‘Answer the question,’ Salter growled. ‘This is a murder enquiry, we need to get an idea of the victim’s character and you knew him better than most. This ain’t the time to hide behind your mistress’s petticoats.’
Gregg pursed his lips and addressed Riley. ‘He was a great favourite of her ladyship’s, which created a degree of friction between the other male servants; the inevitable result of showing a preference, one supposes. The other footmen thought he exploited his favouritism to avoid doing his fair share of the work.’ Gregg blinked and looked faintly surprised by the fulsomeness of his own response. Riley suspected that he hadn’t intended to voice his prejudices quite so vehemently.
‘You didn’t like him?’ Riley asked.
‘I would not have appointed him to the position he occupied, if that is what you are asking me,’ Gregg replied.
Riley sighed, aware he would get nothing more from the man on that particular subject. ‘How many other footmen are employed here?’ he asked instead.
‘Two, my lord. We also have two housemaids, her ladyship’s personal maid, Sir Philip’s valet, a cook, a scullery maid and myself.’
‘I see. Dawson presumably shared a room with the other footmen.’
Gregg turned a snort into a cough. ‘He had a small room to himself in the servants’ quarters,’ he replied, ‘despite the fact that he was not the senior man and hadn’t earned the right. Her ladyship’s orders, of course.’
‘How long have you been engaged in your position here?’ Riley asked.
‘I was engaged by Sir Philip,’ Gregg replied, straightening an already rigid back. ‘I worked as a footman in his father’s house, and Sir Philip asked me to move here as his butler when he and Lady Randall married and purchased the property. I have endeavoured to give the best possible service since then.’
Riley fixed the butler with a contemplative look. ‘You are loyal to Sir Philip?’
‘I hope I provide an equally acceptable service to both the master and the mistress,’ he replied stiffly. ‘Sir Philip, however, is an inspirational gentleman who makes personal sacrifices in order to give unstinting service to his country.’
‘I see. Very well, Gregg. We will speak with both the other footmen now. What are their names?’
‘Albert Wright and James Fuller.’
‘You may go,’ Riley said shortly. ‘Send the first of the footmen in.’
‘As your lordship wishes,’ Gregg replied, moving with an agility at direct variance to his natural stately aplomb, implying either an anxiousness to bring the inquisition to an end or a desire to speak with the household staff and instruct them in what they should say. Riley wondered what, if anything, he would prefer them not to reveal.
‘You didn’t take to him, did you, sir?’ Salter asked as the door closed behind Gregg.
‘I did not. I can tell you as well that he doesn’t approve of Sir Philip’s choice of a wife. If he thought his master was being cuckolded beneath his own roof, it would not sit well with him. He’s fiercely protective of Sir Philip’s interests and might have taken it upon himself to remove the source of the embarrassment.’
Salter scowled. ‘He probably ain’t the only one who disapproved.’
‘Keep an open mind, Jack. Until you’ve met Sir Philip or discovered the truth about Ida’s background, it doesn’t do to make assumptions. Wisdom should reckon on the unforeseen.’
‘Come again, sir?’
Riley smiled. ‘It’s a famous line from a Poe verse—and relevant to this particular case, I rather think.’
Salter grunted. ‘I’m highly suspicious about a sporting club opening up in Clapham, sir.’
‘So am I. And since the unfortunate Dawson was murdered in Clapham, it’s highly likely that someone who is already catering to the sporting requirements of the locals might have taken extreme exception to any competition. His death might be nothing to do with Dawson’s involvement with Ida, but it just as easily might be. Her children, I fancy, might have turned a blind eye to her peccadillos, but if they learned that she intended to bestow a large part of her fortune upon Dawson’s fledgling venture, they might have felt that their futures were being threatened by his influence over their mother.’
‘She does seem to have been very attached to him,’ Salter said. ‘I’d say that grief weren’t put on.’
‘No, Jack, it wasn’t.’
Their speculations came to an end when someone tapped at the door and a tall young man dressed in full livery with sandy hair and a freckled face walked in. He was well-built, physical presence being a consideration when footmen were employed, but otherwise unremarkable. The sort of person who would be easily overlooked in a crowd.
‘I am Albert, officers,’ he said. ‘I gather you wish to speak with me.’
‘We do,’ Riley replied, introducing them both. ‘How long have you worked here?’
‘A little over two years, sir.’
‘And are you happy with your situation?’
A momentary hesitation. ‘The master is a fair-minded gentleman but we seldom have much to do with him below stairs. The mistress runs the house.’
‘And your opinion of her?’ Salter asked.
Albert hesitated. ‘I will not say anything to risk my position, Sergeant.’
‘You don’t like her, Albert, do you?’
Albert remained silent, hands clasped behind his back, but didn’t deny Salter’s assertion.
‘You are aware that Ezra Dawson was murdered last night,’ Riley said, breaking the uneasy silence.
‘I have just been told. The female servants are all hysterical.’
‘But you are unaffected by the news,’ Riley said. ‘You don’t seem especially shocked or upset either.’
‘Ezra was a chancer; he was always into something. And he exploited the mistress’s preference for him, using it as a means to evade his duties, which meant that James and I had more to do, and that wasn’t fair.’
‘You sound resentful,’ Salter said.
‘Wouldn’t you be? But I didn’t go down to Clapham and kill him, if that’s what you’re thinking. I was here
