He broke off and then said, with decision: ‘But look here — that’s enough desk work. Before we go to the hospital, or the jail, why don’t I take you out to look at the scene? Cassandra — Lady Dedham — is expecting me to pay another visit. We’ll take a staff car and go and see whether, in the cold light of day, she’s remembered anything more of significance, shall we?’
And time to put the girl at the fourth — and perhaps the hardest — hurdle.
Chapter Eight
The house which had been the scene of murder and mayhem with officers of the law and ambulances coming and going all night was now presenting a quiet and unruffled front. All signs of a police presence had been removed so that the normal life of the street might be resumed and the only reminders of the tragedy were the drawn curtains at all the windows and a recently sluiced area, still damp and smelling of carbolic, stretching from the doorstep out to the pavement.
The door was opened a careful inch only after Joe’s second knock. He caught sight of a fearful eye under a maid’s bonnet. ‘Police, miss,’ he said hurriedly before his intimidating features could cause further alarm. ‘Commander Sandilands and his assistant.’ He passed his card through the narrow gap. ‘We’re here to see her ladyship.’
Reassured, the girl stuck her head round the door. ‘Sorry, sir. Lady Dedham’s gone up to her room and isn’t seeing anyone.’
‘That’ll be all, Eva, thank you.’ The door was flung open by Cassandra Dedham herself. ‘Always in for you, Joe. I’m sorry about the unfriendly greeting. With the master dead, the butler laid low, and the footman helping the police with their inquiries at Vine Street, we females left behind are feeling a bit under siege. Come in, come in. There are two of you?’ She gave a welcoming nod and looked Lily up and down in surprise.
‘May I present Woman Police Patrol Officer Lilian Wentworth? Lily, this is Lady Dedham.’
He watched keenly as the two women greeted each other. Clearly, Cassandra Dedham was as surprising to the policewoman as the policewoman was to the lady. Wentworth couldn’t fail to be impressed by Lady Dedham, even in her grief-stricken state. Much younger than might have been expected, perhaps in her late thirties, Cassandra had a classical beauty that could not be extinguished by the shock and exhaustion she was suffering. Her oval face was drained of colour, its pallor accentuated by a smear of blood along her left cheekbone. Her earrings were intact, her dark auburn hair was scraped back into a chignon and very nearly immaculate. One strand had escaped to trail unnoticed on to her shoulder. Even as his eye caught it, Cassandra automatically retrieved it and tucked it out of sight under its velvet band.
‘Ah! Another of your Scottish cousins flighting south, Joe? The coverts up there must be full of them.’