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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.’
‘The body is buried,’ he reminded her. ‘Even if you found where she was burned, and what caused it, would it tell you who did it?’
She looked rueful. ‘Probably not. In fact, almost certainly not. But if it was with alcohol for drinking, say, whisky or brandy, it suggests someone who knew where such things were kept. But why? It was done on purpose, so far as I can see. What does it mean?’
‘Hatred?’ He thought aloud. ‘A sort of revenge, even on what was left of her.’
Miriam bit her lip. ‘That’s a very terrible sort of hatred, to destroy a dead woman’s face.’
‘If you met Graves, you might believe it. But you’re right, it’s insane.’
‘What was she like?’ Miriam looked directly at him, as if it became suddenly very important to her to understand Ebony. Perhaps she was imagining what it would be like to die in this room at the hands of a man capable of that kind of hatred.
Daniel was imagining it, and it chilled through to the core of him. ‘Apparently, she was a passionate fighter for women’s freedoms, and other things such as better medicine for women, some form of birth control . . .’
He found himself blushing ridiculously at mentioning such a thing to Miriam, a woman he barely knew, and yet found himself admiring. Maybe Ebony had been something like her, trying to break ground for greater freedom for other women. His sister, Jemima, would approve of Miriam. She always wanted more than was permitted her, as a girl.
‘Let’s look at her clothes.’ Miriam started moving as she spoke. She went over to the first wardrobe door and opened it. ‘They can tell us much about a person,’ she said, touching the long sweep of an afternoon gown in lavender silk. ‘Good quality.’ She started taking them down, out of the cupboard, and laying them on the bed, and then returning for more.
‘What are you doing?’ Daniel demanded. He could see no relationship between a woman’s taste in clothing and the cause of her being murdered.
Miriam gave him a cool look, her eyebrows slightly raised. ‘Clothing tells us a lot about someone. How her appearance matters, what impression she wishes to create, and the kind of events she attended. Fetch the next one for me, please.’ And without turning to see if he would obey, she started holding the clothes up one at a time, and looking at herself in the glass to establish how they would have looked when worn.
‘What does that tell you?’ Daniel asked, taking more gowns and laying them on top of the others.
‘Her budget,’ Miriam replied. ‘Which was generous. A lot of afternoon dresses here, very few evening, which suggests she did not go out with her husband.’
‘I wondered what Ebony had looked like. Apart from being dark, and beautiful.’ He had not even seen a photograph of her and he had tried to imagine her. He saw her as vulnerable, too, a dreamer, someone who wanted far more than she had ever received.
‘Most of them have been worn several times.’ Miriam interrupted his train of thought. ‘Like these, for example.’ She held up one in dark grey-coloured wool. ‘It is even a bit thin in places,’ she went on, her interest piqued. ‘I wonder why, because it’s not particularly attractive. Of course, it may have been better when it was on. Some dresses are. In fact, the best of them. The secret lies in the cut, not the fabric.’ She ran it through her fingers, feeling the quality of it. ‘But this seems very ordinary.’ She looked at the seams and stitching. Then she put it flat on the bed and picked another dress, and compared them for size. She looked up at Daniel, puzzled. ‘The dark wool is longer by at least a couple of inches, maybe three. And it’s not of the same quality. And yet it’s well worn. I wonder why that is?’
Daniel could think of no reasonable answer.
‘Is there anything else like that?’ Miriam went on. ‘Shoes? Boots?’
Daniel turned and looked in the bottom of the wardrobe. He could not tell at a glance, but kneeled down to look more closely. There was one pair that looked more used than the others, and plainer.
‘How about these?’ he asked, holding them up.
Miriam put down the clothes she was considering and came across. She took the boots from him and looked at them closely. Then she took a pair of shoes, which were of good quality leather, with heels. She examined them thoroughly, then stared up at Daniel. ‘You might keep an old dress from when you were heavier,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Though I can’t think why. It’s not attractive, and it would take far too much room to be worth it. And why only one? All the others I can see are roughly the same, a smaller size. But the boots are another thing. Your feet don’t change in size that much, in fact hardly at all, no matter how much weight you might lose. They get thinner, but not shorter.’
‘These things are not hers,’ he concluded.
‘It would seem not,’ she agreed. ‘But whose are they? And why are they here?’ She looked up from the boots. ‘Did she dress up as someone else? Did she have a secret life her husband knew nothing of? These boots are larger than hers. She could have put thick socks on, and worn them.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I think there may be a side to Mrs Graves that we do not yet know. You said you had a friend you enquired of, if she knew anything of Ebony Graves. Although it may have nothing to do with the manner of her death.’
‘But do you think if we learn whatever these clothes are about that might lead us to who killed her?’ Daniel was not sure that he wanted to know, but there was no escaping it. ‘I don’t want Russell Graves to hang, if he really is innocent . . .’
‘I doubt he’s innocent,’ Miriam said with a dark tone in her voice. ‘And even if you discover where she wore those clothes, or if she wore them at all, it doesn’t prove he was not involved in her death. It just suggests that there is a better reason than a marital quarrel.’ She put the boots down. ‘I suggest you ask Mr Falthorne to lock this door. Not that I imagine there is anyone likely to come in. But we must take precautions. This is becoming more . . . complicated. There is little here for us to work with, but I will take a small piece of this carpet, which must have be
en roughly beneath her head, and see what I can find. I wish we had the body.’
‘What do you expect to find?’
‘Some tiny traces of alcohol . . . although it may well have burned away, if it was ever there,’ she answered. ‘But something was very hot. It burned a part of the carpet, and even the canvas beneath. And it burned human flesh.’ She looked at him with a wince of pain. ‘There is something terribly ugly here.’
