side to reveal a gaping wound in her back, around which blood had congealed.
‘There’s your cause of death, Lord Riley. Some cowardly blaggard stabbed the poor girl in the back, perhaps when she was attempting to flee to safety.’
Riley gave a grim nod. ‘I thought as much. How long has she been dead? I’m told it rained heavily in the early hours, if that helps.’
Maynard sucked his lip. ‘The ground beneath her body is dry, so I would say that her life was taken before midnight.’
‘Did she die immediately from her injuries?’ Salter asked.
‘I suspect that she did not, the poor lass. From my initial inspection, no vital organs appear to have been punctured, but she was too badly hurt to try and crawl to safety. The ground on either side of her remains undisturbed.’
‘She must have died from blood loss,’ Riley concluded. ‘If she could have summoned help, she might have survived.’
‘Very possibly. She obviously collapsed from her wound and eventually died where she fell.’ Maynard shook his head. ‘Slowly. She was too far from the house for her cries to have been heard, always supposing she was conscious and made any.’
‘A callous act committed by a desperate person,’ Riley mused. ‘What was he afraid of?’
‘That I cannot say,’ Maynard replied. ‘But if you have seen enough, I will arrange for her to be taken back to the morgue. I will know more when I have done the post mortem.’
Riley nodded, standing back when two men came forward with a stretcher. They covered Miss Mottram’s body with a blanket and carried her to the mortuary wagon. A small crowd had gathered outside the gates and Riley heard raised voices asking what had occurred to bring the police out in force to their leafy suburb. The constable on duty remained mute on the point. When the stretcher came into view all conversations ceased, hats were removed, eyes respectfully lowered.
‘Move along now,’ the constable said, motioning the crowd away once the cart had driven off. ‘There’s nothing to see here.’
‘Right,’ Riley said, replacing his own hat, and collecting his thoughts. ‘Let’s go and confront the family, Salter. Carter, Soames, continue your search here and join us inside when you are finished.’
Riley and Salter returned to the path and walked towards the front door. It was opened to them as they approached by a liveried butler. Riley gave their names and they were immediately shown into the drawing room.
‘Lord Riley.’ Lord Vermont stepped forward, hand outstretched. His hair was dishevelled, his clothing untidy, as though he had dressed in a hurry without the aid of his valet. ‘I am glad it is you who has come, although I could wish your attendance was not necessary.’
‘As do I, Lord Vermont. As do I.’
Riley’s gaze swept the room, taking in the slight figure of Lady Vermont, whom Riley recalled meeting on just one previous occasion. She was a fragile creature of about thirty, a good deal younger than her husband. Passably attractive but one would have little difficulty in overlooking her in a crowd. She did not possess a forthright character, making her an easy target for those who resented her position. Three young girls sat beside her, all with red-rimmed eyes. Riley wondered if any sons had resulted from Vermont’s second marriage or if the stockbroker from his first union remained his only heir. Given that the victim had been a pretty young woman and that she had almost certainly been killed by a man, any males who came into regular contact with her were of interest to Riley.
‘You remember my wife Virginia, Lord Riley.’
‘Indeed I do.’ He smiled at Lady Vermont. ‘Please don’t get up, ma’am.’
‘This is a terrible day, Lord Riley. Just terrible.’ Lady Vermont blew her nose on a lace-edged handkerchief but, unlike her daughters, Riley noticed that her eyes were completely dry. ‘These are my daughters, Heather, Julia and Isabel. They were all devoted to Miss Mottram and I cannot begin to imagine how we shall manage without her. The entire affair is simply too awful to contemplate.’
The eldest daughter couldn’t have been more than thirteen; the youngest less than ten. Riley wondered how they had been told about Miss Mottram’s violent end. Surely, a mother’s natural instinct would be to protect them from the unpleasantness, especially if they liked their governess so much? Then again, he supposed that if the cook’s distress had roused everyone, there was no avoiding their hearing of it.
‘It will be all right, Mama.’ Heather, the eldest child, spoke in a reassuring tone, briefly touching her mother’s hand. The gesture made Riley wonder which of them had assumed the role of parent, reinforcing his opinion regarding Lady Vermont’s fragility.
‘You have questions for me, of course,’ Vermont said.
‘For you both.’ He glanced at Lady Vermont. ‘Perhaps the girls would be more comfortable elsewhere.’
‘Of course.’ Vermont rang the bell. ‘We thought it best to remain here together until you arrived, if only to comfort one another and try to make sense of this…well, senseless act.’
‘I would like to stay.’
Heather lifted her chin, causing Riley to reassess her age. Unlike her mother, she didn’t lack confidence and was clearly accustomed to having her own way.
‘And I would like to speak with you,’ Riley said, not making the mistake of addressing her as a child, ‘after I have spoken with Lord and Lady Vermont. You are an astute young lady, that much is immediately obvious to me, and I am sure you will be a great help to my investigation. Perhaps you would oblige me by entertaining your sisters until I am ready for you.’
Heather looked to be on the point of arguing, but her youngest sibling started weeping, distracting Heather and saving Riley from insisting. Enforced obedience was, he sensed, a concept with which Heather was barely on nodding terms.
‘Come along then.’ Heather held out a hand to each of her sisters. ‘We shall be in the adjoining room,’ she said imperiously.
Riley watched them go, waited until the door closed behind them and accepted Lady Vermont’s invitation to take a seat. Salter stood beside the door with notebook in hand and pencil poised.
‘My commiserations upon the death of your governess,’ Riley said with sincerity. Lady Vermont gasped, but still no tears materialised.
‘An accident, surely?’ Lord Vermont decreed.
‘Sadly not. I’m afraid your governess was stabbed and died from a wound in her back.’
Lord Vermont looked astounded. ‘How the devil…I mean, why would anyone—’ He scratched his head, making his already wild hair stand on end. ‘It makes no sense. The girl was perfectly amiable. And in my own orchard, too.’ He shook his head. ‘I fail to understand it.’ He also failed to comfort his wife, although she still didn’t look particularly distressed, Riley thought. Even so, the majority of men would curb their own reactions for fear of oversetting the ladies. ‘What is the world coming to?’
‘Yesterday was Miss Mottram’s afternoon off, I’m given to understand.’ Riley addressed the remark to Lady Vermont.
‘It was. She usually went up to London on the train. She enjoyed the museums and art galleries. She was a great lover of art and no mean artist in her own right.’
‘At what time did she ordinarily arrive home from those excursions?’
Lady Vermont shook her head. ‘I’m afraid I cannot say. She wouldn’t have any reason to intrude upon us unless there was a problem with one of the children, you see, and since they were not with her…’
‘Quite.’
‘Ask the servants. They will likely know her habits,’ Vermont added.
Riley had intended to but waited while Salter dutifully scratched a note in his book.
‘Was she walking out with anyone?’ he asked.
Lady Vermont shook her head more vigorously on this occasion, setting limp curls dancing around her face. ‘Not to my knowledge—and if she had been, I feel persuaded that she would have mentioned the fact. I am very particular about that sort of thing, and if she was serious about a young man she would have had the courtesy to tell me. I would have wanted to assure myself that he was a respectable influence,’ she added primly, folding her hands in her lap. ‘I have my daughters’ moral wellbeing to consider.’
‘Friends in the locality then, or in London?’
The question produced yet another head shake. ‘I’m sorry, Lord Riley.’ Lady Vermont didn’t sound or look especially sorry. ‘She was a private person and I saw no reason to intrude upon that privacy, unless her personal affairs affected her ability to discharge her duties.’
‘Who were her family? How did she come to be in your employ?’ Talk to me.
Vermont sent his wife an enquiring look.
‘Through an agency,’ his lady obligingly responded. ‘We’d gone through several governesses, none of whom gave satisfactory service, which is why we were so pleased when the girls took a liking to Miss Mottram.’ She sighed. ‘Now, I suppose, we shall have to find someone else.’
‘Virginia!’ her husband said reprovingly.
‘Oh, excuse me.’ Lady Vermont placed a hand over her mouth. ‘How insensitive you must consider me. I tend to think aloud when I am upset.’ She lowered her shoulders and laced her fingers together in her lap. ‘However, you asked about her family. She has a father still living. A respectable man who resides in the West Country. I think there is a brother or two somewhere, but they have never been here, and as far as I am aware she has never received letters from them.’ Lady Vermont paused. ‘Perhaps the girls know more. They are very good at extracting information, especially Heather.’
Riley didn’t doubt it.
‘Please let my sergeant have the address of the agency you used. They will know how to contact Miss Mottram’s relations.’
Lady Vermont stood, went to an escritoire in the corner of the room and extracted a small leather notebook from one of the drawers. She turned to the appropriate page and then handed the book to Salter. He jotted down the relevant information and thanked Lady Vermont, who returned the book to the drawer.
‘I am so very sorry,’ Lady Vermont said, ‘but if there is nothing more I can help you with, then you really must excuse me. I am on the vicar’s new committee for the welfare of fallen young women, you see.’ Riley simply gaped at her. ‘We are arranging a ball to raise funds for that worthy cause and my presence at this morning’s meeting is vital.’
Even her husband looked taken aback by her lack of emotion and her twisted idea of priorities.
‘Then by all means,’ Riley said. ‘However, before you go, perhaps you would have the goodness to let me know the names and duties of your servants. I shall need to speak with them all.’
‘We have a butler. He admitted you to the house. Kemp has been in my husband’s family’s employ all his adult life. His father acted as my father-in-law’s butler before him until the day he died. If you are thinking that any of our servants had an inappropriate interest in Miss Mottram, then I can assure you that Kemp is not that man. Not that I suspect any of them, but I can quite see why you must think along those lines.’
‘Who else?’ Riley prompted.
‘We keep one footman, Giles Manton. He has been with us for about five years.’
‘I have a valet, Sterling,’ Vermont added. ‘I took him on three years ago when my previous man retired. He’s given good service, despite appearances to the contrary.’ Vermont glanced down at his dishevelled clothing with a self-deprecating smile. ‘Cook’s screams when she learned of Miss Mottram’s unfortunate demise roused the entire house this morning before daybreak. I dressed immediately without ringing for Stanton, concerned that something untoward must have happened and, naturally, my first concern was the protection of my family.’
‘We have one groom and a gardener, both of whom are well past their prime,’ Lady Vermont said, looking agitated when she glanced at the clock.
Making a good impression upon the vicar was clearly more important to her than discovering who had murdered her governess. Riley wondered if she was an exceptionally religious woman. She struck him as the type. She also seemed very conscious of her situation as a viscountess, and was probably unhappy about the blurring of lines between social classes in modern society. He didn’t think she was responsible for the death of her governess. Indeed, the scandal created seemed to concern her more than the girl’s murder. Even so, he wanted to know more about her. Something about her detached attitude rankled, and Riley had learned early in his career never to ignore his instincts.
‘Manton and Sterling are the only two young male employees in this household, and both are above suspicion.’ Lady Vermont lifted her chin, clearly attempting to convince herself that it was so. ‘Someone must have got into the grounds and…well, Miss Mottram happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now, if you will excuse me…’
Riley stood. Salter opened the door for her and she sailed through it without bothering to thank him.
‘Don’t think too badly of my wife,’ Vermont said into the ensuring silence. ‘She is not strong, and this is her way of coping. I know because whenever anything unpleasant happens, she retreats into herself and pretends that everything is normal, when in this case at least it patently is not.’
‘I understand.’ Riley allowed a short pause, as though formulating his next question. In actual fact, it was one that he had been holding back until Lady Vermont left them. Man to man, he was likely to get a more candid response. ‘Tell me, Lord Vermont, how did your son and Miss Mottram get along?’
‘Daniel?’ Vermont’s bushy brows shot up. ‘Surely you don’t suspect him of involvement?’
‘I’m afraid that in my line of work I am obliged to suspect everyone until I can prove otherwise.’
‘Yes, I suppose you are, but still, it doesn’t signify.’ A look of relief washed through Vermont’s eyes. ‘Daniel lives in the city. He has rooms in Watling Street, convenient for his work at Charles Stanley. He was not here yesterday, but he does sometimes come down from Friday until Monday.’
‘He was friendly with Miss Mottram?’
Vermont shrugged. ‘They passed the time of day, but nothing more to the best of my knowledge.’
‘Would you have minded if there had been more to their relationship than that?’
For the first time, Vermont prevaricated. ‘It is now a moot point, Lord Riley.’
‘Precisely.’
‘You cannot possibly think that I would…’
No, Riley didn’t, but he wouldn’t put anything past his ambitious wife, who felt a pressing need to maintain standards. If she even suspected that her governess had secured the affections of her husband’s only son and heir, he wondered how far she would have gone to put a stop to it. Miss Mottram spent her afternoons off in London, doing what precisely? There were only so many museums and art galleries she could visit. Of course, he had yet to ascertain if she had any friends in the capital. A search of her room would hopefully throw up clues in that regard.
‘You will make your son aware of the situation?’
Vermont dismissed the suggestion with a callous wave of one hand. ‘I see no need to interrupt his working day. It’s not as if there is anything he can do. Besides, as I say, he and Miss Mottram were barely acquainted.’
‘Nevertheless, I shall need to speak with him.’
‘All right, but I would prefer it if you didn’t call at his place of employment. It might cause difficulties for him.’
‘Then be so kind as to furnish me with his address in Watling Street,’ Riley replied, without giving any such undertaking.
Vermont rattled it off and Salter made a note of it.
‘When did you last see Miss Mottram?’ Riley asked.
‘Me?’ Vermont looked vague. ‘No idea. Our paths sometimes cross in the house, but she doesn’t dine with us. Her place is with the children and they are too young to join us at table.’ Vermont closed his eyes and threw back his head. ‘She came to my library a few days ago in search of a book on Greek mythology. I don’t recall seeing her since then.’
‘Very well, sir. That will be all for now. I should like to see Miss Mottram’s room, after I have spoken with your daughter, Heather. What age is she?’
‘Fourteen. Please don’t upset her, Lord Riley. She was excessively fond of Miss Mottram.’
‘It isn’t my intention to upset her,’ Riley replied mildly. ‘At least, no more than she already has been by this sad affair. I will not need to trouble your younger daughters at this point.’
‘Thank you for that at least. You don’t have an easy job, I can quite see that.’
‘I will need to speak with all your servants individually. Is there a room I can use that won’t inconvenience you?’
‘The small morning room adjacent to this one, where the girls are at present. I will have Kemp bring the servants in to you one at a time.’
Riley inclined his head. ‘I am obliged to you.’