Chapter Five
‘You going to tackle the Ashtons after this, sir?’ Salter asked as he and Riley headed in the direction of the mews.
Riley grimaced. ‘Someone has to.’
‘Glad it ain’t me.’
They found the mews almost deserted. Ashton’s carriage was not there, which rather implied that Farlow had been economical with the truth when assuring Riley that the family members were all at home. He wondered which of the male Ashtons had gone out—father or son. Quite possibly both. God forbid they should let their standards slip!
News of the murder would have been discussed over the breakfast tables of London’s most elite establishments, even though it had taken place too late to be mentioned in that morning’s newspapers. Society’s grapevine didn’t recognise deadlines and was ruthless in its condemnation of those it considered to have let the side down. Emily had been killed at Ashton’s house, so it followed that the blame must lie with him. No judge or jury required.
Those whose good opinion Ashton had gone out of his way to cultivate would condemn him simply for allowing such a foul deed to take place on his property, Riley knew. Ashton would be aware of it too, and would seek to deflect as much speculation as possible away from his door. Riley was willing to wager that he or Terrance, possibly both of them, would be found working diligently away at Ashton Investments, putting on a brave face as though nothing untoward had occurred.
It occurred to Riley that his mother would also have heard about Emily’s death by now. He resigned himself to the questionable pleasure of receiving a visit from her in the very near future. His mother, despite her advancing years—or perhaps because of them—was an avid conduit for gossip. A leading society matriarch, she would be expected to know all the salacious particulars of the murder. The scandalous question of Riley’s chosen career path would be dragged out of the mists of time—a marquess’s brother taking such a menial occupation. Whatever next? If Riley didn’t tell her something to satisfy the curiosity of her disciples, she would not be averse to making it up.
Sighing, he returned his attention to the mews. The only conveyance in evidence was the shabby vehicle that Riley had ridden in the previous night. The coachman was nowhere to be seen. Riley assumed he had taken himself off to the kitchens for a cup of tea, leaving Jute in sole charge of the carriage. He approached the young man who sat on a bench, staring off into space. He had removed his hat thick, wavy hair fell across his face, occasionally lifted by a torpid breeze to reveal grief-stricken eyes.
‘Detective Inspector,’ he said in a flat tone, jumping to his feet and replacing his hat when he saw Riley approaching. ‘How can I be of service?’
‘Talk to me about Miss Ferguson. About Emily.’
‘Why ask me?’ Jute’s expression was wary.
‘Because I suspect that she was a lonely and confused young lady who became your friend and confided in you.’
Jute looked wary. ‘I’m a servant. A footman. Such friendships are frowned upon.’
‘You cared about her,’ Riley said softly. ‘And you’re as keen as I am to find her killer. I don’t think it was a burglar who committed the crime, and nor do you.’
Jute shrugged. ‘No one cares what I think.’
‘You knew the real Emily. The girl beneath the dutiful façade. All I’ve heard since starting this investigation is that she was beautiful, sweet and thoughtful, destined to make a magnificent marriage. No one has a bad word to say about her. That must have been a difficult image for her to live up to. No one is that perfect.’
Riley saw some of the tension leaving Jute’s shoulders and sensed that he was ready to speak candidly. ‘You’re right about that. Emily was conflicted, but…’
‘I appreciate that loyalty prevents you from speaking out of turn and disappointing your employers,’ Riley said, when the footman’s words trailed off.
‘Ha! You rode in this rattletrap yesterday.’ He waved one arm in the direction of the dilapidated carriage and let out a slow breath. ‘The truth is that the Fergusons are deep in debt.’ Riley and Salter exchanged a glance, their earlier supposition validated. ‘That’s why the master has gone to India, looking to try and recoup his losses. Made bad investments, apparently. Anyway, good riddance to him is what I say. The house is tolerable without him lording it over us all.’ Jute sniffed, allowing his dissatisfaction to show. ‘I wouldn’t mind but we haven’t been paid this last quarter, nor are we likely to be. Especially not now that…’
‘Why stay if he’s such a bad employer?’
‘For Emily and Mrs Ferguson’s sakes. They inspire loyalty. He’s the one as causes the problems. Emily has known since she was twelve years old that she’s expected to marry a man of considerable wealth in order to bail her old man out.’ Jute snorted as he kicked at a loose brick in a low wall. ‘Imagine that sort of pressure.’
‘I barely can.’
‘Mrs Ferguson, I hear tell, was encouraged by her family to marry Ferguson. But he needed no persuasion to offer for her. Mrs Ferguson is still a handsome woman today, and I imagine she resembled her daughter when she was younger.’ Jute scowled up into the sunlight and used it as an excuse to wipe his eyes. ‘So it’s easy to imagine even a cold fish like him giving way to sentiment. Totally besotted by her, so I hear tell, even though she didn’t have much money to bring to the marriage. Of course, he had plenty of his own in them days, before he mismanaged it and was reduced to pinning all hope of staying out of debtor’s prison on his daughter. Only problem with his grand scheme is that Emily inherited a romantic nature of her own and wants…wanted to marry for love.’
‘Most young girls do.’
Jute waved a persistent bee away from his face. ‘She was conflicted. Part of her saw how her parents lived from hand to mouth, attempting to keep up appearances, and she desperately wanted to help them. Her father never lost an opportunity to remind her that he had invested his last guineas launching her into society in a spectacular manner. She felt she owed them, even though she’d never been that keen on being a debutante and would gladly have forgone all the rigmarole.’ Jute removed his hat again and flapped it at the bee when it continued to pester him. ‘Has anyone told you that she suffered from crippling shyness?’
‘Actually, no.’ Riley nodded at Salter to ensure that he had noted the fact down. Salter raised an eyebrow and waggled the pencil back at him.
‘She hated all the attention. The men fighting over her and all the spite she felt radiating from the other girls, even though she tried hard to be friendly towards them. But she couldn’t tell her parents any of that, of course. She said it would make her appear ungrateful.’
‘She was lucky that she had you to confide in.’
‘Aye well, I’m a good listener.’
‘Her mother had her sights set on Terrance Ashton for her.’
‘More than likely. He was her father’s preference too.’
Riley nodded, easily able to believe it. Ashton Investments’ reputation was second to none and Ferguson could probably smell the money that would come his way once Emily married into the family. Or perhaps he’d been hoping for a position in the firm itself. Riley made a mental note to delve into Ferguson’s business interests and discover if they had anything to do with the financial world.
‘Mrs Ferguson is too scared of him to do anything other than what he tells her to,’ Jute said. ‘He has a right temper on him. I know because I’ve seen her with bruises on more than one occasion. So she pushes her daughter in the direction that Ferguson wants her to take, but I don’t think her heart’s really in it.’
‘I hear tell that Emily had promised to marry soon. Do you know if she’d decided which offer to accept?’
‘No, but I do know there was someone.’ Jute fixed Riley with a worldly-wise look. ‘Someone her mother knew nothing about.’
Riley shared a glance with Salter. The dutiful daughter had secrets after all. Perhaps Riley’s offhand suggestion of a pauper having stolen her heart wasn’t so far-fetched after all. ‘Explain.’
‘Emily’s mother gets a lot of headaches.’ Jute rolled his eyes. ‘And she hates the heat because it makes them worse. She shuts herself away in a darkened room for hours at a time, leaving strict instructions not to be disturbed. So more often than not it falls to my lot to escort Emily on her various excursions. Some of them are regular appointments, like her weekly piano lessons with a tutor in Curzon Street. I’d either walk with her or we’d take a cab.’
‘Not the carriage?’ Salter asked.
‘That would require both Lloyd and me to escort her and Lloyd, much to his disgust, has to do some of the outside work now as well as looking after the carriage and horses. Ferguson don’t keep a gardener anymore and I’m the only footman. Lloyd…well, let’s just say that he’s lazy, don’t do more than he has to. He’s getting long in the tooth and knows he wouldn’t find another position elsewhere. So he stays and…’ Jute seemed to recall that he was speaking to a policeman, but Riley was ahead of him. He knew men of Lloyd’s ilk didn’t miss a trick. He might not have been paid, but there would be little scams he’d run without fear of detection that would doubtless make up the shortfall. He’d wager ten guineas that Lloyd ran a book on Emily’s likely choice of a husband. He almost smiled, imagining Lloyd struggling to refund the wagers he had accepted. No wonder he was in such a permanently sour mood. ‘Anyway, not having Lloyd with us gave us an opportunity to talk without anyone eavesdropping.’
Riley nodded. ‘She spilled out her woes about her situation?’
‘Right. She badly needed someone to confide in and knew I’d not tell anyone. Shame a pretty little thing like her didn’t have a female confidante, but there’s jealousy for you. No,’ Jute added, holding up a hand to ward off Riley’s next question. ‘I have no idea of the identity of the man who turned her head, but I do know he wouldn’t have passed muster with her family.’
‘How can you be sure if you don’t know his name?’ Salter asked.
‘It stands to reason, don’t it? Mrs Ferguson would have loved it if Emily could follow her heart and marry a wealthy man. But if her heart’s desire wasn’t part of society’s elite, set to inherit a small fortune, Emily would be forbidden from associating with him. She would never defy a direct order from either of her parents, but if they didn’t know about the chap they couldn’t forbid the friendship, could they?’
Riley could find no fault with Jute’s logic. ‘Where did she meet him?’ he asked.
‘I’ve no idea how the initial meeting took place. She would never say. All I know is that I escorted her to Curzon Street but she didn’t always take her lesson. Instead she’d give me an impish smile, tell me to take myself off for an hour and come back to collect her.’ He shrugged. ‘Other times, when her mother had one of her headaches, she’d declare a sudden desire to walk in Holland Park. I accompanied her and she would slip off to meet the fellow for half an hour. Anyway, I did as she asked. I was happy to see her smile. I don’t owe Ferguson no favours and felt sorry for her.’
‘And were you in love with her yourself?’
Jute seemed well aware that nothing more than friendship, and officially not even that, could exist between a servant and the daughter of his employer. But he was still a man, with feelings and desires he struggled to contain. ‘Was I in love with her?’ Jute sent Riley a questioning glance. ‘I…respected her. She had so many responsibilities, and when she went to see this cove, whoever he was, she laughed again, like the little girl she’d been a few short years back. But love…well, I dunno. Never really considered that.’
‘Did it give you hope?’ Salter asked. ‘She’d fallen for one unsuitable type so if that came to naught, she’d likely turn to you, her only confidante and friend, for comfort.’
Jute’s face turned scarlet. ‘It wasn’t like that! You’re twisting it, just like your lot always do. I should have known better than to tell you anything.’ He kicked at the loose brick again and this time part of it crumbled, leaving dusty cement covering his booted foot. ‘You won’t get the bastard who did her in anyway.’
Riley held up a calming hand. ‘Because you think it was one of the people who attended the party and we will be encouraged to cover it up?’
Jute shrugged. ‘The thought crossed my mind. Don’t see how it could have been anyone else and…well, begging your pardon, sir, you’re one of them, ain’t you?’
The veiled accusation rankled, and it was Riley’s turn to react. ‘I wouldn’t be doing this job if I didn’t want to see the law upheld, regardless of the status of the men who break it,’ he replied, fixing Jute with a steely look.
‘If you say so.’ Jute looked away but didn’t sound convinced.
‘You can either sulk, or you can help us,’ Riley said into the ensuing silence. ‘The choice is yours.’
Jute’s head shot up and Riley had his full attention again. ‘How? What can I possibly do?’
‘The young man Emily was seeing will hear of her death soon enough, Jute, and probably knows that you acted as go-between. If he gets in touch with you, please tell me, and please ask him to talk to me. Whatever he has to tell me could be vital if we stand any hope of getting to the bottom of things.’
‘Right-ho.’
‘Just one more thing.’ Riley paused to gather his thoughts. ‘This locked gate business is bothering me. You are sure that the footman locked it after he let you all in for supper. And did he lock it again after you returned to the mews?’
‘Yes, I’m sure he did. I was one of the last to walk through it and he was holding the gate with one hand and the key in the other. He came and unlocked it again when the first of the guests left and said he’d leave it open until everyone had gone, then lock it for the night.’
Which explained why Riley had found it unlocked when he escorted Amelia to it the night before.
‘Thank you. That clears that matter up.’ Unless of course Jute was lying about Ashton’s footman having locked it when he first let them in. Two men in the same profession covering one another’s backs. ‘Now, if you could accompany Sergeant Salter here to Chelsea, he needs to search Emily’s room. Mrs Ferguson has given her permission.’ Riley didn’t need it, but it made life a lot easier if she didn’t try to hamper his investigation. ‘Take a cab,’ Riley added, not wanting to explain to Mrs Ferguson’s coachman why Jute was taking the carriage without first asking Lloyd’s permission. And most especially not wanting Lloyd to accompany Salter on his search. Jute he had confidence in, up to a point. Lloyd was another matter. Riley didn’t think he’d killed the girl but instinct told him that he was reluctant to put too much faith in the police.
Jute and Salter disappeared through the archway that led from the mews directly to the street, where they were assured of finding a hansom without difficulty.
Before returning to the house and tackling the Ashtons, Riley took a moment to digest all that Jute had just told them. If Emily had lost her heart to a mystery man, it made it easier to understand why she had prevaricated when it came to selecting a future husband, but also cast her paramour in the role of prime suspect. If Emily had decided to accept Ashton and the man she loved was torn apart by jealousy…if he knew where Emily was to be that evening, which he probably did since she was bound to have confided in him. If he had decided to slip into the grounds on the not unreasonable assumption that she would seek the air at some point, and try one last time to reason with her. If matters got out of hand…
But why the music room? Why the glasses of champagne? Could an uninvited guest have entered the house on a hot night when all the doors were flung wide? Very possibly. Could that intruder have been let in, with no signs of forced entry, then escorted to the music room and offered champagne? It seemed unlikely. Emily would have sought a quiet corner outside, if she had been foolish enough to entertain her paramour in such a setting, where secrecy could be maintained.
Riley gave himself a mental shake. First things first. He returned to the house and found Farlow loitering in the entrance vestibule, presumably awaiting his return and ready to protect his employer from Riley’s intrusive questions. Unfortunately for Farlow, Riley was accustomed to dealing with autocratic butlers and was not about to be deterred from his purpose by this one.
‘Is Lord Ashton in his study?’ he asked briskly.
‘He asked not to be disturbed, sir.’ Riley stared him down. ‘My lord,’ Farlow added reluctantly.
‘If Lord Ashton is in the house, one must assume that Mr Ashton has gone out in the carriage.’
‘I really couldn’t say, my lord.’
‘And I really must insist that you do.’
Farlow, cowed by the voice of authority, paused for a significant moment and then inclined his head. ‘I believe Mr Ashton had urgent business to attend to at Ashton Investments.’
‘Did he indeed. How very diligent of him.’
The young man had been distraught at Emily’s death but was able to attend to complicated financial negotiations this morning with a clear mind. Riley doubted that he had done so voluntarily, and his earlier assumption that Lord Ashton had insisted upon keeping up appearances was reinforced. In actual fact, all Ashton had succeeded in doing was casting doubt upon his son’s innocence in the eyes of those who signified.
In Riley’s eyes. In the eyes of the law.
‘I will see Lord Ashton now,’ Riley said, striding towards the library. ‘No need to announce me.’
Farlow looked to be on the point of protesting, but he took in the determined set of Riley’s features and wisely thought better of it. Riley rapped on the closed library door and opened it before being invited to do so. Ashton looked up at him from behind a monstrosity of a carved mahogany desk that took up the majority of the space in the room. A status symbol designed to impress and intimidate. Riley was neither impressed nor intimidated and got briskly to the point.
‘Good morning, Lord Ashton.’
‘Oh, it’s you.’
‘You were expecting someone else?’ Riley asked, with exaggerated courtesy.
‘I wasn’t expecting anyone. I gave strict instructions not to be disturbed.’ Ashton waved irritably at the papers scattered across his desk. ‘Can’t you see that I’m busy?’
‘Murder is no respecter of how busy you are,’ Riley replied. ‘Murder’s no respecter of anything much, come to think of it.’
He waited for Ashton to either invite him to sit or to himself stand so that they could conduct their conversation at the same level. When he did neither, Riley lost patience. Unwilling to be disadvantaged by being made to stand in front of the mahogany monolith like a recalcitrant schoolboy summoned to a headmaster’s study for six of the best, he seated himself on the chair in front of the desk. Having done so, he turned the tables on Ashton by taking his time to settle himself into a comfortable position. He critically examined the fall of his grey Scotch stripe trousers and inspected the high polish on the toes of his pointed shoes.
‘I thought I made it clear that—’
‘Then you have the advantage of me, since nothing is yet clear to me.’ Riley allowed a significant pause before continuing. ‘I understand that you were the first to come across the body. Can you tell me how that came about? I was given to understand last night that you were all of you, apart from the young people, in the drawing room together.’
‘Not every second of the time. Use your sense, man!’ Riley elevated a brow at Ashton’s tone, recalling what few manners the older man possessed. ‘I’m sorry, Rochester,’ Ashton sighed. ‘This damned business has got to us all and tempers are frayed. It’s a rum affair and that’s a fact.’ Riley stayed silent and waited to see what explanation Ashton would give for discovering the body. ‘Anyway, you asked about the drawing room,’ he said. ‘I stepped outside to smoke a cigar, if you must know. Lady Ashton doesn’t like cigar smoke in her drawing room, which provides me with an excuse to escape the women’s chit-chat for the ten minutes it takes me to enjoy a smoke. Can’t abide gossip myself but the ladies seem to thrive on it.’
‘And that’s when you saw Emily.’
‘Shocked me rigid, I don’t mind telling you.’ Ashton shuddered, probably the first genuine reaction that Riley had managed to elicit from him. Perhaps the man did possess a few, a very few, finer feelings. Riley decided to reserve judgement. He also tried very hard to put aside his dislike of the man and remain impartial. ‘I checked to see if she was still alive but it was obvious that she wasn’t.’
‘And then?’ Riley prompted.
‘And then I took a moment to think how best to break the terrible news to the ladies. To Mrs Ferguson. Miss Ferguson was definitely dead so it seemed prudent to try and manage the situation with tact and sensitivity.’
Sensitivity? Ashton? Riley suspected that Ashton’s first and only concern had been to minimise his own involvement.
‘And after informing everyone, you contacted Chief Inspector Danforth rather than the local police station. That shows a cool head in a time of crisis but doesn’t explain why you went directly to the top.’
‘He is a personal friend,’ Ashton said, returning his attention to the papers on his desk. He seemed incapable of meeting Riley’s cool gaze. ‘I knew the newspapers would be all over this and that word would leak to them in no time flat if I went directly to the police. Some of your more junior colleagues will do anything to earn an extra shilling or two.’ Riley compressed his lips and said nothing, since Ashton spoke the truth. ‘It needed a senior figure to keep a tight lid on things. You know how it is, Rochester.’ Ashton tried a comradely smile that failed to reach his eyes. ‘Murders are ten a penny in this city and no one bats an eye. But a debutante killed in the house of an aristocrat…well, that makes for sensational headlines. I didn’t want Mrs Ferguson to be exposed to the uncouth and intrusive attentions of the gentlemen of the press.’
‘Very thoughtful of you,’ Riley said with a wry smile, thinking it interesting that Ashton considered himself to be an aristocrat, when he most decidedly was not.
‘I asked Danforth to bring you in. It’s better to keep these things amongst ourselves.’
Riley allowed another pause as he formulated his next question. In the corner of the room, a grandfather clock ticked loudly. ‘You didn’t see anyone running away, or any other members of the party loitering close at hand?’
‘I would have told you so if I had.’
That Riley very much doubted. To have a murder occur in his establishment was an abomination. To have it proven that one of his guests was the murderer would be a travesty from which Ashton’s reputation would not recover. And if his finances were as precarious as Salter seemed to think—a matter that Riley had yet to explore further—maintaining a spotless reputation amongst the wealthy plutocracy was vital to his survival.
‘The young people were inside by that point,’ Riley remarked. ‘The men were playing billiards, the young ladies joined you in the drawing room…all but Emily, who was in the music room, inconsiderately getting herself strangled.’
Ashton shuddered. ‘Not need to use quite such graphic language, Rochester.’
‘I prefer plain speaking.’
‘The only other person not inside was Mrs Cosgrove. But she was at the other end of the terrace. It wraps round the house, so she wouldn’t have seen anything.’ Ashton paused. ‘Fine woman, Mrs Cosgrove, and an exceptional harpist. Shame she had to be outside and one of the first on the scene when I raised the alarm. Don’t do for ladies to have to witness that sort of thing, especially those with Mrs Cosgrove’s sensibilities.’
Riley turned a burst of laughter into a cough. A less delicate flower than Amelia Riley he had yet to encounter. But Ashton’s outspoken appreciation of her talents explained why he had ensured she received an invitation to his wife’s musicale. He clearly had a fancy for her, damn his impudence! Riley thought of Amelia and felt a bright flash of jealousy, reinforcing his suspicion that Emily’s secret admirer could have been moved by jealousy to commit unthinkable acts. If I can’t have you, no one else will. Jute, he wondered, but as quickly put the possibility to the back of the queue. Intuition told him that Jute wasn’t a violent man. Besides, he had more promising leads to explore.
‘We have accounted for everyone’s whereabouts,’ Riley said, crossing one leg over his opposite knee, ‘but I am still unaware who you were arguing with before you broke the devastating news.’
‘Arguing?’ A flash of alarm passed through Ashton’s eyes. His cheeks burned scarlet and he looked away to his left. He was lying. ‘Who told you that? I am not in the habit of talking to myself, so I couldn’t have been arguing with anyone.’
‘Well then, I must have been misinformed,’ Riley replied with a negligent shrug, knowing that he had not been, but unwilling to press the point when he knew he wouldn’t receive an honest answer. As usual, he would have to arrive at the truth by a less direct route. ‘Now then, I would like to speak with your son.’
‘He can’t tell you anything that I haven’t already. Besides, he’s not here. He was needed at the bank. Can’t hold up important negotiations just because some silly girl…’
‘In which case, we will not inconvenience him by taking him away from those negotiations,’ Riley said with an easy smile. ‘Instead I will call at the bank with a uniformed constable and interview him there.’
The threat was unambiguous. Clearly unaccustomed to having his authority questioned, Ashton’s eyes bulged in disbelief. He thrust an arm in Riley’s direction, knocking over his ink well and spilling its contents over his blotter. He uttered an oath as he righted it, seemingly unaware that he had stained his cuff in the process. The clock continued its loud ticking and Riley remained silent, waiting for Ashton’s capitulation.
‘Oh, very well, if you insist, but I’m not happy about this, Rochester. Not happy at all. I wanted you involved because I thought you could be relied upon to…to behave with discretion and a degree of sympathy for those you were dealing with. I will be informing your superiors of your blundering about, just mark my words.’ He huffed and postured for a minute or two more, attempting yet failing to penetrate Riley’s mask of cool superiority. ‘Terrance should be finished with his investors by now. I will send word and have him back here within the hour.’
‘Thank you.’ Riley inclined his head. ‘In the meantime, I would like to speak with Lady Ashton and then your daughter, please.’
‘Oh, if you must. But don’t overset them by going into unnecessary detail. They are still recovering from the shock.’
A stony-faced Farlow escorted Riley to the drawing room, where Lady Ashton would join him directly. No offer of refreshment was forthcoming, which didn’t surprise Riley. He was an unwelcome visitor to this house and Farlow wanted him to know it. But Riley wasn’t going to be upstaged by a butler with ideas above his station. He snapped his fingers at the retreating Farlow, who turned with a look that could best be described as incredulous.
‘It’s a hot day, Farlow. Fetch me a glass of iced water, there’s a good chap.’ Riley turned his back on Farlow and pretended to examine something on the sideboard.
He filled the time that he was kept waiting—deliberately, he was sure—by examining the room, trying it imagine it filled with a cluster of adults engaged in polite conversation, as it had been the previous evening.
Farlow continued his game of one-upmanship by sending a housemaid with the water. Riley tanked her and opened the adjoining doors to the music room, which looked as though it had been cleaned to within an inch of its life, leaving no sign of the terrible tragedy that had occurred the previous night. The murder might almost not have happened, which was doubtless the impression Ashton wanted to create. The walls were thick, Riley discovered by tapping them with his knuckles, and the doors were solid oak. With such barriers to muffle the sound, it would have been quite possible for a loud disagreement to have taken place without it being overheard above the drawing room conversation, Riley concluded. Possible, but exceedingly risky, he thought.
He was searching for a cold-blooded killer, someone secure enough to execute an audacious crime in the middle of a society soiree and confident enough to think he could evade detection.
‘Not if I have any say in the matter,’ Riley muttered.
The door opened to admit Lady Ashton, bringing Riley’s cogitations upon the murderer’s modus operandi to an end. She was simply dressed in a grey gown that, in Riley’s opinion, struck exactly the right note of respect in the face of a tragedy that didn’t directly impinge upon her family. Or so she must hope. She was an attractive woman, Riley thought, looking at her properly for the first time since making her acquaintance as he stood to greet her. He’d not previously had any reason to take much notice of her. A good twenty years younger than Ashton, her style was elegant and, unlike her husband, she hadn’t adopted airs along with her courtesy title.
She smiled at Riley. ‘Lord Riley,’ she said, seating herself and waving him back into the chair facing hers. ‘How can I be of help?’
Straightforward and to the point. Riley liked that. ‘I am talking to everyone who was here last night, ma’am,’ he replied. ‘You were in the drawing room with the rest of your guests when your husband broke the tragic news?’
‘Yes.’ She looked pale yet composed, her hands neatly folded in her lap as she responded. ‘I dislike cigar smoke inside the house. It affects my breathing, you see, especially in this insufferable heat, and so my husband and any other of the gentlemen who wish to smoke usually have enough consideration to do so outside.’
‘You heard nothing from the music room before Miss Ferguson’s body was discovered? No shouting? No sounds of a scuffle?’ he asked, already anticipating the answer she would give.
‘I did not, Lord Riley. The doors were closed and we were engaged in lively conversation about the latest production of Romeo and Juliet at the Theatre Royal. Those who had not seen it were keen to hear the impressions of those of us who have and a friendly disagreement about the abilities of the actors took place.’
‘Your son was keen to win Miss Ferguson’s affections, I understand.’
‘As was every young man in London, Lord Riley. She was a very pretty girl.’
‘Everyone I have spoken to tells me that Terrance was one of her most persistent admirers. How did you feel about that?’
Lady Ashton smiled. ‘I saw no harm in the attraction.’
‘She rejected his proposal. That cannot have pleased Terrance.’
‘If you mean to imply that my son murdered the girl out of some misguided jealousy, then you mistake the matter.’ Lady Ashton locked eyes with Riley’s, but she remained perfectly calm in the face of a question that would have reduced her more volatile husband to a fit of apoplexy. ‘We all experienced the agonies of unrequited love when we were Terrance’s age, I am perfectly sure of it. It’s almost a rite of passage, and yet we none of us resorted to murder when the object of our affections failed to return our regard.’
‘Quite.’ But we are not all as arrogant as Terrance. ‘You invited Mrs Ferguson and her daughter to your soiree, presumably at the request of your son.’
‘And because Emily was a very talented musician. Both ladies would have been invited as a matter of course. As were you yourself, I believe. What a pity you weren’t there, Lord Riley.’ Lady Ashton succeeded in penetrating his carapace of self-assurance in a way her husband never could.
‘Indeed so,’ he muttered.
‘I made up the guest list myself—although my husband suggested adding Amelia Cosgrove’s name to it.’ Riley sent Lady Ashton a probing look, which she returned without blinking. Her husband had his sights set on an affair with Amelia, and Lady Ashton wasn’t the least bit disturbed by the possibility of that affair being instigated. ‘Perhaps it was no coincidence that my husband felt the need for a cigar not long after Mrs Cosgrove wandered outside alone.’
Riley mentally applauded Lady Ashton’s guile. There were depths to the woman that the right choice of mourning clothes and an exterior serenity merely hinted at. She was probably aware of Riley’s friendship with Amelia and hoped to distract his attention away from Terrance with inferences that cast suspicion upon Amelia. Nice try, he thought, revising his opinion of Lady Ashton. Her intention was clearly to charm Riley into looking elsewhere for a suspect. As ruthlessly determined to protect her family’s interests as her husband was, Lady Ashton went about it in a more subtle manner.
‘How did your husband feel about Terrance’s interest in Emily?’ Riley asked, refusing to be drawn into a discussion about Amelia.
She shrugged, a little too casually, and for the first time Riley sensed a crack in the elegant façade she had chosen to present him with. ‘You will have to ask my husband that question,’ she said.
‘I am asking you, Lady Ashton.’
She looked a little annoyed to be pressed. ‘He saw no immediate need for Terrance to wed. He is still very young and doesn’t know his own mind. But since Miss Ferguson had rejected his proposal, he thought that Terrance’s infatuation would soon wane.’
‘And yet you invited the young lady to your house because he asked you to. It doesn’t sound to me as though he had given up hope. Nor does it seem like an effective manner in which to help the boy recover from his disappointment, especially if Emily chose to favour another of your guests with her smiles when she was here.’
‘Which she did not. Besides, having Emily here guaranteed that my son would attend the musicale,’ she replied with a brittle smile. ‘You don’t need me to tell you how hard it is to persuade gentlemen to present themselves at such occasions. You yourself are adept at avoiding mine.’
‘Alas, my occupation leaves me little time for social engagements.’
‘Even so.’
There was a cold detachment beneath Lady Ashton’s elegant manners, Riley realised, as he watched her performance. And it was a performance. She had known that Riley would interview her, had anticipated his questions and perfected her answers in advance, not expecting him to probe into areas she preferred not to visit. She had swiftly realised that suspicion would fall upon her son and was doing her level best to deflect that suspicion elsewhere. And all of this was done under the guise of an apparently genuine desire to be of help, along with a calm acceptance of the events that had transpired.
A little too calm.
A young girl had been murdered in her house and she seemed untroubled by emotion or regret.
‘Thank you, Lady Ashton. That will be all for the moment. Perhaps you would kindly have you daughter join me.’
‘Join us, Lord Riley. I will have her sent down.’
‘I would prefer to speak with her alone, if you don’t mind.’
‘Prudence is very upset about the death of her friend. She is delicate and needs my guidance.’
‘I don’t bite, ma’am, and will not bully her.’
Finally, Lady Ashton lost her composure and evidence of her husband’s dictatorial attitude showed in the tightness of her expression. ‘Even so, she can have nothing to say to you that I cannot hear.’
Riley shook his head. ‘You can’t honestly believe that to be the case.’
‘Certainly I do. My daughter and I have no secrets from one another.’
‘But Emily might have confided in her and Prudence would not, I’m sure, betray a confidence if she was sworn to secrecy.’
‘Of course she would not!’
‘Well, there you are then.’ Riley lost patience himself when Lady Ashton’s permission still failed to materialise. He stood and rested one hand on the back of his chair. ‘Please don’t ask me to insist.’
‘Oh very well!’ She rose from her chair, the swish of her bustle reflecting her annoyance, and fixed Riley with an angry frown. ‘You really are most awfully persistent.’
Riley inclined his head. ‘I really am.’