Twenty-One Days (Daniel Pitt #1)(46)

He looked across at her face, which seemed quite calm and composed. There were only tiny lines around her mouth, and shadows in her eyes. She was old enough that experience and emotion had marked her features.

Quite suddenly, he liked her better for it.

They discussed trials, jury and evidence a little longer, then when they arrived at the station he found a cab and they set out towards Graves’ house.

She was impressed by it, as he had been. She said little, but he saw it in her expression. For the first time, he wondered where Marcus fford Croft lived. He knew the area, but not the particular house. Surely it was at least as fine as this? But of course it would be full of memories that coloured every thought of it. Just as there were for him in the house on Keppel Street, Bloomsbury, where he had grown up. It was in the heart of London, not the spacious suburbs, but even so, the squares were tree-lined, grassy, and houses had a certain elegance. But the important thing was the comfort of the mind, the knowledge of warmth not only in the literal sense, but in the heart, certain beliefs not only about the past, but about the future also.

He must pay attention to his job.

The front door was opened by Falthorne.

‘Good afternoon, Falthorne,’ Daniel said immediately. ‘May I introduce Miss fford Croft? She has come to help me try to learn exactly what occurred here regarding Mrs Graves’ death. She is a scientist, and may learn things that we cannot.’

‘Good afternoon, Miss fford Croft.’ Falthorne inclined his head. ‘If you would care to come in? Would you like tea served, sir? Will you be in the morning room?’

‘Thank you, Falthorne, I think we will begin right away in the bedroom, if you don’t mind. Time . . . is short.’

‘Yes, sir, ma’am,’ Falthorne closed the door and led them upstairs to Ebony Graves’ bedroom. ‘If there is anything you wish, sir, just ring the bell. Perhaps you would care for tea and sandwiches later? I’m sure Mrs Hanslope would be happy to make something.’

‘That would be very nice,’ Daniel accepted. He was sorry to miss the familiar lunch in the servants’ hall, but there was no time for that now.

Falthorne conducted them upstairs, then excused himself, leaving them in what had been Ebony’s room.

Daniel turned to Miriam. ‘How can I help?’

She was gazing around in interest, and there was a sadness in her face that she was probably unaware of. She looked younger and more vulnerable than when she spoke of science. Was she imagining Ebony Graves here, and the last unsuspecting moments of her life, before she knew that person there with her was about to kill her? To be in the bedroom, surely it had to be someone she loved, or at the very least trusted? This was a place you imagine yourself apart from the world, when you let down your guard.

Except, of course, if the person most dangerous to you was in your own family! Then it was anything but a place of peace. It was where you were most vulnerable. There would be nowhere to run to, no one who could help.

Was that how it had been?

Miriam walked over to the hearth. One did not have to look around in order to find the place where the murder had happened, especially when no attempt had been made to clean it. Indeed, the carpet was ruined. She kneeled down and looked very carefully at the blood on the cornerstone. Daniel had no idea what she could tell from it, other than that was the place where Ebony had sustained her fatal injury.

Miriam was silent. Could the blood tell her anything that they did not already know? It was possible now to differentiate human blood from animal blood, Daniel knew, but not one person’s from another’s. Perhaps venous blood from arterial? But if so, what would that help? They knew the injury was to the back of her head.

She looked up at Daniel. ‘The problem is, juries dislike anything they cannot understand, and think we are trying to trick them.’

‘Do you mean they see the science as magic?’

‘Yes, unfortunately.’

She moved from the blood to the burned carpet. She stared at this silently for what seemed like minutes. ‘There must have been quite a fire here,’ she said at last, rising to her feet. ‘How badly was the body burned? Do you know? Did you see it, or photographs of it, perhaps?’

‘Yes, they were appalling. She was badly disfigured, from the chest up. Would they help?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said frankly. ‘She didn’t fall into the fire. Coals from it must have been placed onto her deliberately. But why?’ She frowned. ‘And how did it continue to burn? Fire burns upward, not downward. There had to be something to fuel it, or it would have gone out.’

‘Something? Like what?’ Daniel was confused.

Miriam said nothing for several moments, clearly examining the possibilities in her mind. ‘Perhaps something like cotton, or linen,’ she suggested. ‘A towel? But more likely something like fat, or oil, as well. Perhaps whoever it was went to the kitchen . . . or spirits? Yes, a whole body of whisky or brandy, on a towel – that would burn for a while and get quite hot.’

‘Is there some way you can know?’ Daniel asked.

‘If I could see the body, yes. The photographs might be of help, but I doubt it. Maybe the coroner’s report? But only if they tested for something highly combustible. Otherwise not. The carpet is badly charred, but somebody has swept away the ashes from whatever was left, and the blood is quite plain on the hearthstone.’