Death of a Milliner: Riley Rochester Investigates Book 9 (Riley ~Rochester Investigates)

by Wendy Soliman

  ‘Very well, you may go. We may need to talk to you again.’

  ‘You know where to find me.’

  Riley had Peterson show Girton and Madame Boise to the door and then returned to his office, where he was swiftly joined by Salter.

  ‘Madame is one ambitious lady.’ Riley related the substance of his conversations with her and Girton. ‘I admire her enterprise but can’t persuade myself that working out of Whitechapel for a few years gave her enough income to open up in Bond Street. That money came from somewhere, Jack—’

  ‘And you think she either charmed or coerced some hapless gent into parting with it.’

  ‘The idea crossed my mind. She certainly knows how to manipulate men.’

  Salter flashed the first suggestion of a smile that Riley had seen from him that day. ‘Tried it on with you, did she, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘It was more the implication that we are acquaintances, given my family’s support of Maureen’s efforts, and that she couldn’t possibly be involved with anything as tawdry as murder. The ladies would not have transferred their custom to her had it not been for Maureen’s design flair but I’m sure Madame has reserved the credit for herself, albeit in her own mind.’

  ‘Sorry you’ve been dragged into this, guv’nor.’

  Riley waved the apology aside. ‘She didn’t tell me the complete truth. I have a feeling she is acquainted with Mrs Faulkner’s husband and sons. We need to find them, Jack. That’s a job for you.’

  Salter grunted and made a note of their names in his ever present notebook.

  ‘I put the idea into her mind that Mrs Faulkner might have gone to the shop with the intention of trying to drag Maureen back to Clapham. She dismissed it as unlikely, but later said perhaps it was true—but she also said that Maureen couldn’t have murdered anyone, unless it was in self-defence.’

  Salter growled and half rose from his chair, his face like thunder. Riley waved him back into it.

  ‘Think about it, Jack. It implies desperation. She’s anxious to deflect suspicion away from herself.’

  ‘Do you think she did it?’

  Riley took a moment to consider his response. ‘Not personally, but I wouldn’t put it past her to have lured the victim there under some pretext or other and had someone else carry out the deed for her. That would explain why she went to Brown’s. If she’d been at home alone we’d be suspicious, since her servants would be thinking of their own welfare and confirm her presence there. We’ve seen it more often than I can recall.’

  Salter nodded. ‘Aye, right enough.’

  ‘Girton would say anything she told him to, but I think she must know that he wouldn’t make a convincing liar. Anyway, being at a high-end hotel gives her the perfect cover. You can be sure that her presence there will be confirmed by more than one independent witness.’ He shook his head. ‘But even so, the possibility of her having orchestrated the murder bothers me. I think she is perfectly capable of it, but if she wanted her rival dead that badly, for reasons we have yet to conjecture, it would be more easily achieved in Clapham. Mrs Faulkner being killed in Madame’s shop harms the reputation she has worked so hard to establish and draws suspicion to herself.’

  ‘Unless Mrs Faulkner insisted upon meeting her there for some reason. We know she was furious when Maureen jumped ship. It rubbed salt into a festering wound. If Mrs Faulkner, for the sake of argument, is aware of the source of Madame’s funds, then I can’t see her holding back on blackmail. Perhaps Madame agreed to pay her and as I say, Mrs Faulkner insisted upon meeting her in Bond Street.’

  ‘It’s possible, Jack, but unlikely. It would make more sense for them to meet in a neutral place. Anyway, I half thought that Girton might be the man who tried to abduct your Miss Monkton, but he is nothing like the description she gave of her assailant. Besides, I got the impression that Girton told me the truth.’

  ‘Blimey, sir. Note the date in your diary.’

  ‘It’s a rarity, I’ll grant you.’ Riley allowed himself a brief smile. ‘He’s in love with Meg, has been since they were kids, and would do anything for her.’

  ‘Including lie convincingly.’

  Riley conceded the possibility with a tilt of his head. ‘Probably. Let’s keep an open mind. I don’t think he knows anything about Mrs Faulkner’s murder but I remain to be convinced that Madame doesn’t. Anyway, I have Peterson checking at Brown’s for confirmation that Madame stayed there last night. I’m sure she did, but whether she was alone is another matter. Hopefully there will be an observant porter who can shed some light. Carter and Soames are looking into Miss Cornish, Madame’s assistant, and Miss Sharp, who enjoys the same position in the Clapham establishment.’ Riley paused. ‘Do you know what I find depressing about this particular case, Jack?’

  ‘I’m sure you’re about to enlighten me.’

  ‘Mrs Faulkner wasn’t liked and didn’t take the trouble to make herself popular. But even so, not a single person has expressed grief over her demise.’

  ‘“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” Book of Matthew, sir,’ Salter said when Riley raised a brow.

  ‘More eloquently put than my own clumsy effort, but you get my point. No one appears to be mourning Mrs Faulkner’s violent demise. Not her workforce and certainly not Madame. Nor have we had to break the news to any of her family since we don’t know where they are.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can unearth about them.’

  ‘The other thing that struck me as odd was that we didn’t find anything of a personal nature in her rooms.’ Riley frowned. ‘I was too preoccupied at the time to give that fact the consideration it deserved.’

  ‘You probably needed me there to point it out to you, sir.’

  Riley nodded. ‘You were sorely missed.’

  ‘Nice to be appreciated.’

  ‘We found basic information about orders, suppliers and so forth in her office. But nothing of a legal nature about her tenancy of the shop, and no personal letters and mementoes of any sort.’ Riley rubbed his chin. ‘Her bedroom and sitting room were untidy—’

  ‘Untidy as in they’d been searched?’

  ‘No. She simply lived in a permanent state of upheaval. I asked Miss Sharp if that was normal and she confirmed that it was.’

  ‘If she’s to be believed. That woman gave our Maureen a hard time for no apparent reason.’ Salter scowled. ‘She often came home in tears because of some remark or other that Miss Sharp had directed her way. Sharp by name and sharp by nature, sir. I don’t trust her.’

  ‘Jealousy, Jack. Everyone I’ve spoken to including Madame all agree that your Maureen has a rare and special talent.’

  Salter briefly preened but as quickly deflated. ‘And look where it’s landed her.’

  ‘She will be exonerated soon enough if I have any say in the matter.’

  ‘That’s a comfort.’ Salter expelled an elongated sigh. ‘If anyone else was investigating, they likely wouldn’t have looked beyond our Maureen.’

  ‘Returning to the subject of Mrs Faulkner’s rooms, if they had been searched for any reason, I can’t think why anyone would take all her personal correspondence.’

  ‘Unless the person doing the searching was a relative. One of her sons, perhaps. He could be the one who killed her and needed to get rid of any evidence of the dispute with his mother that turned him murderous.’ Salter ran a hand down the length of his bristly neck. ‘Seems to me that Mrs Faulkner had disputes with just about everyone who crossed her path. Why not her own flesh and blood too? It would explain why no one you’ve spoken to has seen them hanging around.’

  This was what Riley had missed that morning; exchanging ideas with his experienced sergeant and reining one another in when their theories became too fanciful. ‘Very possibly, Jack. Call at the shop in the morning before you come up to the Yard. Search her rooms again only more thoroughly. Take up loose floorboards, check the skirtings; you know where to look. And try to find out who owns the shop. That
way we can trace Mrs Faulkner’s lawyers and find out who benefits from her demise.’

  ‘Will do.’ Salter sniffed. ‘But it don’t look like she had much to leave.’

  ‘We shan’t know until we look into it.’ Riley stood. ‘Right, Jack, let’s get to it.’

  ‘Where are you going, sir?’

  ‘To see your daughter—and no…’ Riley held out a restraining hand. ‘You can’t come. You know that. Go home, Jack, and we’ll come at this fresh tomorrow. Placate Mrs Salter, assure her that Maureen is being well cared for and is not languishing in a cell here.’

  ‘There ain’t no chance of me going home until I hear how she is,’ Salter replied mulishly.

  ‘Very well. I understand. Come to Sloane Street at about six. I should be back by then.’

  ‘Right. Send our Maureen my love and tell her…never mind. I’ll tell her myself when I see her, which I hope will be soon.’

  ‘We all hope that, Jack.’

  Salter appeared mollified and went off to delve into the Faulkner men’s backgrounds.

  Riley spent his time in the cab that conveyed him to Mayfair mulling over all he had learned so far. It seemed to him that Mrs Faulkner and Madame were two of a kind, but the latter made a better job of concealing her jealousies and determination. Something in their past history had resulted in this tragedy and he was still convinced that Maureen’s talent was the catalyst.

  He wondered if the person whose history the ladies shared was the actual killer and had done away with Mrs Faulkner to remove the threat she posed. She had become unpredictable, a liability. But this as yet unnamed person had also wanted to make a point by reminding Madame who was in charge, which would explain why the murder had taken place on Madame’s premises.

  An interesting theory but, Riley conceded as the cab let him off at his sister’s palatial townhouse and he paid his fare, it was simply a hypothesis and he didn’t have an ounce of proof to back it up.

  Chapter Six

  Martha herself opened the door to Riley before he could wield the knocker.

  ‘I saw you from the window,’ she said, kissing his cheek and relieving him of his outdoor clothing, which she passed to her hovering butler.

  ‘How is Maureen?’

  ‘She woke up half an hour or so ago. I followed your advice and sent for Kelly,’ she replied, referring to the private physician who attended all of Riley’s family members in London. ‘He gave her a sedative and she slept for several hours. Sophia is with her now. I’ll have her come down.’

  ‘In a moment.’ Riley followed Martha into her elegant drawing room and accepted her offer of tea. ‘Tell me what I need to know about Henry while we wait for the refreshments to arrive. What has he done this time?’

  Martha shook her head. ‘He’s excelled himself, Riley. How I can have two brothers with such disparate characters is a total mystery. You are a shining example.’

  ‘Hardly,’ Riley replied, waving the suggestion aside. ‘I have my moments, the same as anyone.’

  ‘Nonsense. Despite Mama disapproving of your occupation, your conduct is exemplary. Henry, on the other hand, appears permanently dissatisfied with his lot, and constantly on the prowl for some unsavoury distraction or other.’

  ‘I have the luxury of being able to please myself. Henry inherited responsibility for the lot of us.’

  ‘Heaven help us.’ Martha rolled her eyes.

  Martha looked worried enough to concern Riley. The head of their family was often reckless in his pursuit of financial opportunities and hedonistic pleasures, but he remembered his position eventually and knew where to draw the line.

  Usually.

  ‘Daniel said we shouldn’t involve you,’ Martha added, referring to her husband, with whom Riley enjoyed a congenial relationship. ‘He says your own family and your work should be your only concern and he’s right about that. But really, none of us know quite what to do and are worried that Henry’s conduct will become public knowledge, in which case we wouldn’t be able to keep it from you.’

  Their conversation stalled whilst the tea was served and Martha poured for them both.

  ‘You’re worrying me,’ Riley said, once the maid had withdrawn, closing the door softly behind her.

  ‘He’s fallen in love.’ Martha pulled a disparaging face. ‘Again. But this time he insists it’s the real thing and he’s in danger of making an absolute fool of himself. The woman is less than half his age. I say woman because she isn’t actually a lady. And worse yet, she’s based in Chichester, right on Celia’s doorstep. God alone knows, Riley, neither of us have much time for Celia but she doesn’t deserve to be embarrassed in front of her friends or have her charitable endeavours compromised by her husband’s indiscretions.’

  ‘I agree,’ Riley replied, briefly closing his eyes and feeling every year of his age.

  ‘Henry has had the decency to keep his peccadillos away from the family seat up until now, but not this time, evidently.’

  ‘How did their paths cross?’

  ‘A very good question. Henry claims that he met her by chance when her carriage had lost a wheel.’

  ‘You don’t think it was a chance meeting?’

  ‘I very much doubt it. I think our brother’s reputation precedes him and the woman decided to play upon his weakness for a pretty face. She can certainly lay claim to beauty. She is quite exquisite. I saw them together, brazen as you please, walking in the street when I went down to Chichester recently. Henry only seemed mildly embarrassed when he made the introduction. The woman—Felicity Hopgood, her name is—runs a handmade and hand-painted crockery store. The produce is pretty enough but nothing out of the ordinary and I gather that she’s struggling to make ends meet.’

  ‘And let me guess, the fragrant Miss Hopgood is short of funds and expects Henry to support her in a style to which she aspires to become accustomed.’

  ‘If only it were that simple.’ Martha threw her head back and sighed. ‘The woman has had the temerity to ask Henry to openly throw his patronage behind her failing business, and he’s considering doing so. Told Daniel he had a duty to support local industry.’

  ‘Ye gods.’ Riley took a moment to consider. ‘I know why he is no longer exercising discretion.’

  ‘Tell me.’ Martha leaned forward, refilled their cups and offered Riley a sandwich from the stand.

  ‘Celia got a little carried away herself not so long ago.’ Riley nibbled at the cake he had selected instead of a sandwich.

  ‘Celia?’ Martha’s eyes bulged. ‘You cannot be serious.’

  ‘Never more so,’ Riley said, smiling despite the fact that there was nothing remotely amusing about the situation.

  ‘Why am I only just hearing about this?’

  Riley chuckled. ‘Hard to believe, I know. Let’s just say that there was a scoundrel who was recently murdered. Given his behaviour I was frankly surprised that he hadn’t been bumped off by a cuckolded husband long since. Anyway, I was charged with finding his killer and had to wade through the dozens of women he had charmed money from. Celia was among their number. She had to make the humiliating confession to Henry because the man had letters she had foolishly written to him. Henry suddenly became very aware of his position and begged me to keep the letters out of the public domain if I possibly could.’

  ‘That put you in an awkward position.’

  ‘It would have done if the slightest suspicion had attached itself to Celia, or indeed Henry himself. Can you imagine our mother’s reaction if I put duty before family loyalty?’

  ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about.’ She reached across and touched his hand. ‘Poor Riley.’

  ‘Happily Celia was never a serious suspect so I kept her involvement with the man under wraps and returned her letters to her unopened.’

  ‘Goodness. I’m not sure I’d have been able to resist,’ Martha said, grinning mischievously.

  ‘She was grieving for Jasper at the time and feeling neglected by Henry. I felt a certai
n sympathy for her position, especially since she was not the only pillar of respectability who had been charmed by the scoundrel in question.’

  ‘Bother, I know you are not going to tell me who else…’

  Riley smiled. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Well, you could knock me down with a feather.’ Martha looked both shocked and highly amused. ‘Of all the hypocritical, two-faced… The next time she looks down her nose at me, or tries to pull rank—’

  ‘You will say nothing, Martha.’ Riley fixed his sister with a stern look. ‘I only told you now so that you would better understand the change in our brother’s behaviour. It’s all right for him to have dalliances, but he’s highly incensed because Celia was charmed by the convincing silver tongue of a rogue.’

  ‘Henry is too much like our father. He was equally indiscreet when it came to the fairer sex and seemed to think that being a marquess gave him the right to help himself to anything that took his fancy. I have always admired the fact that you didn’t follow his example, Riley.’

  ‘Henry was swayed by Celia’s pretty face, much as he appears to be similarly influenced once again. He also allowed our mother to bully him into wedlock, probably sooner than he was ready to embrace that institution. God alone knows we’ve all had duty and responsibility drummed into us, but Henry, as a future marquess, was never allowed to forget his position and didn’t have the backbone to tell our mother not to pressure him.’

  ‘You have neglected to mention that Henry isn’t very clever, which is very gracious of you given the trouble he constantly causes us.’

  ‘Our mother is in Chichester at the moment. I hope Henry behaves with decorum while she’s there. She might be getting on in years but she doesn’t miss much. Besides, there’s the question of Sophia’s presentation this coming season. I don’t want her moment in the spotlight thwarted by Henry’s misbehaviour. “The marquess and the potter”,’ he shuddered. ‘I can see the tawdry headlines now since I don’t have the slightest doubt that the woman will go to newspapers and tell all if she doesn’t get what she wants from Henry.’ He threw back his head and sighed. ‘The press have been getting rather above themselves of late. Don’t worry, I’ll talk some sense into him. Somehow.’