Chapter Seven
‘Well, sir,’ Salter said as they left Ashton House and he hailed a hansom. ‘Susan would walk over hot coals to please young Terrance.’
‘Or to stop him from marrying Emily.’ Riley gave the jarvey the address of King’s College hospital and the cab moved off with a jerk. ‘There was a look of awareness about her when I asked what she and Terrance discussed in private.’
Salter frowned. ‘You think he compromised her?’
‘He wouldn’t have had to try too hard.’ Riley attempted to find a comfortable position on the worn seat of the hansom. ‘It’s a common enough story in some of the better households, I’m sorry to say. A plain servant besotted by a young master. The young master in question is frustrated because the object of his affections doesn’t return those affections, and he has to relieve the aforesaid frustration somehow. He knows Susan makes excuses to answer his bell, just so that she can breathe the same air as him and…well, her willingness and adoration helps heal his wounded pride.’
Salter made a disgruntled sound. ‘You think Terrance did for the girl?’
‘There are some among the elite who make sport of such practices. There are fathers whose reputations are precious, and who would prefer their sons enjoy a dalliance with a maid than be caught with a whore. If a young buck takes out his frustration on a willing staff member—or even an unwilling one, sad to say—the older men will nudge each other and share a chuckle, remembering their own youthful indiscretions. It is not hard to imagine Lord Ashton being such a man. I think Terrance knows more that he has thus far told us, as does his father, but I’m not ready to press them on the matter yet. A hidden truth it may be, but perhaps one that remains unconnected to Emily’s murder. I would prefer to gather as much information as I can and question them again from a position of strength. Let’s see what the good doctor has to tell us about the cause of death and those damned glasses.’ Riley sighed. ‘Then I suppose we’d best return to the Yard and report to Danforth.’
‘Those champagne glasses have a significance, even if they were not poisoned,’ Salter mused. ‘You were right about that. Left to my own devices, I doubt whether I would have thought anything of them.’
Riley gave his sergeant an assessing look. A diligent uniformed officer Riley had taken from the ranks as much for his intelligence and sensitivity as his knowledge of the streets. There were officers, Riley knew, whose snobbery went the other way, who would condemn the aristocracy without need of proof. While Salter had little time for the frills and fancies of the elite, he kept an open mind, making the two of them an ideal team for investigating crimes such as this. Riley could take on men like Ashton as an equal while Salter nagged the truth out by irritating them. Salter could approach the staff as an equal when Riley’s rank and position cowed them into tongue-tied obedience. There was a future here, a partnership forged by mutual respect and the nature of the crimes they investigated. But their partnership had yet to be tested on a major case, and Riley knew that there were still times when Salter needed some assurance about his abilities.
‘Everything you observe during your initial appraisal of a crime scene is highly significant, Salter,’ he said. ‘Always remember that. Even the most hardened of criminals has been known to panic and leave evidence behind that might seem innocuous at first glance. Evidence which might easily disappear in the initial confusion if you don’t have a care.’
‘Right.’ Salter nodded. ‘Someone filled them glasses with the expectation of a romantic interlude, implying that one of the gentlemen at the soiree is our killer.’
‘One of the gentlemen certainly planned the interlude. Whether he also killed Emily we have yet to decide. It seems likely but it doesn’t do to jump to conclusions. Hard evidence is what we need, Jack, before we go accusing any of Ashton’s guests of murder. Was there poison in those glasses, and who put it there? When we find out those two things, we will be a lot closer to our mark.’
‘Whereas if it were a couple of louts from Whitechapel who’d knocked a harlot about, we’d haul them into the station and keep ’em in the lowest cell with the damp and the rats until one of them confessed.’
Riley offered Salter a grimace of acknowledgement. ‘I’m not suggesting that the law treats everyone equally, sergeant,’ he said, ‘but I can assure you that if one of the privileged coves at that soiree murdered the chit then he will be charged with the crime and kept in the very same dungeon. I simply have to tread more carefully. That’s the way it is, I’m afraid, but you can be sure that I won’t shirk from my duty, no matter how much pressure is brought to bear to have me let the investigation slide. The means may be different, but the end is the same. Crime is like death. The great leveller.’
‘I know that, sir. I was just remarking.’
‘If two men had planned a meeting, they wouldn’t drink champagne,’ Riley remarked, returning to the question of the glasses, ‘so it’s safe to assume a female was involved. But what does it say about the state of mind of the provider of the champagne? Was he perhaps anticipating a life-changing decision from young Emily? If she acquiesced, the champagne, if she denied him, the poisoned chalice. Assuming of course the provider was a man, and that he was not altogether ignorant of the additive in the champagne. And further assuming that the killer was acting alone and had not ordered an accomplice to drug the wine.’ Riley rubbed his chin and glowered at the passing buildings. ‘A planned killing or a celebration that turned deadly? What’s your view, Jack?’
‘Not enough evidence for me to have formed one as yet. You’re always telling me not to jump to conclusions.’
Riley grunted. ‘True enough.’
‘But it seems to me that we have to assume it was Emily who met the gentleman, that the champagne wasn’t meant for someone else, because she is the only lady who was on her own and…well, because she finished up in the music room. Dead. We’re not that much closer to the heart of the matter, are we sir?’
‘I don’t like it, Jack.’ Riley continued to stare out the window as the cab made slow progress through heavy traffic. An omnibus cut in front of it, scaring the jarvey’s horse and causing the cab to jerk sideways. The jarvey responded with colourful language as he struggled to regain control of his conveyance. ‘There is more to this matter than we have yet discovered, but I fully intend to get to the truth.’
‘I say you should question young Ashton again, perhaps at the station this time, where he won’t feel so comfortable. If he’s capable of compromising a maid, there’s no telling what he might do if a young woman rejects his proposal a second time. Or worse, confesses that she’s in love with someone else. Perhaps one of the other young men at the soiree. That would be enough to tip the arrogant sod over the edge.’
Riley shot his subordinate a sharp look. ‘I won’t accuse him of anything until I have more proof. Danforth would salivate with glee if I did anything so foolhardy.’
‘Well, there is that.’ Salter grunted his amusement. ‘He’s been looking for a way to get rid of you ever since he was appointed chief inspector. How that happened, by the way, I shall never know, but there you are. None of the men like or respect him, but most of them have a lot of time for you, sir, or are coming round slowly. Probably politics,’ he concluded.
Definitely politics, Riley knew. He had earned the grudging respect of some of the men, but far from all of them. Because of his status as the younger son of a marquess he was either resented from below or constantly required to prove his ability from above. In the eyes of his uniformed colleagues, opinion had been poisoned against him, Riley suspected, by the influential Sergeant Barton. He had always known he would have to work harder than the other inspectors in order to prove his mettle, which didn’t especially concern him. Riley had never been one to back away from a challenge and, for the most part, enjoyed pitting his wits against the criminal fraternity.
This case, though, could well prove to be his Waterloo. Danforth lurked in the wings like a predatory spider, waiting for Riley to put a foot wrong. The chief inspector had made it apparent from the first that he resented everything Riley represented, mainly because he was jealous of his elevated status and harboured a secret desire to change places with him. Riley had met prejudice before but Danforth was the first person to be in a position to exert bias against him because of it.
Danforth’s determination to appease Ashton proved to Riley that he was anxious to gain a foothold in the upper echelons of society. Riley shook his head, wondering at the man’s naiveté. The upper classes were infamous for closing their ranks against infiltrators. Danforth was fighting above his weight.
Riley’s mind was jolted back to the present when the cab finally reached the hospital. The two men alighted, paid the driver and descended into the bowls of the hospital.
‘Ah, Lord Riley.’ Doctor Maynard greeted Riley with a cheerful smile that seemed incongruous compared to the blood-splattered apron that he wore, a testament to his grisly occupation. ‘Perfect timing. I have just finished my examination of the unfortunate young woman.’
‘And your conclusions?’
‘She was strangled. No doubt about that.’
‘Can you explain why she didn’t put up any resistance?’ Salter asked. ‘Was she drugged?’
‘I very much doubt it.’
‘You haven’t had an opportunity to analyse those glasses?’ Riley asked.
‘I really don’t think there’s any need. You didn’t look at the young lady’s body?’
‘Only those parts of it that were exposed,’ Riley replied. ‘She wasn’t wearing gloves. Either she removed them to play the piano or decided it was too hot to continue wearing them once the musical part of the evening was over. Either way, we noticed bruising on one wrist. And, of course, the strangulation marks on her neck.’
Salter blanched when the doctor beckoned them into the adjoining room, where several bodies lay on tables in varying states of decomposition. Oblivious to the appalling stench, Maynard led them to the table containing the remains of Miss Ferguson. He pulled back the sheet covering her body. Riley saw Salter avert his eyes to the body’s sudden nakedness. Respect even in death. Riley liked Salter all the more for it. Maynard pointed to extensive bruising around her abdomen.
‘Good grief. Someone hit her. Someone punched the poor girl.’ Riley was appalled.
‘Unquestionably. The damage was done while she was still alive. My guess is that she got into a disagreement. Someone grasped her wrist to prevent her from leaving the room she was found in. When she tried to free herself, he struck her. A blow like that would have incapacitated such a slight little thing. She would have been in no fit state to fight back. Might even have been rendered unconscious by it.’
‘And if the aggressor was known to her, as he must have been,’ Riley said, a slow, burning anger working its way through his bloodstream, ‘then he knew Miss Ferguson would report his actions when she recovered her senses. He hadn’t meant to lose his temper with her but couldn’t allow her to ruin his reputation, and so…’
‘It certainly appears thus,’ Maynard replied. ‘You are looking for a man with a temper who dislikes being gainsaid.’
‘Which hardly narrows the field,’ Salter offered. ‘There were three young men that we know of at that soiree who all had designs upon the victim.’ He scratched his head vigorously. ‘Jealousy is a horrible emotion.’
‘That it is, sergeant,’ Maynard replied, pulling the sheet up over Emily’s frail body. ‘That it is.’
‘Could a woman have inflicted those injuries?’ Riley asked.
The doctor took a moment to consider the question. ‘It’s possible,’ he conceded thoughtfully. ‘The victim didn’t weigh very much and an angry, bigger woman could have grabbed her wrist and caused the bruising. But that’s your area, I’m afraid. All I can tell you is how she died. Do you still want the contents of those glasses analysed?’
‘In view of the damage to her stomach, I tend to agree that poison wasn’t used to subdue the victim,’ Riley said. ‘But if you could test for the presence of anything untoward in the champagne, I’d appreciate it. Best to be thorough,’ he added, unwilling to leave any loopholes for Danforth to pounce on. ‘And can you analyse those bruises? I want to see the crime in my mind. A right-handed person takes the poor girl’s wrist in his left hand, leaving the stronger hand to strike. A left-handed assailant would do the reverse. If you can find a pattern to that bruising, I would be very grateful.’
‘Right-ho then, your lordship. I will attend to the matter.’
Riley offered his hand to the doctor, who took it in a firm grasp. Aside from his perfunctory report on the night of the murder Maynard now seemed to be working hard for a resolution to the case. Emily’s body on the slab was a stark contrast from the broken weekend drunks, the stabbings and the waterlogged, half rotted corpses as the Thames gave up its dead. Even in death, the young debutante held a dignity that brought out the best in people. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Please try to ensure that news of the assault on Miss Ferguson’s person doesn’t leave this building. If someone admits to the punch during questioning, I don’t want a canny lawyer citing a press leak.’
‘You can depend upon my discretion, Lord Riley,’ Maynard replied. ‘Only myself and my most trusted assistant worked on Miss Ferguson and neither of us will say a word. You will have a full report on my findings by tomorrow.’
Riley thanked him and they left the building. Back out in the heat, Salter breathed in huge gulps of gritty London air, claiming it to be the sweetest taste ever to pass his lips.
‘How he can work with that stench is beyond me,’ he grumbled.
Riley laughed, slapped his sergeant’s shoulder and they were soon in another cab, heading for Scotland Yard.
‘The chief inspector wants to see you the moment you get back.’ Sergeant Barton looked up from the desk to deliver that unwelcome but not unexpected message.
‘I am sure he does,’ Riley replied as he swept into the Detective Department’s main office. It was after five in the afternoon and the room was virtually deserted. Constable Peterson was still there, writing up his report on the interviews he had conducted with the other coachmen. Nothing of significance had arisen from them, but Riley hadn’t supposed that it would. He thanked Peterson for his diligence and asked him to return to the same men on the morrow and ask if they could recall Paxton unlocking the gate before they were able to regain access to the mews. Peterson accepted the assignment with a happy smile, no doubt glad to avoid immediate return to his regular duties.
‘Right, Salter,’ Riley said, sighing. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
The two men walked the short distance to Danforth’s office and tapped at the door.
‘They you are.’ Danforth looked up from the single sheet of paper that rested on an otherwise completely clear desk and frowned. ‘What progress?’ he asked, leaning back in a chair that squeaked in protest beneath his considerable weight. ‘I hoped to have this all tied up by this evening.’
‘Unfortunately it’s not that straightforward,’ Riley replied, seating himself when it appeared Danforth had no intention of inviting him to do so, damned if he would stand in front of him waiting to be chastised. It had been a long day, Riley was tired and in no mood to play Danforth’s games of one-upmanship. Salter shrugged and seated himself as well. ‘But we have made some headway.’
‘So I should hope. Tell me.’
Riley succinctly related most of what they had learned. He kept some of his suspicions and half-formed theories to himself for fear that Danforth would leap on them an easy solution that wouldn’t necessarily be just. He also failed to inform his superior of the punch that had been inflicted upon Emily. He wondered if it was distrust of Danforth or a sense of protection towards Emily, concluding it was a little of both.
‘I have asked Peterson to check with the other coachman and have them confirm that it was necessary for Paxton to unlock that gate before letting them back into the mews. It’s a formality since I believe Paxton spoke honestly and the gate was locked behind them.’
‘Damn!’ Danforth swivelled a paperknife between his fingers. ‘There goes the intruder theory.’
‘Almost certainly. Someone could have scaled the wall. I have not dismissed the possibility, but apart from that button, I have yet to find any evidence of an intruder. However, we have several other lines of enquiry to follow tomorrow. Most vitally, we must discover the identity of the young man whom Miss Ferguson had formed an attachment to.’
‘Ha! How the devil will you do that?’
‘The only place she went unescorted and could have met a young man who was considered unsuitable was at her music lessons. Jute escorted her to them but didn’t go inside with her.’
‘Ah! It was most likely him who was torn apart by jealousy and did her in.’
‘Having calmly walked into a house where he had no place and no means of gaining access. He then opened a bottle of champagne when anyone might have seen him, poured two glasses, poisoned them with a drug he happened to be carrying and then, dressed in a footman’s uniform, ordered a guest to call Emily inside.’
‘Well, when you put it like that…’
Riley heard Salter cough to cover a chuckle. ‘We have to find Emily’s diary and re-interview Mrs Ferguson, who knows more than she is saying. We must also trace the two servants who were dismissed and might have reason to get revenge upon Lord Ashton.’
‘And who know the layout of the house,’ Danforth said, brightening considerably. ‘They might have poured champagne just for the hell of it, intending to drink it for themselves, and then…well, you work it out. It’s what you’re paid to do.’ Danforth ran a finger around his collar, a habit of his that Riley found irritating. He looked away until he could be sure that Danforth’s layers of flesh would have resettled themselves. ‘They probably knew where Farlow kept his master keys and could easily have had a copy of the gate key made. I bet you hadn’t consider that possibility, eh?’ Danforth looked pleased with himself. Riley didn’t bother to tell him that the same thought had indeed already occurred to him. ‘Best ask them about that.’
Riley had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. Was Danforth really so naïve as to imagine he would get an honest answer to such a question? ‘We need to interview the other young people who were in attendance,’ he said, his deliberately bland countenance failing to give his thoughts away. ‘Two of the men were sweet on Emily and Gloria Dalton was jealous of her. Perhaps Terrance boasted that he had her father’s permission to address Emily again and that her acceptance was a formality. One of the others might have taken exception to that.’
‘I say, Rochester! These are gentlemen you’re talking about.’
‘Precisely, sir. Which is why I have no difficulty believing any of them capable of such behaviour.’ Riley paused, knowing what he said next would create an explosion of protest. ‘There are also rumours of financial difficulties within the Ashton household that need to be investigated.’
‘Why?’ Danforth barked. ‘What possible bearing could that have on the girl’s death?’
‘I shall not know until I look into it,’ Riley replied calmly. ‘But if there are financial hardships, Ashton will need his son to make an alliance with an heiress, rather than an impecunious debutante such as Emily Ferguson.’
The threatened explosion materialised. Danforth jumped to his feet, spluttering oaths, red in the face, cheeks bulging. ‘Utter rot! Leave Ashton’s affairs out of it.’
‘If I am to conduct a thorough investigation, that will not be possible.’ Riley fixed his chief inspector with a measured look. ‘If I do not ask these questions, you can be sure that the gentlemen of the press will. With a high profile case such as this one, they will do their very best to root out a scandal from other sources, since we are not giving out any facts for them to speculate upon. Which is all the more reason for us to be seen to be scrupulously fair. If a member of the aristocracy did kill the girl,’ he added, ‘which seems likely, then it will deter a lot of our critics if we bring him or her to book. It will also reflect well upon the Detective Department as a whole, and your determination to chase down all criminals, no matter their position in this world.’
Danforth pondered Riley’s words as he resumed his seat, apparently mollified, just as Riley had known he would be.
‘Very well, but tread cautiously. In the meantime, what am I to tell Lord Ashton?’
‘I would strongly recommend that you tell him nothing at all.’
‘He will demand a progress report.’
‘Which he is not entitled to. If you say anything to him, sir, he could use what you tell him to confuse the investigation, sending us off on wild goose chases. If that were to happen the trail will go cold and Emily’s killer might never be found.’
‘But I…’
‘Simply tell him that it’s early days, sir. Tell him we are busy following several leads and will inconvenience him as little as possible.’
‘Just get on with it then, Rochester, and report to me again tomorrow.’
Riley and Salter left Danforth’s office with alacrity.
‘What now?’ Salter asked.
‘Go home to your family, Jack. It’s late and there is nothing more to be done today. We will start again tomorrow with fresh enthusiasm.’
‘Good night then, sir. Have a pleasant evening.’
‘Good night,’ Riley replied, heading for his own office and the pile of paperwork that awaited his attention.
It was after seven by the time he went home, ready for a meal, a decent bottle of burgundy and solitude in which to mull over the day’s developments. He knew, as soon as his cab dropped him outside his house in Sloane Street and he saw his mother’s carriage waiting outside, that he would be denied even those simple pleasures.
‘Visitors?’ he asked Stout unnecessarily as he walked through the door. ‘Have this note taken round to Mrs Cosgrove,’ he added, taking a letter he had written whilst still in his office from his pocket and handing it to Stout.
‘I’ll see to it.’ Stout nodded towards the reception room. ‘The dowager marchioness, Lady Gaston and—’
‘Uncle Riley, there you are!’ His fourteen-year-old niece, Sophia, burst from the reception room in a flurry of bouncing curls and good humour. ‘We’ve been waiting for an age. Grandmamma is becoming quite impatient.’
‘Hello, Cabbage.’ Riley draped an arm around the young girl’s shoulders and walked with her into the lion’s den. He was inordinately found of Sophia, his brother’s eldest child, and her exuberant and sometimes challenging presence always lifted his spirits. ‘What brings you here?’
‘Murder,’ Sophia replied, rolling her eyes. ‘We want to know all the grisly particulars.’
Riley thought of poor Emily, cold on the slab, her nakedness revealing the extent of her assault. ‘I don’t believe you do,’ he said.
‘We most emphatically do not,’ Riley’s mother said as he and Sophia walked into the large room in which he had been hoping to relax for the evening. It was the first time his mother had agreed with him in a very long while. ‘Really, Sophia, I don’t know when you developed such a macabre interest in such matters, but it really won’t do. You are a young lady now, not a ghoul.’
Riley winked at his niece and then greeted his mother with a chaste kiss on the cheek before turning to greet the youngest of his three sisters, Martha, now Viscountess Gaston.
‘Mother, Martha,’ he said as he seated himself, wishing that it wasn’t still so damned hot. His mother’s presence prevented him from loosening his tie, which would otherwise have been the first thing he did. But Sophia felt no requirement to stand on ceremony and he was unsurprised when, half-child, half-young woman, she sank onto the rug beside his chair and leaned the side of her face against his knee.
‘Sit in a chair, Sophia,’ Lady Chichester chided. ‘You will wrinkle your gown.’
‘Do as you’re told, Cabbage,’ Riley said in an undertone. ‘It’s easier that way. Take it from one who knows.’
‘Must you refer to your niece as a vegetable?’ his mother demanded to know. Clearly, her hearing wasn’t failing her in her advancing years and she caught the words that Riley had intended only for Sophia.
‘Oh, I don’t mind in the least, Grandmamma. Uncle Riley has always called me Cabbage. It’s a sign of affection and I rather like it.’ Affection was in short supply in his brother’s household, Riley knew, and he had long worried that Sophia’s high-spirits would be suppressed by the prevailing atmosphere of rigid conformity that had marked her upbringing. He hoped she wouldn’t be as easily swayed with a few affectionate words by the young bucks who would pursue her for her dowry and connections when she came out. Riley would do his best to ensure that didn’t happen. Not that he would be given much opportunity, he knew, since he and his brother possessed very different characters and they seldom saw eye to eye on any subject. ‘If you want my opinion,’ Sophia continued, ‘cabbages are not nearly as humble as people make them out to be. They are quite pretty, in fact, with curly leaves that don’t always conform, and pretty colours. I would like to be curly and pretty and unconventional.’
‘You are,’ Riley said, reaching out to tug one of her curls. ‘So stop fishing for compliments, irritating child.’
‘Much as I hate to raise such a vulgar subject,’ Lady Chichester said, putting aside her tea cup, ‘we want to know if the rumours are correct and that a murder took place in Ashton’s house in full view of his guests.’
‘There was certainly a murder,’ Riley confirmed.
‘Was there lots of blood?’ Sophia asked, her eyes bulging with curiosity.
‘Sophia!’ her grandmother said sternly.
‘There was a suspicious death which I am charged with investigating. I am sorry to disappoint you, Cabbage, but there was no blood and the crime wasn’t committed in front of a roomful of witnesses.’
‘Apart from the murderer,’ Sophia pointed out with childish logic. ‘He must have witnessed it.’
‘Apart from him or her,’ Riley conceded.
‘Do you think a woman did it?’ Sophia asked, eyes wide with interest. ‘Was it a crime of passion?’
‘We heard Emily Ferguson was the victim,’ Martha said. ‘Is it true?’
‘Yes,’ Riley answered. ‘Unfortunately, that is the case.’
‘I saw her a few times during this last season,’ Martha remarked. ‘She certainly made an impression. A remarkably pretty girl with plenty of admirers, and pleasingly modest, but no money and little in the way of connections. But I can easily imagine young men coming to blows over her favours.’
‘Well, I have connections and money,’ Sophia pointed out, ‘so I live in expectation of young men coming to blows over me constantly.’
‘Sophia!’ her grandmother and aunt cried simultaneously.
‘It was you who mentioned money and connections, Aunt Martha,’ Sophia replied with wide-eyed innocence, causing his mother to frown and Riley to suppress a smile.
‘Miss Ferguson will go down in history as a beautiful and tragic heroine,’ Sophia said dramatically. ‘A bit like Juliet.’
‘Nonsense,’ the dowager replied. ‘Everyone will forget all about her as soon as your uncle brings her murderer to book.’
Riley smiled inwardly. His mother and brother both thoroughly disapproved of his chosen career, frequently expressing the view that it denigrated the family name. And yet it seemed his mother had total faith in his abilities. Despite her gruff exterior and strong views, he knew she had a soft heart and that he, Riley, was her favourite son—possibly her favourite child. But sometimes, when she was at her most imposing, it was difficult to return that affection.
‘That would be a shame,’ Sophia said pensively. ‘It would be a great pity to be murdered and then forgotten all about.’
‘She will be avenged, Cabbage,’ Riley assured her.
‘I expect she’s gone to heaven, which is supposed to be a much nicer place,’ Sophia remarked. ‘But I think it would be much better fun to stay here on earth.’
‘What is the world coming to?’ the dowager demanded. ‘Mind you, that’s what comes of elevating the likes of Ashton to the peerage,’ she added, sniffing. ‘Class will out. You wouldn’t find one of us murdering our guests,’ she added stoutly.
Don’t tempt me, Mother.
Riley and Sophia shared an amused glanced, accustomed to Lady Chichester’s forthright views that often had no basis in logic.
‘What do you know of Ashton?’ Riley asked, accepting the glass of burgundy that Stout handed to him with a grateful nod. He was sorely in need of its medicinal qualities and took a healthy and appreciative sip.
‘As much as I want to,’ his mother replied with another disdainful sniff. ‘He only got his peerage because…well, he bought it by giving favourable loans to those with influence. I cannot abide such crass sycophancy. He has been unable to find a toehold into our family, thank goodness, hard as he has tried. None of us need loans and standards must be maintained.’
‘Daniel invested with him, I think,’ Martha said. ‘Quite heavily, but he mentioned that he had recently withdrawn his funds from Ashton Investments and placed them elsewhere.’
‘Good for him!’ Riley’s mother said with satisfaction. ‘I would have advised him most strongly to do so long before now if I had been aware of the investment.’
Riley put his glass aside and fixed his sister with a look of mild interest, designed to conceal the fact that he was actually extremely interested in what she had just told him. Of his three sisters, Martha was the only one whose company he could tolerate. The elder two were both married and living in the north, so Riley seldom saw them, except when they showed their faces in London during the season. They were both as pompous and self-aware as Henry, Riley’s brother and the current marquess. But Martha and Riley shared the same less pretentious personas, and it seemed against all the odds that Sophia’s exuberant character had not been squashed by the rigidity of the household in which she grew up. His niece was delightfully impulsive and Riley would do all within his power to ensure that situation endured.
‘Do you happen to know why Daniel withdrew his funds from Ashton’s?’ he asked.
‘No, sorry.’ Martha frowned and shook her head. ‘I don’t think that I do. Daniel never discusses such matters with me.’
‘I should think not,’ the dowager remarked. ‘Sit up straight, Sophia. You are not a question mark.’
‘I am not a punctuation mark at all, dear grandmamma,’ Sophia agreed. ‘Nor should I like to be. Question marks are terribly dull and, in my opinion, not really necessary. I mean, it’s obvious when you read something that someone says whether it’s a question or not. But I will sit up straight, for if I were punctuation I should like to be an exclamation mark.’
Martha laughed out loud. ‘The next thing we know, you will be advising against full stops,’ she said lightly.
‘Oh no, I think we need to keep those,’ Sophia said after a moment’s consideration. ‘Otherwise it might seem like the person speaking was rambling on and on, and we need full stops to…well, to stop them.’
‘Who does that remind us of, I wonder,’ Riley mused, ruffling Sophia’s hair.
‘We have drifted from the point,’ the dowager said. ‘Which is that you would be advised to maintain correct posture at all times, Sophia. Really. Young girls nowadays have no self-control.’
‘Daniel will be at White’s, I expect, if you want to quiz him about his investments,’ Martha remarked to Riley. ‘He is a creature of habit and always whiles away a few hours there every evening at about this time.’
‘It’s not that important, but I will run him to ground at some point,’ Riley said, fully intending to do so the moment his family took their leave.
‘We came as well to remind you that Lady Bilton is hosting a social evening tomorrow,’ the dowager said. ‘You did say that you might make the time to attend.’
‘I am going,’ Sophia said, unable to disguise her excitement at her first foray into society. ‘Grandmamma and Aunt Martha are taking me along since I know Lady Bilton’s daughters. One is the same age as me. It will be such fun.’ She sent Riley an entreating smile. ‘Do come, Uncle Riley. I want to show you off, and you must promise to dance with me, just in case no one else offers.’
His mother wanted to show him off too, Riley knew. She never tired of dragging him to one social event after another, hoping to tempt him into matrimony. Her elder son and all three of her daughters were married but it seemed she would never be satisfied until she saw Riley leg-shackled too. He could use the case as a legitimate excuse not to attend tomorrow’s soiree, and had fully intended to do so until Sophia mentioned her own attendance. She was the closest thing to a daughter that he would ever have and he would enjoy seeing her unjaded response to a situation that had long since left Riley feeling…well, jaded.
‘Your mother and father are not coming up from the country, Cabbage?’
‘Lord no, they won’t leave Jasper.’
‘Good heavens, why ever not? Your brother is seven now and I’m sure he can be left in the care of the nursery staff. He will be going off to preparatory school soon, after all.’
‘No he won’t,’ Sophia replied. ‘Mama and Papa have decided that his health is too frail to take the risk and that he will have to have a tutor at home instead.’
Riley and Martha shared a glance. Henry had fathered three daughters and had almost despaired of siring an heir when Jasper finally came along. Riley and Martha agreed that the child was mollycoddled and overindulged. Jasper had grown into a weak-willed and indolent little boy, a sullen child whom it was difficult to regard with affection.
‘That is a mistake,’ Riley said mildly. ‘Jasper needs to mix with his peers now. He will be disadvantaged when he goes up to Eton if he does not.’
‘Your brother knows what’s best for his son,’ the dowager replied. ‘However, such care would not be necessary if you took your responsibilities more seriously, Riley.’ Riley suppressed a sigh, having known he would receive the customary lecture sooner rather than later. ‘Celia can’t have more children, you know, that’s why Jasper is so precious to them. But if you were to marry and produce sons it would ease the pressure.’
‘I dare say it would, Mother, but I consider it insufficient reason for so doing.’
‘Will you come tomorrow night, Uncle Riley?’ Sophia forgot about being a young lady and fell to her knees in entreaty. ‘Please!’
‘Oh, very well, Cabbage. I won’t make any promises, but if I possibly can then I will.’
‘Oh, thank you!’ Sophia jumped to her feet, threw her arms around Riley’s neck and hugged him, taking his half-promise as a firm commitment.
‘Lady Fullerton has a niece staying with her. I would like you to meet her,’ the dowager said, gathering up her stocking purse as she readied herself for departure.
So that was what all this was about, Riley realised as he waved his relations off. A double ploy. They would exploit Riley’s position and Emily’s murder to make them the centre of attention at Lady Bilton’s party, at which point Lady Fullerton’s niece would be dangled before him like a worm on a hook. Sophia’s presence amongst them had been a deliberate ploy to make him accept the invitation. His mother knew that Riley would prefer to walk over hot coals rather than attend Lady Bilton’s reception. But he made no secret of the fact that he was inordinately fond of Sophia and so it was reasonable for his mother to suppose that he would want to witness her first foray into society. Perhaps his policeman’s instinct had made it easy for him to see through the machinations of his own family. Their attempt at coercion had succeeded, but it was about as subtle as the blow that had incapacitated Emily, and the crude bluff served only to undermine the veneer of manners and civility that underscored their every move in society.
If only this damned case were so easy to unravel, Riley thought, chuckling to himself as he saw the funny side of being manipulated. Having waved his relations off, he returned to the reception room and made quick work of the meal that Stout laid out for him. Then he reclaimed his hat and took himself off to White’s in search of his brother-in-law.
He found him ensconced in an armchair, hidden behind the pages of a newspaper. Riley took the chair across from him and cleared his throat twice before Daniel realised he was there.
‘I say, Riley!’ Daniel, one of the most easy-going men of Riley’s acquaintance, beamed up at him. ‘I heard that the family was to descend upon you. Did you make a break for freedom?’
‘I weathered the storm,’ Riley replied, signalling to a steward to bring him a glass of wine.
‘And survived to tell the tale. Well done! But for heaven’s sake go and get yourself a wife, old chap. Your mother seems to live in my house half the time and never loses an opportunity to harp on about your lack of duty.’
Riley laughed. ‘I can well imagine.’ The waiter brought his wine and he relaxed into his comfortable winged-back leather chair and took a sip. ‘Don’t worry. Sophia will be out before you know it and Mother will then concentrate her efforts on her.’
‘Well, there is that, I suppose.’ Daniel folded the paper and put it aside. ‘What’s all this I read about bodies in Ashton’s music room?’
‘True, I’m afraid.’
‘And you’ve been landed with the investigation.’ Daniel’s mouth turned down. ‘Don’t envy you dealing with Ashton. He’s a bit of a tyrant and likes to have his way. He has the devil of a temper when roused, too.’
‘I have already discovered that much.’ Riley acknowledged an acquaintance across the room, but discouraged him from joining them by immediately returning his attention to Daniel. All anyone would want to talk to him about was the murder, and Riley couldn’t discuss it. ‘Martha tells me that you withdrew your investment from his company. Any particular reason why?’
‘It wasn’t paying as well as I’d hoped.’ Daniel, a shrewd investor, leaned back, glass dangling negligently between the fingers of one hand. ‘It started off giving a better return than expected, but profits quickly went down. I wasn’t worried at first. It happens. One has to take the rough with the smooth. Ashton himself assured me that it was a blip.’
‘What were you investing in?’
‘A mixture of options, high risk and safe.’ He shrugged. ‘You know me, I don’t put all my eggs in one basket.’ Riley nodded. Neither did he. ‘The routine stuff continued to pay a modest return. I had no complaints about that. I received a fraction more than if I’d left it in the bank and there wasn’t much risk involved. But dividends on the high end investments dried up completely. And it wasn’t just me. A few others I knew of who’d joined the scheme weren’t seeing anything from it either.’
‘You think there was something amiss, or worse, he was using new investors’ money to pay existing clients, until the new money dried up?’
‘It crossed my mind. I don’t like or trust Ashton but thought he was a shrewd businessman. He begged me to change my mind when I said I wanted out. Kept sending me invites to expensive events. A day at the Derby, a party on a riverboat, stuff like that. I respectfully declined and insisted upon a full refund of my investment.’ Daniel sighed. ‘I got it in the end but lost money overall. There were penalty clauses for early withdrawal, don’t you know.’ He spread his hands. ‘Such is life. I won’t be taken in by Ashton again. Nor will any of my friends. I’ve warned them all.’
‘Did they get their blunt back?’
‘Yes, I think so. But Ashton wasn’t happy about having to stump it up. They were wined and dined as well, and implored to think again, but they smelled a rat and refused to be swayed. I get the impression that the mass exodus hurt Ashton badly, and that he’s flirting with bankruptcy. A victim of his own success, or his own greed, depending upon how you look at it. Seemed to think he had the Midas touch. I’ve seen it before. He was using his status to try and work his way up the social ladder.’ Daniel winced. ‘Don’t suppose murdered debutantes fetching up in his music room will help him in that regard.’
‘He never had much hope of breaching society’s defences anyway.’ Riley finished his drink, stood up and shook Daniel’s hand. ‘Thanks for the information. It helps.’
‘You don’t think Ashton had a hand in bumping the girl off, do you?’ Daniel stood also, and lowered his voice. ‘There isn’t much I would put past him, but he’s nobody’s fool and I doubt he’d do anything to scupper his reputation unless that reputation was beyond repair anyway.’
‘But as you said, he has a temper,’ Riley remarked as the two men headed for the door and claimed their hats from the porter.
‘Even so.’
‘Keep this conversation between us for now, Daniel,’ Riley said. ‘I’m under pressure to get to the bottom of this matter, but it’s like walking over broken glass barefoot. I have my chief inspector on one side, waiting for me to make a wrong move so that he can throw me out the department, and Ashton on the other, doing his very best to hamper my investigation and divert suspicion from his own door.’
‘I can well imagine, and I don’t envy you.’ The two men stood on the pavement outside the club. ‘Let me know if I can help in any other way. Are you being dragged to Lady Bilton’s tomorrow?’
Riley nodded. ‘Mother played her trump card.’
‘Sophia,’ the said together, laughing as they strolled down St. James’s Street, their leisurely pace a concession to the stifling heat.