Death of a Scoundrel (Riley Rochester Investigates Book 4)

by Wendy Soliman

  ‘If you had another inspector in mind to conduct the enquiry, I have plenty to keep me occupied,’ Riley said, indicating the papers strewn across his desk.

  ‘No, you’re the best man to flush out one of your own. I just don’t like being bypassed, that’s all. Procedures are in place for a reason.’

  ‘I was about to come and find you and give you a progress report.’

  Riley spent five minutes telling his superior what little they had thus far learned.

  ‘Hmm, tricky one,’ Danforth said, rubbing his chin. ‘Sounds like the man prostituted himself. It’ll stir up a hornet’s nest if he was taking liberties with members of his own class, which clearly he was.’

  Riley thought it far from clear but refrained from saying so. Danforth liked to take the credit for coming up with original ideas, but left others to find the evidence to substantiate them. Riley agreed that Woodrow had likely accepted favours in return for services rendered, but the precise nature of those services had yet to be established.

  ‘Need to proceed with caution, Rochester. Influential people won’t thank us for airing their dirty linen.’

  ‘I have a killer to apprehend and a number of avenues still to explore,’ Riley said, deliberately keeping things vague, ‘but I fear some degree of embarrassment is inevitable.’ He stretched his arms above his head, wishing that Danforth would stop telling him how to do his job. Riley was better versed in the ways of his own social class than his superior officer ever would be. ‘I shall know more once the post mortem has been completed.’

  ‘Yes well, keep me informed. I will update the superintendent.’

  ‘Of course you will,’ Riley muttered sotto voce as Danforth hauled himself to his feet and waddled off.

  Riley decided that he had more than pulled his weight on his first day back at the Yard, so he collected up his outdoor garments and took himself off. Arriving home at his Sloane Street townhouse a short time later, he regaled his man Stout with particulars of the murder as Stout helped him to bath and change into evening attire.

  ‘An unfortunate situation, my lord,’ Stout said. ‘I take it you have a role in mind for me.’

  Riley explained about Lord Durand’s possible involvement.

  ‘Leave it to me. By the time you return from entertaining Mrs Cosgrove this evening I shall have information for you.’

  ‘Good man.’

  Riley elected to walk to Amelia’s Chelsea residence. Frigid temperatures overcame the worst of the smells and kept all but the hardiest or most desperate ne’er-do-wells indoors, making the streets that much safer. Even so, Riley remained vigilant. A lone man from the upper classes walking unaccompanied after dark still made a prime target.

  He arrived at his destination unmolested, suppressing a sigh when confronted by the sight of his mother’s carriage waiting outside. He had been looking forward to spending his first evening since returning to his occupation alone with his intended. His mother had thoroughly disapproved of Riley’s choice until he confided in her that Amelia’s first marriage had remained unconsummated, thereby negating the possibility of her being barren. Now that Mother knew the truth, she chose to believe that she had been responsible for her younger son’s felicity. She had called upon Amelia for some reason or other every day since her return from Chichester, lending the public seal of approval she deemed essential to the match.

  Amelia was more patient than Riley would have been in her position, and far kinder to his mother than she had any right to expect. The dowager marchioness had taken little trouble to hide her disapproval of Amelia before she had been fully informed of the facts, actively pushing other females Riley’s way and all but cutting Amelia. Now it seemed she could do no wrong. But in all fairness Riley conceded that he had kept his mother waiting for years before tying the knot, so he could scarcely resent the pleasure she took from planning the forthcoming ceremony, especially since she had just seen her only grandson buried.

  Riley was admitted to the house by Norris, Amelia’s butler.

  ‘A bitter night, my lord,’ Norris said, taking Riley’s hat and helping him out of his coat. ‘We shall have a white Christmas, like as not.’

  ‘It seems that way, Norris.’ Riley adjusted the fall of his coat and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Don’t trouble to announce me,’ he added, striding towards the drawing room as Norris opened the door for him.

  ‘Riley.’ Amelia’s face lit up at the sight of him, causing the travails of his working day fall away.

  ‘Good evening, ladies.’

  ‘There you are, Riley. We had quite given up on you. I cannot begin to imagine what they have you doing all day.’

  ‘Investigating a murder, Mother,’ he said, dutifully bending to kiss her cheek, aware that he was not late at all. His mother knew it too and had doubtless timed this visit with the deliberate intention of seeing him as well as Amelia.

  ‘Please!’ She shuddered. ‘Amelia’s drawing room is no place for such talk.’

  Riley sent Amelia a speaking look, allowing his amusement to show as he kissed her with lingering tenderness.

  ‘It was most inconsiderate of Roderick Woodrow to get himself murdered on my first day back at Scotland Yard, I do agree with you, Mother.’ He nodded his thanks as Norris handed him a glass of whisky that he hadn’t needed to ask for, and took a chair beside Amelia. ‘But we will not speak of it,’ he added, well aware that his mother, despite her protests, would be bursting with curiosity.

  ‘It’s true then,’ she said. ‘I did hear a whisper. Poor Roderick.’

  ‘We were just now wondering if you would be charged with investigating the crime,’ Amelia remarked. ‘I am sorry about Rod. He was a wicked charmer, but entertaining for all that—and very popular.’

  ‘So I have been told by everyone I’ve spoken to thus far.’

  ‘Men who behave so outrageously must expect the consequences,’ his mother said, but her frosty expression lightened as she spoke, proving that even she had not been entirely immune to the man’s fascination. Dear God, if he had managed to break through his mother’s reserves then finding the guilty party would be akin to seeking a needle in the proverbial haystack. ‘Even so, I was just now saying to Amelia that if anyone can track down the culprit, it will be you, Riley. I cannot pretend to approve of what you do, but you are at least proficient at it. Well, you must be, you are a Rochester, and Rochesters always excel at whatever task they undertake.’

  ‘Thank you for the vote of confidence, Mother.’ Riley took a healthy sip of his drink, somehow managing not to laugh at her double standards. ‘Are you aware if he had developed an interest in anyone in particular?’

  ‘How could I possibly know that?’ His mother sat a little straighter and attempted to look disapproving, whereas Riley knew she adored being treated as a potential source of helpful information. ‘As if I would take an interest in his peccadilloes.’

  ‘Perish the thought,’ Riley replied, sharing a smile with Amelia.

  ‘And you can stop laughing at me, Riley Rochester. All I can tell you is that no woman was safe when Mr Woodrow was on the prowl, even if she was married.’ She gave a small sniff of disapproval. ‘Especially then.’

  ‘Did they want to be safe?’ Amelia asked. ‘Rod was the most terrible flirt, but I think he was basically harmless.’

  ‘Someone didn’t agree. If you hear anything, Mother, I should be glad to know, but please don’t make a point of asking. And most particularly, please do not tell anyone that I asked for your help.’ Riley fixed her with a steely look. ‘It’s important that details of the investigation do not leak out.’

  ‘Since you haven’t chosen to share the details with your own mother, then there is nothing much I could say.’ She adopted an aloof expression. ‘Now then, can we talk about what’s really important? Your forthcoming nuptials.’

  ‘The wedding is to be small, as agreed,’ Riley said. ‘The whole family will only just be out of mourning.’

  ‘But
it’s still a cause for celebration. Goodness only knows, we need one after all the worry we have had to endured over Jasper. I was just now saying to Amelia that we should extend the guest list. We are bound to give offence if we do not include everyone.’

  Riley glanced at Amelia, who simply lifted one shoulder. ‘Do what you think is best, Mother. We will be guided by you.’

  ‘Fine. Henry will host a reception at Rochester House.’

  ‘That is unnecessary.’

  ‘I disagree, Riley. These things must be done properly.’

  Which was all well and good, but Riley doubted whether his brother could afford the lavish affair his mother would doubtless insist upon. Riley would make it clear to Henry that he would foot the bill himself.

  ‘Very well, Mother. Have it your way.’

  Which, Riley knew, was the response she had been aiming for. Having elicited it, she stood to take her leave.

  ‘Are you sure you will not stay and dine with us, Dorotha?’ Amelia asked.

  Dorotha? Riley sent Amelia a speaking look, unable to completely conceal his shock. No one, but no one, addressed his formidable mother by her Christian name, not even Celia, the current marchioness, who had been married to Riley’s brother for almost twenty years. Yet Amelia, who a few weeks ago had been the spawn of the devil in his mother’s eyes, had clearly been granted that questionable privilege.

  ‘Heavens no, you don’t need me getting in the way.’ His mother beamed at him, a rare occurrence, and Riley was glad to see her recovering her spirits. ‘Sophia is itching to come back to London and I think Henry will allow it after Christmas. I shall go down to Chichester, of course, and I had hoped that the two of you would—’

  ‘Sorry, Mother, but best not. Celia needs time to adjust to her loss and…well, everything.’ Riley and Celia did not see eye to eye and his sister-in-law would be spitting feathers now that Riley was Henry’s heir.

  ‘I suppose you are right. Martha and Gaston will come down, of course,’ she said, referring to Riley’s youngest sister, married to the Viscount Gaston, ‘and one of us will bring Sophia back with us if Celia can spare her. I am sure she will be frantic to be included in the wedding preparations.’

  ‘She is welcome to spend as much time with me as she likes,’ Amelia generously offered. ‘I enjoy her company.’

  ‘Well, I shall be off then. Good night, Riley.’

  She offered her cheek, Riley dutifully kissed it and his mother swept regally from the room. Amelia laughed and fanned her face with her hand once they heard the front door close behind her.

  ‘She is quite a force of nature.’

  ‘I’m sorry if she plagues you. I did warn you that being in her good books can be exhausting. But Dorotha? Heavens above, you’re favoured.’

  ‘She’s lonely, Riley,’ Amelia replied resting her head on his shoulder and entwining her fingers with his. ‘And she enjoys seeing you happy. You cannot deny her that, not after everything she has been through.’ She paused and glanced up at him. ‘You are happy, I hope.’

  ‘I put on a good pretence,’ he replied, earning himself a punch on the arm from his beloved. ‘I hope you don’t mind if this wedding turns into something you did not want.’

  ‘I don’t mind in the least, just so long as you don’t take to your heels when it all gets too lavish.’

  ‘Not a chance! You accepted my proposal and I have not the least intention of releasing you from the commitment now.’

  ‘I thought your mother was keen to observe the proprieties, but I was surprised when you said she could do more or less as she likes.’

  ‘I wanted to keep it small to avoid embarrassing Celia, but if Mother has decided otherwise then Celia will just have to fall into line.’ He smiled and gently cupped Amelia’s face in his hand. ‘Besides, you deserve to have a church full of guests to admire you and envy me.’

  Norris interrupted them to announce that dinner was served. They dined in intimate seclusion, talking about everything other than murder, and dismissed the servants as soon as they had finished.

  ‘Will you not stay the night, Riley?’ Amelia asked a short time later when they were intimately entwined in Amelia’s bedroom. ‘No one in this house is fooled by our pretence, you know.’

  ‘Best not. I have an early start in the morning and I will not want to go and discharge my duties if you are there to delay me.’

  ‘Well, you said yourself that it’s never too early to create that heir your mother is so keen to see born.’

  ‘Why else would I be here?’

  She laughed and set about reminding him.

  Chapter Five

  ‘Lord Durand is in residence in his London abode, my lord,’ Stout informed Riley the following morning as he served his breakfast. ‘He arrived by train late the night before last but left Lady Laura in Yorkshire. He is here to take part in an important debate in the House of Lords.’

  ‘How late did he arrive, Stout? Do we have a copy of Bradshaw that will tell us what time the last train from York got in?’

  ‘We have, my lord, and it arrived at King’s Cross at just after ten. I managed to ascertain that Lord Durand’s carriage met him from the station and took him directly to Durand House. He did not leave it again until yesterday morning.’

  ‘As far as anyone knows,’ Riley replied pensively. ‘If he wanted to go out again once his servants had retired, I dare say no one would be any the wiser—and if they were, they would know better than to speak out of turn.’

  ‘Your make loyalty in a servant sound like a vice.’

  Riley shot Stout a considering look. A man of few words and unswerving loyalty himself, Stout seldom expressed his opinion or attempted humour. ‘In my line of work it can be,’ Riley said. ‘I shall have to pay Durand a visit in my official capacity sooner rather than later and no doubt ruffle his feathers in the process. He will tell me that he didn’t kill Woodrow, of course, and I doubt whether I shall be in a position to prove otherwise if I don’t believe him.’

  ‘You’ve solved more hopeless-seeming cases, my lord. Anyway, this note was hand-delivered whilst you were attending to your ablutions.’

  ‘Who delivered it?’

  ‘I couldn’t say. It was put through the letterbox whilst I was preparing your breakfast, but as you can see, it has not been stamped.’

  ‘I do see,’ Riley replied as he examined the letter and slit the seal with the paperknife Stout handed to him. ‘It is a lady’s hand but not one that’s familiar to me.’ He glanced at the signature. ‘Mrs Kempton, what the devil…’

  Mrs Kempton, an attractive heiress whose father’s connections afforded him limited acceptance within the fiercely protective upper echelons of society, had been besieged by fortune hunters as soon as she came out. They turned a collective blind eye to the fact that her father actually worked for a living. A dealer in gold bullion and rare coins—an occupation through which he had accrued considerable wealth—made his only child, his daughter and named heir, a highly desirable prize on the marriage mart. She could have taken her pick from her myriad suitors—Riley knew of an impecunious marquess’s heir who had harboured expectations—and yet she had disappointed them all by choosing to marry Kempton, her father’s junior associate, less than two years previously. Such an unwise choice, swiftly followed by her father’s death, meant that society’s doors, for the most part, had remained closed to the couple. There were only so many allowances that could be made, it seemed, before lines were drawn.

  Riley read Mrs Kempton’s note and brightened considerably when he digested its contents.

  ‘Well, well,’ he said, folding it and placing it in his pocket. ‘She has heard of Woodrow’s demise—’

  ‘All of London is talking of little else, my lord.’

  ‘Mrs Kempton has something of a delicate nature to discuss with me about the dearly departed. She depends upon my discretion and will talk only to me. I am to call upon her at her Park Lane address at eleven this morning, when I wil
l find her there alone.’

  ‘Do you think you should see her alone, my lord? If word were to reach her husband, I hear rumours that he is the possessive type.’

  ‘I rather think I must take that risk.’

  ‘Then at least permit me to drive you there. I can wait outside but—’

  ‘Don’t worry, Stout. I get the feeling that Mrs Kempton wants to get something off her conscience and has asked me to call at a specific time because her husband will not be there. We have no other substantial leads, other than the fact that Durand was in London when we thought him to be in Yorkshire. But he has a legitimate reason for being here, so that doesn’t get me any further forward. He is a senior and active member of the upper house, which is scheduled to debate the new Education Act before Parliament rises for the Christmas recess. As an academic himself, he has fought for educational rights for all children and wouldn’t want to miss the debate, even if it means leaving his daughter alone in Yorkshire.’ He put his napkin aside and stood. ‘I dare say I shall survive my meeting with Mrs Kempton with my reputation intact.’

  ‘The lady may not realise that what she has to tell you cannot remain confidential, my lord, not if it implicates anyone in her circle.’

  ‘We shall see.’ Riley, who had already considered that point, glanced out the window and groaned when he saw sleet falling heavily and low, dark clouds threatening to unload more of the same. ‘Hail me a cab, Stout, there’s a good fellow,’ he said, pulling on his warmest coat and plonking his hat on his head. ‘Oh, by the way, Mrs Cosgrove and I are dining with Lord and Lady Torbay this evening and I will require you to drive us.’

  ‘Very good, my lord.’

  Stout availed himself of an umbrella and stepped into the street to hail the required cab. Riley thanked him and arrived at Scotland Yard on the heels of Salter, who looked cold and decidedly damp.

  ‘Good morning, Jack,’ he said cheerfully.

  ‘Nothing good about it, sir,’ Salter grumbled. ‘Had to wait an age for an omnibus and then there was no room inside and I had to travel on the knife-board. The damned thing travelled at a snail’s pace. Would have been quicker to walk, what with it stopping every two minutes to pick up more passengers even though there weren’t no room for them. Mind you, I was so wet by then that it didn’t make much odds.’