“Not worried about what the law might think of him, is he, Inspector?” asked Sergeant MacDonald as they walked out.
“He is a peer. He can only be tried in the House of Lords and he enjoys privilege from arrest. If I were him, I also wouldn’t burden myself too much with what a pair of lowly policemen might think of my statements.”
MacDonald scratched his reddish, slightly scraggly beard. “So who do you think is lying then about how happy he’d be to see his brother dead, his lordship or the dead man?”
“Hard to say, without knowing what had made them grow apart in the first place. That is, provided the girl wasn’t making it up out of whole cloth.”
Treadles wished now he’d done the questioning himself. So much could be gleaned from face-to-face observation. Nuances in tone, changes in expression, and postures of the body added up to a rich symphony of information, as opposed to this thin, tinny tune derived from typed words.
To Sergeant MacDonald’s surprise, instead of leaving the premises altogether, Treadles led them down to the service entrance and knocked. But his ambush of Lord Sheridan’s staff, though successful in one sense—he managed to speak with both the butler and the valet—did not yield any useful information in the end.
Except in the negative category: His lordship did not leave London in the time period of interest to Inspector Treadles. In fact, he had attended a wedding and a dinner in the twenty-four hours immediately preceding his brother’s death, not to mention went to sleep and woke up in his own bed.
This time, when they left the Sheridan house, they walked away—and turned onto the street where Lord Ingram lived. It was of a similar arrangement to Lord Sheridan’s, a row of elegant town houses all of the same style and construction, except these houses faced a small park surrounded by a hedgerow, with swings and a duck pond in its interior.
They were approaching Lord Ingram’s home when a gleaming brougham drew up by the curb and disgorged a beautiful and stylishly dressed woman. At the same moment Lord Ingram stepped out of the house. They greeted each other with cool nods. Treadles would have thought the woman was perhaps a neighbor Lord Ingram did not know very well, until his lordship said to the coachman, “I will need the carriage at seven tonight.”
The woman was Lady Ingram.
Treadles did not move in Lord Ingram’s circles. Nor had Alice ever done so, though her father had been a wealthy industrialist. It had not struck Treadles as particularly odd that Lady Ingram did not accompany her husband on digs or attend his lectures at Burlington House—he’d simply assumed that things were different for the very upper echelons of Society and that she must have been busy with her own duties.
That greeting between spouses, however, implied such a vast distance. What Treadles was looking at was not any kind of upper-class stricture against displays of affection, but a resolute lack of affection altogether.
Lord and Lady Ingram were two strangers who happened to live under the same roof.
This was probably not news to anyone who knew the couple. But Treadles still felt as if he’d witnessed something he ought not to have—an insight into Lord Ingram’s marriage that the latter had not chosen to share with him. Embarrassment further pummeled him when he realized that he and MacDonald were too close to turn aside, that he might put Lord Ingram in a situation of having to introduce a pair of coppers to the lady wife.
Lord Ingram spied him. “Inspector, what an unexpected pleasure.”
They shook hands. Treadles, praying his face wasn’t as red as he imagined it must be, introduced Sergeant MacDonald to his lordship, who then turned to his wife. “Lady Ingram, allow me to present two of the Criminal Investigation Department’s finest, Inspector Treadles and Sergeant MacDonald.”
“A pleasure, I’m sure,” said Lady Ingram with a fixed smile. “I will leave you gentlemen to discuss important affairs. Good day, Inspector. Good day, Sergeant.”
Treadles and MacDonald bowed. Lord Ingram inclined his head. When Lady Ingram had disappeared into the house, Lord Ingram asked, “Are you on duty, gentlemen?”
“We are, but we have completed our interview—for now.”
“Excellent. If you have a moment, I’d like my children to meet you. They are in the park.”
The children, an elfin girl of about five and a sturdy-looking boy maybe a year younger, were busy building what looked to be a miniature tent with small twigs, under the supervision of a nanny. At the sight of their father they rushed toward him and excitedly told him about their castle.
Lord Ingram did the honors. The two policemen and the two Ashburton children shook hands, warmly on both sides, for the children were friendly, curious, and full of pep.