Riley Rochester Investigates
Death of a Matriarch
Wendy Soliman
Riley Rochester Investigates
Death of a Matriarch
Copyright © Wendy Soliman 2019
Edited by Perry Iles
Cover Design by vcbookcovers.com
This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations contained are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance of actual living or dead persons, business, or events. Any similarities are coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any method, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of
The Author – Wendy Soliman
This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction fines and/or imprisonment. The e-Book cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this e-Book can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the author.
Table of Contents
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
About the Author
Chapter One
London: May 1872
Lord Riley Rochester stood on the terrace of his Eaton Square home, listening to a cacophony of birdsong and feeling totally contented. By embracing family life, he had found the peace of mind he’d been unaware he’d been searching for. His wife and child had made his life complete.
He absorbed the relative stillness of a fine spring morning, barely conscious of the waft of fermenting gases that London’s new and extortionately expensive system of sewers had done little to eradicate. The sounds were overwhelmingly familiar too. Iron wheels over cobbles; cabbies holding loud disputes over territories; scavengers in their carts picking over the debris left in the classier streets by careless late-night revellers; cress-sellers and costermongers shouting their wares; paper boys yelling out gruesome headlines; crossing sweepers busy with their brooms. Competing clocks striking the hour.
The sounds and smells of a city blinking the sleep from its eyes. The stall-holders and the organ-grinders with their monkeys would come later.
The pickpockets never slept.
After a freezing winter and interminably wet early spring, Riley took great pleasure in a fine morning upon which the sun was already making its presence felt. He cradled his five-month-old son in his arms, jiggling him up and down as he pointed out the various spring flowers in full bloom and told Simon their names.
‘Dah!’ Simon cried, throwing his hands in the air.
Biased, as all new fathers had a duty to be, Riley took pride in the fact that Simon was remarkably advanced for his age. He could already sit up unaided and had started to explore the world by crawling about the floors with an agile curiosity. Riley and Amelia were both convinced that he had started to express himself coherently despite the fact that his grandmother, the Dowager Marchioness of Chichester, whose pride in Simon was inexhaustible, insisted that he had yet to utter an intelligible word.
‘Which just goes to show that your grandmamma doesn’t know everything,’ Riley told his son, brushing a hand over his feathery hair and smiling as the baby blinked up at him through eyes almost as dark as his father’s.
‘Bah,’ Simon said this time, tugging at Riley’s hair with a tiny fist.
‘Ouch!’ Riley gently disengaged his fingers.
‘What are you two engaged in such lively conversation about?’
Riley smiled and turned at the sound of his wife’s voice. She wore a mulberry dressing-robe over her nightgown. Her hair tumbled down her back in a tangle of russets and gold and she looked adorably tousled. ‘More to the point, what are you doing out of bed so early, my love?’ Simon protested when Riley leaned over to kiss Amelia and he became squashed between his parents.
‘I missed you.’
‘Sorry if I woke you.’
Her eyes sparkled. ‘You don’t usually apologise.’
‘Which makes me sound like a selfish lout who cannot control his carnal desires.’
‘I would have something to say on the matter if you could.’
Riley laughed and slipped the arm that wasn’t holding their son around his wife’s shoulders.
‘It is so nice to see the sunshine,’ Amelia said, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. ‘The garden looks pretty.’
‘I was just now thinking the same thing. I was giving our son his first lesson on botany.’
‘Is he an attentive student?’
Riley pretended to be affronted. ‘As if you need to ask.’ He jiggled Simon again and made him giggle. ‘Would you like to take a trip to the country if I can arrange the time away from work?’
‘Gladly. I assume you mean to visit your brother in Chichester.’
‘Oh good Lord no! Besides, he seems to spend half his time in London nowadays and we see more than enough of him. I was thinking of looking for a country estate for us.’
‘Oh.’ Amelia appeared surprised but not averse to the idea. ‘What’s brought this on? Your work is here in London. How would you manage?’
‘I was just now listening to all the noise and absorbing the noxious smells that I have become accustomed to and take for granted. One becomes immune, but London is no place for children. Fresh country air and the freedom to romp would better suit Simon and any others who follow him.’
He watched as Amelia clasped her stomach. Not yet, surely? It was too soon after Simon. Riley decided against seeking clarification. She would tell him in her own time, if and when she was absolutely sure.
‘I cannot disagree, but for the fact that I can see myself stuck alone with the children in some wilderness while you pit your wits against just one more criminal mastermind before you promise faithfully to give it all up forever.’
Riley didn’t need to feign concern. ‘I thought that you didn’t mind the amount of time my work takes up. If you do, say so at once and I will resign.’
‘You cannot. You have only just accepted Danforth’s former position as Detective Chief Inspector, and I encouraged you to take that step. You would resent it if I had a change of heart. Besides, there is something in your makeup that predestined you to join the fight against the criminal elements, much as your mentor Jake Morton did before you, except that he righted wrongs without charging for his services.’
‘Whereas I am a mercenary devil.’
‘Nonsense! Scotland Yard did not have a detective department in Jake’s day so he was obliged to be a pathfinder.’
Riley chuckled. ‘I will tell him that. It will amuse him to think that he can take credit for our city’s advances in formal detection methods.’
Riley reflected, not for the first time, on his stubborn determination to serve the good people of this city by doing what he could to protect them from those with criminal intent. It gave him a sense of purpose a
nd an inordinate amount of satisfaction when he brought murderers to book.
‘Think about it. Somewhere rural yet close enough to London that a short train ride will return me safely to you each evening. But now, I must be at the Yard early, so I shall leave you and Simon to your own devices.’
‘Ya!’
‘He said “Ma”!’ Amelia jumped up and down on her toes, her lovely face alight with delight. ‘You heard him; I know you did. That was his first coherent word.’
‘He did indeed say something that might be interpreted as such, my love,’ Riley said, kissing her brow. ‘But before you came down, I distinctly heard him say “dah”.’
‘Ah, but no one else did so that doesn’t count.’ She wagged a finger at him. ‘Besides, I am convinced you just made that up.’
Riley chuckled as he passed the now restless child into his mother’s arms, allowing her the last word.
‘We do not have to commit ourselves, but I shall start making enquiries about suitable country properties within easy reach of London if you like the idea.’
‘I do, very much.’
‘Well then. What shall you do today, the pair of you?’
‘Oh, I dare say I shall have a visit from your mother and Sophia.’
Riley smiled; he was inordinately fond of his young niece. ‘If they call too often, I can have a word.’
‘Not at all. I don’t mind their company in the least. Your mother is besotted with Simon, which shows great good judgement on her part.’
‘She has waited a long time for a healthy grandson. I suppose one cannot resent the pleasure she takes from the prune.’
‘Don’t call him that anymore!’ Amelia scolded, pushing a fuzzy fringe of black hair from their son’s brow, much as Riley himself had done earlier. He wondered at what age babies were first obliged to have their hair trimmed and whether it was a rite of passage; an event to be recorded in one’s diary. He was absolutely sure that Amelia would keep a lock of the hair in question. ‘He is perfection now, not a wrinkle in sight.’
‘Well, naturally, I agree with you. But now I really must go.’
‘Ah, the responsibilities of seniority.’
‘Not in the least. Things are quiet at the moment and I shall be perfectly satisfied if they remain that way. Since returning to full time work following my sabbatical, I have had next to nothing to do.’
Other than to take a back seat and supervise his detectives, offering them the benefit of his advice, adjudicating in disputes and reading endless reports. Part of him craved a murder investigation to get his teeth into, but it seemed insensitive to wish a gruesome death upon some hapless victim simply to counter his professional boredom. Especially on a beautiful day like today.
‘I shall see you later, my love,’ he said, kissing Amelia and then Simon.
Amelia, still with Simon in her arms, accompanied him into the entrance vestibule, where Riley’s man Stout helped him into his coat and handed him his hat and gloves. He then stepped into the street and whistled to a Hansom. Riley climbed into the conveyance that swerved to the curb to collect him and waved to his family as it moved off.
At the Yard, Riley greeted Barton, the desk sergeant who never seemed to be off duty.
‘Morning sir,’ Barton replied. ‘Nice morning for it.’
Riley nodded his agreement, unsure what he was agreeing with. He remembered at the last minute to turn right and take occupation of the office that he still looked upon as belonging to Danforth, his erstwhile predecessor. The office was larger than the cupboard that had been assigned to him as an inspector but away from the noise and activity of the communal detectives’ room. He felt disassociated, isolated from the hub of activity, and sometimes wondered if he had done the right thing in accepting this promotion.
Sighing, he had only just divested himself of his coat when his sergeant, Jack Salter, tapped at the door and let himself in.
‘Morning, sir,’ he said cheerfully.
‘Morning, Jack. How are things?’
‘Quiet as the grave, just the way I like ’em.’
They were joined by Inspectors Turner and Grayson, Riley’s former colleagues whose working days he was now required to supervise. Neither seemed to resent his elevation to a more senior position. As Jack bluntly put it, anyone would be an improvement over Danforth. Faint praise, but true for all that. How Danforth had inveigled his way into such a senior position—a position for which he was totally unsuited and in which he overcame his inadequacies by pulling rank and bullying—remained a mystery. He had disliked and resented Riley’s privileged background and did his very best to undermine him at every turn, despite the fact that Riley had spoken up for him and saved his career on the first occasion when Danforth had threatened to derail it through his own stupidity.
The vacancy left for an inspector following Riley’s promotion had not been filled. Jack Salter had been given more responsibility and a consummate increase in salary. That situation, Riley knew, suited him. Jack was an old-fashioned bobby with a strict Christian morality and was comfortable with his current rank. He had the good sense to know that he would make an appalling inspector, since his inflexibility prevented him from making allowances for human frailties. Black was black as far as Jack was concerned, and the law was white. There were no grey areas, and those who broke the law could expect little mercy from Salter.
‘How’s Peterson settling in?’ Riley asked.
Peterson had been a stalwart and dependable uniformed constable whom Riley had often borrowed from a long-suffering Barton. When a position for an additional detective constable had been approved, Riley had Peterson transferred over Barton’s mild objections. Barton, for all his crustiness, would not hold a good man back.
‘He’s doing well enough. But we ain’t had anything too taxing to deal with. Just your usual burglaries and a couple of suspicious deaths that didn’t turn out to be suspicious at all. The odd brawl and that kidnapping what Inspector Grayson’s dealing with.’
Riley turned to his inspectors and asked for updates on their current cases. Unlike Danforth, he believed in transparency and the exchange of ideas. These regular meetings had proved productive, since those not directly involved with a case often had fresh ideas to suggest. There were no rivalries or jockeying for position.
They were interrupted by a tap at the door which preceded Barton putting his grizzly head round it.
‘An urgent message for you,’ he said, handing Riley a note.
Riley thanked Barton, opened it and frowned. ‘It’s from Doctor Hayward. He’s a private physician,’ he added in response to the blank stares that greeted this announcement. Hayward dealt exclusively with the ailments of the rich and entitled and attended Riley and his family in that capacity. His heart double-thumped in his chest. Something must have happened to Amelia or the prune.
‘What is it, sir?’ Salter asked. ‘You’ve gone dead white.’
Riley pulled himself together by the sheer force of will and adjured himself to read Hayward’s note. If anything untoward had happened at home, Stout would have come to inform him in person, he reasoned. Thus reassured, he absorbed Hayward’s words and felt fresh energy coursing through his veins.
‘Right, Jack, we’re for Ebury Street,’ Riley said, standing and reaching for his coat.
‘One of your lot has been done away with, I take it,’ Salter replied.
‘Not sure.’ Riley scratched his neck. ‘But Lady Violet Pemberton is most certainly dead.’
‘Pemberton?’ Grayson blinked. ‘Even I’ve heard that name.’
‘Sir Joseph was a famous explorer. He collaborated with John Speke in his search for the source of the Nile, among other things. He was rich enough to indulge his whims. He liked to push boundaries and funded a lot of explorations. Anyway, Sir Joseph is long gone and Lady Pemberton, the matriarch of the family, has now joined him, I’m afraid. My mother will be sorry,’ he added, almost to himself. ‘They were contemporaries and friends. Anyway, i
t seems she was found dead in her bed this morning when her maid went to wake her. She thought it was natural causes. Hayward was called in to sign the death certificate but isn’t entirely happy with what he’s found.’
‘Foul play then, sir?’ Salter asked, rubbing his hands together. ‘Well, stands to reason, I suppose. If she were old and in charge of the purse strings, I dare say her nearest and dearest got tired of waiting for nature to take its course so that they could get their grubby hands on the blunt.’ He sighed dramatically. ‘Ain’t it always that way?’
‘Let’s not jump to conclusions, Jack. We’ll go and find out for ourselves, shall we?’
Chapter Two
‘It’s a bit like old times, sir.’
Salter sounded disproportionately cheerful at the thought of an unexplained death. He whistled to a passing Hansom that swerved across oncoming traffic in order to pick them up. Other road users shook their fists and shouted insults at the impervious cabbie.
Riley nodded in response to Salter’s comment, wondering if he should have been less willing to take this one on himself. He was supposed to delegate. But Hayward had contacted him direct and Lady Pemberton’s relatives would be more inclined to talk to him than to those whom they considered beneath them.
‘One thing’s for sure, Jack,’ he said pensively, as the jarvey whipped up his horse and the conveyance moved forward with a jolt that rocked them back in their seat, ‘Hayward sending for us will not make us popular with Lady Pemberton’s relatives.’
Salter rolled his eyes. ‘Best you fill me in about them, sir.’
‘There’s no son and heir; just three daughters, all of whom are married with families of their own.’
‘Her ladyship wasn’t in the first flush of youth, then?’
‘Indeed not, Salter. I’d say she was close to seventy, but as fit as a flea and a bit of an eccentric. She was known to walk in the park every day, whatever the weather. She served on numerous charitable committees and was famous for her outspoken views.’
Death of a Matriarch (Riley Rochester Investigates Book 7) Page 1
