He did not need to add any more for Daniel to understand. The firm was small, but one of the most respected in London. Marcus fford Croft himself had been one of the best lawyers in the country, in his time. Now he was head of chambers, but no longer appeared in court. He was an inexhaustible mine of legal information, and he knew the secrets of three-quarters of London’s rich, famous, and infamous aristocrats and thieves. His manner had always been eccentric, but now his memory was as well. He had handed over the litigation to a number of chosen rising stars. Kitteridge was a leader among them, but there were others, young gentlemen who had chosen to follow the law, with more or less skill. Time and hardship would determine the successes.
‘Did he tell you anything about Graves?’ Daniel asked, since Kitteridge had offered nothing further.
‘No,’ Kitteridge said testily. ‘Including why he took the case at all. But I have the feeling that it matters to him. He was not being bloody-minded to see what I would do.’
‘You mean whether you would give it your best shot, fight to the bloody end?’ He meant the bloody metaphorically. ‘Rather than fight a losing cause gallantly, but give in once it looked hopeless?’
‘You’re learning,’ Kitteridge said drily.
The waiter returned with the menu. Kitteridge took his and passed the other to Daniel. They both ordered, and then Daniel went on questioning Kitteridge.
‘So, she was found in her bedroom, her head severely injured, and worse than that, burned? Is there any explanation for that?’
‘No, there isn’t. So, a fall, or any other kind of accident is out. You can’t disfigure a dead woman with fire accidentally.’
‘Male servants in the house?’ Daniel tried another tack.
‘A bootboy, and the elderly butler who doubled as a valet for Graves.’
‘Gardeners?’
‘Well spotted. An old boy of seventy-odd, and a couple of lads here and there. None of them had access to the house.’
‘Maids who might have let someone in?’
‘Highly respectable housekeeper, a woman of “a certain age”.’ Kitteridge’s smile was very brief. ‘A cook and a scullery maid, a parlour maid, and Mrs Graves’ own lady’s maid. All of them accounted for. Of course, someone might be lying, but it would take two telling the same lie. Which could be possible, but if you saw them you’d know it’s unlikely.’
‘That leaves only Graves – or someone he let in?’ Daniel concluded, but he made it a question rather than a statement.
‘Bravo,’ Kitteridge said bitterly.
‘What does he say?’
‘Only that he’s innocent,’ Kitteridge answered, taking another sip of his drink.
‘Doesn’t he offer any alternative?’
‘Not specifically. He has little good to say about his wife. Apparently, to him, she was light-minded, eccentric,’ Kitteridge replied. His gaze did not waver from Daniel’s face. He had clear eyes, pale blue, not what one would have expected, considering that his brows and his hair were quite dark. He was waiting for Daniel to offer an opinion. Was it curiosity? Or was he hoping for help, and concealing how desperately he needed it?
‘What do you plan to do?’ Daniel asked finally.
Kitteridge sighed. ‘I have no idea. Between now and tomorrow morning, we must come up with an alternative answer – and I doubt Graves will be of much use.’
Daniel had not even seen Graves, and already he disliked the man. ‘What do we know about her?’
‘Very little. There’s a photograph of her. Very handsome indeed. Jet-black hair, dark eyes, pale skin. I imagine her parents named her well after she was born. Or else she took the name herself.’
‘What name?’
‘Ebony. Ebony Graves.’ This time Kitteridge really smiled. It altered his face, suggesting a quite different nature: something gentler, and far more vulnerable to being liked, or disliked.
Daniel thought for a moment. ‘Have we got anything at all to go on, really?’
‘No,’ Kitteridge replied.
‘So, what are you going to do?’
‘Reasonable doubt is about all we have left,’ Kitteridge said miserably. ‘We’ll have to think of all the ways someone could have got into the house—’