Chapter Two
‘Good evening, Lord Ashton.’ Riley inclined his head. ‘I regret the necessity for our meeting again under such tragic circumstances.’ The room fell silent as all eyes in it turned to the inspector. It was a typical Knightsbridge drawing room. Large and opulent and over-decorated, like most of its occupants. The men stood, eager to see Ashton test the mettle of the detective. The ladies reclined, most showing varying degrees of emotion, all fanning themselves against the heat.
Ashton sniffed, causing his waxed moustaches to twitch. ‘Damned inconvenient,’ he barked.
‘Especially for Miss Ferguson,’ Riley suggested. He heard one of the ladies catch her breath on a sob.
‘Yes, well.’ Ferguson’s fleshy cheeks bloomed with colour. ‘I trust I can rely upon your discretion, Rochester.’
Riley wasn’t surprised to discover that Ashton’s only concern was for himself and his reputation. There wasn’t an ounce of sympathy for Emily in his manner, reinforcing Riley’s low opinion of the man. He was the type whose high-handed attitude typified the behaviour of many of the aristocracy, causing resentment and mumblings amongst the masses about outdated privileges. There was a scribbler called Marx working somewhere in London—Highgate, Riley recalled. His ideas were amusing, although Riley doubted anything would come of them. But Ashton was a cantankerous devil, accustomed to getting his own way by either browbeating, bullying or pulling rank against those who had the temerity to oppose him.
Riley suspected that he was about to be subjected to Ashton’s authoritarian manner. Ashton would doubtless tell him how to run his investigation, and it was already apparent that he didn’t care if Emily’s murderer was brought to book or not, just so long as his precious name wasn’t tarnished by association. A quick resolution to the unfortunate matter—regardless of the facts—would be demanded, so that the whole unsavoury business could be swept beneath the drawing room’s vast rug as hastily as could be considered decent. If Ashton didn’t get his way, no doubt he’d go over Riley’s head to Danforth, and once again Riley would find himself squeezed between privilege and umbrage. Unfortunately for Ashton, Riley had never been one to tolerate coercion from either of those directions.
‘I shall endeavour to keep your inconvenience to a minimum, Lord Ashton.’
‘Now that you’re here, I hope it will be possible to let everyone leave. Your man here has all but kept us prisoners,’ he added, casting a scathing glance at Salter. ‘As though anyone in my drawing room would murder the silly girl.’ He huffed indignantly. ‘The idea is preposterous.’
Riley was tempted to point out the obvious flaws in Ashton’s argument but decided not to enter into a battle of wills with the man quite yet. Just now they were jockeying for superiority like a pair of prize-fighters sizing each other up, and apart from anything else, such a reaction would play right into Danforth’s hands.
‘My sergeant followed procedure,’ he said instead. ‘Your guests will soon be able to leave, but I must beg your indulgence and ask you to entertain them for a little longer. My officers will want to question them individually, as well as the servants, who will be left until last, of course.’ Riley’s tone was perhaps a little too condescending.
‘But that will take hours. It’s ridiculous. I’m not happy about this, Rochester. I shall be taking this matter up with your superiors.’ Riley exhaled at the sheer predictability of the man. He raised an eyebrow with Salter, who returned the gesture, and was pleased to see that some of the guests took note of it. He opened his mouth to speak, but Ashton continued. ‘It’s obvious what happened. Some ne’er-do-well sneaked into the gardens, saw Emily in the music room alone and took his chance. We ain’t safe in our own homes nowadays, and that’s a fact. The country’s gone to the dogs. Not sure what good all the money we’re spending on this fancy new Detective Department is doing if we can’t even risk opening our windows on a hot summer night.’
Ashton had worked himself up into a state of righteous fervour. Riley didn’t bother to contradict his view, aware that the man was attempting to hand Riley a neat solution to the murder that would see it quickly resolved. Absolving himself and his guests from culpability in the process, of course.
‘Lord Ashton, your theory is interesting, and it is no doubt one that we will consider. Now, if I might examine the deceased.’
‘Why?’ Ashton’s bushy brows twitched. ‘The doctor’s been and gone. She’s dead and that’s all there is to it.’
‘Even so, it’s my job to view her in the place where she died. The scene of a crime often provides invaluable clues, even if they are not immediately apparent as such. I shall look at the scene and then have her body removed from the house as discreetly as possible.’
Ashton grunted. ‘Do what you must. You know the way.’
‘Can you tell me who discovered Miss Ferguson?’
Ashton’s entire body vibrated. ‘What’s that to do with anything?’
Riley considering the question to be self-evident. He sighed again. ‘I am simply trying to establish the sequence of events.’
Ashton grunted. ‘I found the gal, since you insist upon knowing. Just as well that I did. Don’t care to think of the hysterics we would have had to endure if one of the other ladies had come across her. At least this way I was able to break the news to the women gently and keep them away from Miss Ferguson.’ He shot Riley a defiant look. ‘I take it that meets with your approval.’
‘Absolutely.’ But Ashton hadn’t answered Riley’s question to his satisfaction. In fact he’d told him almost nothing, other than that he’d had adequate time to drill the others in what ought to be said. Fortunately he was unaware of Riley’s close friendship with Amelia, and knew she would reveal whatever she knew, so Riley let matters rest as they were. For now.
‘Right, well we shall remain here in the drawing room until you’ve finished.’ Ashton stood close to Riley and wagged a finger in his face. ‘Don’t keep us waiting all night.’
Riley had a near exhaustive supply of patience as a general rule but it had already been almost…well, exhausted by Ashton’s attitude. He was sorely tempted to bend back Ashton’s finger until it snapped, but common sense prevailed.
‘I shall be as fast as I possibly can,’ he replied, speaking very slowly. He looked at Ashton’s pointing finger, then into Ashton’s eyes. Ashton put his hand down and took a step backwards.
‘Can’t understand why you got yourself involved with this detecting business, Rochester. Have to agree with your brother in that regard. It ain’t seemly.’ Ashton scratched his head, as though seeking inspiration. ‘Ain’t seemly at all.’
‘I have been told that more than once.’
‘Well, you ought to listen. A man in your position don’t need to lower himself.’
Ashton returned to his guests, still muttering about unsuitable occupations.
‘I want you two to search every inch of the terrace,’ Riley said to the two eager detectives awaiting his instructions. ‘If memory serves, it folds round three sides of the house and all the principal rooms have doors opening onto it. Pay particular attention to the area outside the music room. Try not to be too obvious when you’re outside the windows of the rooms that are occupied, and don’t let anyone turn you away.’
‘What are we looking for, sir?’ Carter asked.
‘I have absolutely no idea,’ Riley replied frankly. ‘But it’s a warm night, and on occasions such as these the terrace sees a lot of activity. Our killer could have slipped from the drawing room onto the terrace and into the music room that way. No one would have known he was there. If he was missed they would simply assume he was taking the air. Look for anything untoward. The killer might have left the room that way and even the coldest of hearts would be agitated, having just done what he did. There might be evidence.’ Riley called them back as they turned to follow his order. ‘Oh, and best look to see if there’s any evidence of a person having scaled the garden walls.’ Riley doubted if they would find any, but he had to consider Ashton’s theory. ‘Right, that’s it. Off you go.’
The young men nodded and trotted off in the direction of the terrace, accessing it from the corridor. That was a third place from which the killer could have approached Emily, Riley thought. If a servant was responsible for the crime, it would be the most likely route for him or her to have taken, since Ashton’s retainers would be experts at keeping out of sight. It was worth bearing in mind, and he said as much to Salter as they walked further along the oak-lined corridor past the paintings of Ashton’s ancestors and entered the music room from the side door. He nodded to the two mortuary assistants who leaned against the wall, waiting with their litter to remove the body.
The pervasive aroma of death assailed Riley’s nostrils the moment he walked into the room, filling him with sadness at the curtailment of such a young and vibrant life. He realised that the smell was coming from the mortuary assistants, who had probably undertaken similar tasks that day in far less salubrious circumstances. Emily was lying on her back in the centre of the rug, her arms crossed neatly over her silk bodice, the bustle on her gown gathered to one side of her prone form. Her face looked peaceful, but for the angry ring of bruises around her neck. There were red marks on one wrist too, Riley noticed. He looked up at the mortuary assistants.
‘Was this how she was found?’ he asked. ‘With her hands folded in that manner?’
‘Yes, sir. No one’s moved nothing,’ one of the assistants replied.
‘She has been posed,’ Riley said to Salter. ‘Her killer was known to her, and either cared about her or wished to make some sort of obscure point. Either way, he treated her body with respect—once he had squeezed the life from her, of course.’
‘She was killed by someone who cared for her?’ Salter asked.
‘Love and hate are said to be opposite sides of the same coin, Salter.’
‘This is a crime of passion, like?’
‘Possibly. The killer, her or she—’
‘She? You think a woman would be strong enough to strangle another healthy young female and no one heard nothing?’
‘We must keep an open mind. Young ladies in society circles can be ruthlessly ambitious and even more ruthlessly jealous. All I can say for now is that the killer would have been known to her if he or she was a guest here this evening.’
Salter nodded slowly as he continued to contemplate the body. ‘She was a lovely woman, right enough. That’s enough to cause resentment, no matter what class you come from.’
‘We cannot ignore the possibility that a servant carried out the crime, although no reason springs immediately to mind,’ Riley said, circling the body and noticing how it had been placed precisely in the centre of the rug. ‘One could have been paid, of course. Money, ambition or jealousy is behind this crime, I suspect.’
‘This’ll be like looking for a needle in a haystack then,’ Salter complained. ‘We have a roomful of suspects next door, a load more below stairs and the possibility of a rogue intruder.’
‘You can forget the intruder. I’m simply going through the motions there to pacify Ashton. The man’s an idiot…’ Salter smiled in agreement. ‘An intruder wouldn’t strangle a girl he doesn’t know. If she caught him stealing he’d have just knocked her down and scarpered. He wouldn’t take his time strangling her, then pose her body and not steal her jewellery. Besides, there’s nothing obviously missing from this room.’
‘Right. Well, that’s something, I suppose, but his lordship won’t be pleased.’
‘His lordship is never pleased. I know him of old and care little for his pleasure. Anyway, Emily was definitely posed. One doesn’t fall to the floor after being strangled and calmly place one’s own arms over one’s chest. And see how she’s right in the centre of the rug.’ Riley rubbed his chin. ‘The killer has a tidy mind.’
‘There’s no sign of a struggle,’ Salter said, glancing round the room. ‘No furniture overturned, nor nothing.’
Riley nodded his agreement. There was a magnificently carved harp sitting in the corner of the room and a grand piano next to it. The only sign of recent activity was a spread of sheet music across the top of the piano, as though the guests had been sifting through it, deciding either what to play or what they would like to hear. Two half-empty champagne flutes sat on a side table. Since they were the only glasses in the room they implied to Riley that Emily had drunk from one of them. Someone else, a guest no doubt, had brought her a glass in the hope of stealing a few moments alone with her. Presumably she had agreed, with fatal consequences.
A cluster of chairs looked as though they had been recently vacated following a recital. Double doors to one end of the room led, Riley knew, to the drawing room beyond. The sound of Lord Ashton’s voice, raised in annoyance, confirmed the fact.
‘Notice anything else? The one thing above all others that convinces me she knew her killer and that the killer either cared for her or respected her.’
Salter examined the body for some time, muttering to himself. ‘Can’t say as I do,’ he finally admitted.
‘Her eyes, Salter. Her eyes. The killer closed them. He couldn’t bear to have her cold, dead eyes staring up at him. It was remorse or affection, one of the two. My money is on the latter, but time will tell.’
‘Sorry sir, I should have spotted such a detail. But I see what you mean.’
‘She definitely died of strangulation,’ Riley said, crouching beside the body, looking at the red finger-shaped bruises on her throat and the broken capillaries beneath the skin on her face. ‘Strangulation is the ultimate form of punishment and control. Miss Ferguson did something to severely upset a person who dislikes being gainsaid.’
Salter sniffed. ‘Well I can certainly think of at least one such person,’ he said. ‘But his lordship wouldn’t have shat in his own nest, if you’ll pardon the expression, gov’nor. Especially when it was full of people. Anyone could’ve seen the killer from out there on the veranda, sir. Bit risky, wouldn’t you say?’
Riley shrugged. ‘Someone with a calculating mind committed this crime, Salter. That person attacked her with force and yet she put up no resistance.’
‘How do you know, sir? Because there’s no upset furniture? It’s a big room…oh, of course, the hands.’
Riley picked one up and examined it. ‘What’s the first thing you would do if someone tried to strangle you?’
‘Fight back.’
‘Precisely. But she has no scratches, no broken fingernails, and not a hair on her head is out of place. There are no marks on her face to indicate that the murderer struck her, rendering her unconscious. And nothing to indicate that she put up any resistance.’ Riley tutted. ‘It’s deuced odd.’
‘It has to have been a man then.’
‘I think,’ Riley said slowly, nodding towards the champagne glasses, ‘that she met someone in here, either by accident or design, but was definitely alone with him. They argued. The man grasped her wrist and tried to reason with her, lost his temper and…unless—’ Riley walked across to the table with the empty glasses on it. He bent down and sniffed the contents, but nothing appeared untoward. ‘I want these taken back to the laboratory for analysis.’
‘Poison, sir? A soporific, perhaps?’
‘I’m not sure, but something here doesn’t ring true.’ Riley rubbed his lips with the edge of his forefinger. ‘Emily’s unwillingness to defend herself concerns me. Why wouldn’t she fight for her life or scream for help? I can only suppose that she either thought she could reason with her assailant or was incapacitated.’
‘Hard to scream when you’re bein’ strangled, sir. But you think her killer put an opiate in her drink to make her more cooperative.’ Salter, a family man with a daughter not much younger than Emily, scowled. ‘When that didn’t work he lost his temper and killed her.’
‘I can’t afford to ignore such a possibility.’ He looked up to the mortuary assistants. ‘I assume the necessary photographs have been taken.’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Right then,’ Riley said as he took a last look at the scene. ‘Take her. I want our doctor friend to analyse her stomach contents. If she was rendered insensible—’
‘Wouldn’t someone have noticed?’
‘Depends upon how fast acting the drug was and how soon afterwards she found herself alone with her killer. It’s just a thought,’ Riley said as he opened the door to the corridor. ‘But if I’m right then it’s a planned crime. No crime of passion, this. Anyone could have put that opiate into her drink, making it possible, at least in theory, for a female accomplice to finish her off. She would be powerless to fight back and, somehow, the tidy manner in which she was posed makes me suspect a woman’s hand somewhere in this sorry affair. It’s a cold business, and I’ll have someone swing for it.’
Salter looked grim. ‘That ought to make for some interesting interrogations.’
‘Precisely.’ Riley, pleased to leave the music room and the smell of death behind him, moved into an anteroom and sat at a table. He nodded to Salter to take the chair on its opposite side. ‘Before I go in there, let me see the list of guests. How many people were here this evening?’
‘Twenty-eight.’
‘An intimate gathering then. Thank heavens for small mercies.’
Riley took the list from Salter’s hand and scanned the names. Every single person on it was known to him.
‘We can dismiss the majority of these after an initial interview, or send them home and follow up with them tomorrow. The older ones wouldn’t have the strength to kill Emily and, even if they did, they wouldn’t lower themselves to carry out the crime themselves.’ Riley ran his finger down the neatly written list.
‘They’d have a servant do it for them,’ Salter said, rolling his eyes.
‘Yes, but none of them would have brought their own servants into the house, so unless we unearth evidence to the contrary in our search of the grounds, we can rule them out.’
‘I’m told that the older people all moved into the drawing room once the music was over and never left it.’
Riley knew that wouldn’t be true. They might all have been there for the majority of the time but one or more of them would at some point have been required to answer a call of nature. Any guest here would have been capable of disappearing for long enough to murder Emily.
‘Only the younger set wandered outside in search of air and…well, whatever young people hope to find at these events. You’d know more about that than I do, sir,’ Salter added with a sly smile.
‘I try to avoid such events as often as possible,’ Riley answered. He didn’t tell Salter he’d been invited. There was only so much noblesse oblige his sergeant could take. ‘Anyway, what you tell me reinforces my decision to send the older men home. This is a young person’s crime, I’d stake my reputation on that. But older ladies especially are very observant,’ he said, thinking of his mother and how she seemed to know who had an interest in whom, just by seeing a shared look, an admiring glance or the flutter of a brow. She was almost always right. ‘Some of them might have seen something to help us, even if they don’t realise it. My difficulty is,’ Riley added, stroking his chin reflectively, ‘that they are likely to close ranks, especially if they think they are protecting one of their own.’
‘Even if he’s a murderer?’ Salter cried, aghast.
‘Especially then. You saw how Ashton reacted. We need to speak with everyone tonight or first thing tomorrow, before they’ve had time to get over the horror and decide upon their stories between them.’
Salter sighed. ‘No rest for the wicked.’
‘You should be accustomed to that,’ Riley pushed himself to his feet, just as the two constables returned from their search of the gardens. ‘Any luck?’ Riley asked.
‘Nothing so far, sir, and it’s too dark to continue looking.’
‘Right, take yourselves down to the kitchens,’ he said. ‘Talk to all the servants and get a full list of their names from the butler. What’s his name, Salter?’
‘Farlow, sir.’
‘Farlow, that’s it. Treat him with respect, Peterson. Try to make him understand that we are not accusing any of his staff of wrongdoing but need his help in order to resolve the crime quickly. He will be as keen as Ashton for it to be cleared up. Butlers are touchy devils but we need him on our side, so treat him with kid gloves. Get a list of all the servants’ names and their positions from him. Try to find out which of them were above stairs at the time of the crime, what their duties were and where precisely they were in the house in order to carry them out. Spend time on the servants. They gossip about anything and everything. They’ll know things the gentry are blissfully unaware of, I’m sure.’
‘I will do my best, sir.’
‘Good man. Come on then, Salter. I’ll ask the questions, you watch everyone carefully. What they don’t say is often more enlightening than what they wish you to hear. Look for gestures, twitches, signs of nerves.’
Riley pushed both drawing room doors open, making a deliberately flamboyant entrance. All conversations ceased as every head turned in his direction—a tableau momentarily frozen in time. The younger gentlemen were all standing, while the older ones and all the ladies occupied the seats scattered about the large room. The fans were still busy. A couple of the men had loosened their cravats. Most of the gentlemen in the drawing room nursed brandy snifters and the ladies were sharing pots of tea. ‘A pot of tea on a hot day is better than water or chilled lemonade. It opens the pores, dear.’ Riley remembered his mother’s advice and smiled to himself. The only occupant of the room uninterested in Riley’s appearance was a rotund marmalade cat stretched full length across an open window ledge, sound asleep. Riley struck the creature from his internal list of suspects and smiled again. The game was afoot. This was the part he enjoyed, the part that made him realise he had found his vocation. Humanity, in all its strengths and flaws, waiting to be laid open.
Lady Ashton stood and walked swiftly over to Riley, her skirts swishing and a lace-edged handkerchief clutched in her hands. But her eyes were dry and Riley wasn’t surprised to see that she appeared more agitated than upset. The ignominy of having a guest murdered in her household was not something she was likely to recover from quickly. She would be the gossip of the ton for some time, and she knew it well. Riley would be compassionate, but for the fact that her distress was for her own situation, not Emily Ferguson’s death.
‘This is terrible, Lord Riley,’ she said. ‘Simply terrible.’ Riley knew that the use of his title was meant to bring him onside with his fellow aristocrats whose evening had been so inconvenienced by Emily’s murder. ‘I’m sure I don’t know what the world is coming to. Indeed I do not.’ She shook her head and squeezed out a tear that trickled down her wrinkled cheek. ‘Such a wicked, wicked crime.’
‘I am very sorry that this has happened, Lady Ashton,’ Riley said, perhaps a touch too dismissively, before turning his attention to the rest of the room. ‘And I am sorry to have kept you all here for so long, ladies and gentlemen. I realise it has been unpleasant and inconvenient.’
‘I should say it has,’ grumbled one of the older gentlemen. ‘Not good form to keep the ladies confined after such a shocking occurrence, Rochester. Night like this as well. You ought to know better.’
Riley bit back a retort. It would do him no good to antagonise people who might supply him with vital information. ‘Ladies, I apologise, but lamentably procedures must be followed.’ He smiled and inclined his head towards the seated group of women. The fans flapped and some of the ladies smiled back. ‘I shall need to talk to you all individually, but not all of you need to stay any longer. I will call on you tomorrow.’
A murmur of satisfaction permeated the room as he named the older couples whom he was happy to have leave them, reducing those left to a more manageable twelve, including Amelia. She was not a suspect but possessed a quick mind and tended not to panic in stressful situations—attributes that Riley intended to exploit. He turned to the departing guests.
‘Before you leave, ladies and gentlemen. Somehow the newspapers have already heard about this business and reporters are amassing outside the gates. It might be expedient to join your carriages in the mews, if you don’t mind the slight inconvenience. It will, I can assure you, be preferable to being confronted by the gentlemen of the press.’
Several grunts of approval greeted Riley’s suggestion.
‘Needless to say, if anyone from the papers does try to contact you, no information should be given out.’
‘Well, Rochester,’ Lord Ashton said impatiently when those permitted to leave had done so. ‘What do you hope to achieve by keeping the rest of us from our beds?’
‘I should like, with your permission, to gain an idea of where everyone was before Miss Ferguson’s body was discovered.’
A picture began to emerge that was much as Riley had supposed would be the case. The guests had been invited for a musical evening. Several of the young ladies had performed, including Miss Ferguson. She was an accomplished pianist and her performance had apparently been the highlight of the evening. When the music ended they had all repaired to the dining parlour, where a light supper had been served. After that, the older guests had retired to the drawing room while the younger ones milled about outside, trying to stay cool.
‘That was two hours ago now,’ Lady Ashton said, ‘but it seems more like a lifetime. If only we had known what would happen…but how could we? Miss Ferguson performed very prettily and was much admired, just as she always was.’
‘Excuse me, but did any of the ladies present have anything against her?’
‘I say, Rochester!’ Lord Ashton puffed out his chest. ‘You cannot possibly suppose that a woman was involved in this crime.’
‘I make it a rule never to suppose anything, Lord Ashton. I deal solely in facts and it is the facts of this case that I am attempting to establish. People’s reactions are key in that regard.’
‘I cannot say that anyone seemed especially discomposed.’ It was Mrs Dalton, the mother of one of Miss Ferguson’s contemporaries, who responded. ‘My daughter performed immediately after Emily,’ she said, patting the hand of the daughter in question, seated beside her, ‘and was received just as politely.’
‘I am perfectly sure that she was.’
Gloria Dalton, a pretty enough girl in her own right when not compared to Emily, blushed when Riley smiled at her.
‘There really isn’t much more to tell,’ Lady Ashton said. ‘We took an informal supper and then, as you already know, most of our younger guests took advantage of the slight breeze on the terrace. Not that there was much of a breeze to be had.’ Riley nodded, recalling his inability to cool his own drawing room. ‘That wouldn’t deter the young people, of course. Any excuse for a moment or two on a darkened terrace,’ she said, sending a glance towards her son, Terrance.
‘You were on the terrace, Mr Ashton?’ Riley directed the question to Terrance. ‘Did you happen to see Miss Ferguson?’
‘She was hard to miss,’ he replied shortly.
Riley gave Terrance a sharp look. There was something about his tone that stirred his suspicions. Terrance Ashton’s eyes were reddened, as though he’d been crying. He was grieving, Riley realised. Perhaps the only person in the room who actually was. He made a mental note to ask his mother if young Ashton had been one of Emily’s admirers. His mother was bound to know. Had his suit been rejected? Had he observed Emily making eyes at another man? Was his pride hurt and did he take the ultimate revenge? The Ashtons were filthy rich and despite the fact that Terrace wasn’t titled and didn’t stand to inherit his father’s courtesy title, he was still considered a good catch.
‘Wherever Emily went,’ Terrance said on a note of pride, ‘she was universally popular with both sexes.’ So was Terrance, Riley thought—and like his father he was accustomed to getting his own way. If Emily hadn’t returned his affections, what impulsive actions might he have taken to salve his wounded pride? ‘Not sure how we’ll get along without her.’ Terrance swallowed several times, as though fighting back fresh tears. ‘She was a diamond without equal.’
‘We will recover in time, Mr Ashton,’ Miss Dalton assured him, her eyes wide with compassion. ‘We must comfort one another as best we can and remember that Emily has gone to a better place.’
‘I’d much rather have her here with us now,’ Terrance replied with minimum civility.
‘I will speak with you all individually tomorrow,’ Riley said. ‘It is late now, and I am conscious of detaining you. But before you leave, can any of you remember seeing anything out of the ordinary at about the time Emily was killed. That would have been at approximately nine o-clock. Immediately after supper was served.’
Peter Granville, a tall, lean and serious young man whom Riley rather liked, pushed himself from the wall. ‘We were all of us,’ he said, indicating Terrance and Michael Leith, the other two young men in the room, ‘walking about outside. Miss Ferguson, Miss Dalton and Miss Ashton,’ he added, nodding towards Terrance’s sister Prudence, ‘were with us. Someone called Miss Ferguson’s name from inside the house, she went to see what they wanted and…well, we never saw her again.’
‘Was it a man or a woman?’ Riley asked sharply.
‘A woman, I think.’ He looked to the others for clarification and they nodded.
‘Emily thought it was her mother,’ Prudence, who looked pale and anxious, said.
‘And the rest of you stayed together after Miss Ferguson left you?’
‘Well, no,’ Miss Dalton said hesitatingly. ‘The gentlemen escorted Prudence and I back into the drawing room—’
‘You didn’t go through the music room?’ Riley asked, more in hope than expectation of receiving a positive response.
‘No.’ It was Prudence who answered. ‘The boys spoke of playing billiards so they left us at the doors to the drawing room and went across the hall to the billiards room.’
‘I see. Did you all play?’ Riley asked, looking to the three young men.
‘Yes, of course. I say, you don’t seriously suspect any of us, do you?’ Granville asked, looking naively outraged. ‘We all adored Emily. None of us would have harmed a hair on her head.’
‘It is my job to ask testing questions,’ Riley replied calmly. ‘And since you all liked Miss Ferguson so much, I should have thought you would be as keen as I am to discover who amongst you did not like her. Someone clearly did not, or she wouldn’t be dead.’
‘I keep telling you, Rochester,’ Lord Ashton said impatiently. ‘It must have been an intruder.’
‘My men searched the grounds for signs of a possible intruder’s entry point. Thus far they have found nothing. It’s too dark for them to continue now but if you would kindly ensure that no one goes into the gardens, Lord Ashton, they will continue their search at first light.’
Ashton nodded. ‘Very well.’
‘But, I must warn you that the possibly of an intruder having committed the crime is remote. Quite apart from anything else, he would have had to get past all of you young people on the terrace without being seen.’
‘Perhaps he broke in while we were all at supper and then found himself trapped in the music room,’ Ashton suggested, looking somewhat smug to have come up with a plausible explanation.
‘Possibly, but for the fact that nothing was disturbed and nothing stolen. There are some small and valuable pieces of silver in that room. No self-respecting burglar would leave them behind. You can take my word for it. Besides, if none of you called to Miss Ferguson from this room, ladies, then the person doing the calling must have been in the music room already, and would have become the intruder’s natural victim.’
Ashton grunted but had no response to make.
‘I imagine Mrs Ferguson will remain here for the night, Lady Ashton.’
‘Oh yes, the poor dear, she was near hysterical when Emily was found. Thankfully, whatever the doctor gave her has made her sleep. I have my maid sitting with her.’
‘Thank you.’ Riley inclined his head. ‘Please tell Mrs Ferguson that I shall return in the morning and speak with her then.’
‘Ferguson is in India,’ Ashton said. ‘We have sent a telegram and I assume he will return home immediately. Emily was his only child.’
Everyone was momentarily quiet. Even Ashton suddenly appeared to be moved by the gravity of Emily’s senseless death.
‘Then I will wish you all good night,’ Riley said. ‘Mrs Cosgrove,’ he added, turning towards Amelia. ‘Did you bring your carriage?’
Riley asked because he knew Amelia didn’t keep one, even though she could easily afford to, and wouldn’t put it past her to travel home alone by cab. Irresponsible woman!
‘Actually, I came with Mary Ferguson,’ Amelia replied.
‘And Mrs Ferguson’s carriage is still in your mews?’ Riley turned to Lord Ashton for confirmation.
‘It has not been dismissed,’ he replied shortly.
‘Very well. I need to speak with her coachmen, so I will escort you home, Mrs Cosgrove.’
Amelia looked to be on the point of protesting, glanced at the other people in the room and graciously acquiesced. ‘Thank you,’ she said simply.