‘He chose a most inconvenient time to remember that I exist.’ Sophia chewed her lower lip between her teeth. ‘Just when I was starting to enjoy myself.’
Riley could see that his beloved niece was putting a brave face on a situation that clearly worried her. ‘What is it?’ he asked, throwing his free arm around her shoulders. ‘What did your father have to say for himself?’
‘He wants me to go home,’ she said gloomily.
‘Why?’ Amelia asked. ‘I thought you were settled in London indefinitely with your grandmother and aunt.’
‘So did I, but Papa says I shouldn’t be enjoying myself when Jasper is unwell. But really, he is always unwell.’ Sophia, normally full of joie de vivre, was a study in righteous indignation. ‘I don’t see what I can do to change that,’ she said with straightforward logic. ‘Oh, I know I’m too young be involved with all the society parties and balls and what have you, but it is so much fun being on the periphery.’
‘Sophia gives me courage to face it all,’ Carolyn said. ‘I wasn’t looking forward to it because unlike her I find it hard to express myself to strangers and worry that no one will ask me to dance. But her interest is infectious and it doesn’t seem quite so daunting with her as a friend.’
‘You will have to convince Papa to let me stay,’ Sophia said, tugging at Riley’s arm. ‘He will listen to you.’
‘Perhaps you should propose to the lady who has stolen your heart,’ Amelia suggested when, having been assured of Riley’s help, the girls had wandered off again. ‘That way, your family won’t be able to deny you anything.’
Chapter Sixteen
Riley spent much of the night trying to work out what Amelia had meant by that cryptic remark. He was no nearer to reaching a decision the following morning, so he disciplined himself to concentrate instead upon the murder he had yet to solve. Once he had done that he would have a frank discussion with Amelia and do his utmost to persuade her to talk to him about her first marriage. If she trusted him sufficiently to revisit that unhappy phase in her life, then he would know how to proceed.
But first things first.
‘Morning, sir,’ Salter said, breezing into Riley’s office minutes after Riley himself had arrived. ‘Blimey, you don’t look like you got much sleep. Must be hard, being obliged to dance all night and sleuth all day. Don’t know how you do it.’
‘Sometimes I surprise myself,’ Riley said with a droll smile.
Carter put his head round the door. ‘Derek Huxton’s here,’ he said.
‘Already?’ Salter grinned. ‘Must have a guilty conscience.’
‘Did you conduct the search that I asked you to do when you were in Ware yesterday, Carter?’ Riley asked.
‘We did, sir, and found just what you thought we would. There was nothing suspicious about it.’
Riley nodded. ‘Any paperwork?’
‘Well no.’ Carter shook his head. ‘None that we could find. But it might have been kept in the house.’
‘And equally it might not, because it doesn’t exist.’ Riley stretched his arms above his head, taking a moment to consider the implications of Carter’s discoveries. ‘Thanks, Carter, you did well. Show Huxton into the interview room. We’ll let him stew for a while.’
When Riley and Salter walked in twenty minutes later, Riley was surprised by the extent of Huxton’s agitation. The scar on his face looked pronounced against his pale skin, his attempt to cover it with his whiskers ineffectual. Riley hadn’t slept much the night before. Huxton looked as though he hadn’t slept at all, or bathed, or changed his clothing for a week. The customary red carnation was absent from his buttonhole.
‘Sorry to have kept you waiting,’ Riley said, not sounding in the least bit sorry as he sat himself on the opposite side of the scarred table from Huxton. Salter leaned against the wall, looking menacing as only Salter could when he took against a suspect. Riley noted a film of perspiration decorating Huxton’s brow, despite the fact that the room was cool. It suggested nerves, as did the tremor in his hands, but he still shot Riley an unconvincingly defiant look.
‘I can’t think why you would want to speak to me again, but I’m happy to help in any way that I can. Mary’s disappearance tore our family apart, and it would be helpful if my brother could understand why she felt the need to leave.’
‘I should have thought that having to live with your shrew of a sister would be reason enough,’ Salter said.
Huxton frowned at the insult, but didn’t spring to his sister’s defence. ‘Ruth has her own way of doing things,’ was all he said.
‘My constables told you yesterday that we discovered Mary’s diaries, which have opened up several different lines of enquiry.’
‘Wh-what’s that to me?’
‘What it is to you,’ Salter replied, stepping forward and slapping a hand on the desk hard enough to make the papers Riley had placed on it jump in the air, ‘is that it confirms your culpability. You,’ he added, pointing a thick finger inches from Huxton’s eyes, ‘are the reason why she left. We know you tried to rape her. What sort of a man subjects his own niece to that sort of torture?’
Salter kicked the chair out from under Huxton, sending him sprawling across the rough tiles of the floor. He reached down, picked Huxton up by the lapels of his jacket and slammed him against the wall. Dust puffed from the crumbling brickwork and mingled with the perspiration that now slid freely down Huxton’s face. Huxton sent Riley a supplicating look which Riley pretended not to see. Instead, he picked up one of the papers from the table and pretended to take an interest in its contents.
‘She trusted you, you filthy animal, and you were supposed to protect her!’ Salter raged. ‘We have what you did to her confirmed in her own hand, so there’s no point in denying it, or trying to make excuses for your own depravity. You say her disappearance tore your family apart and yet you knew full well why she left and never said a word.’
Still holding Huxton against the wall, Salter drew back a clenched fist and Riley knew that he longed to knock the man senseless. Uneasy with this case from the first, Salter had finally found someone upon whom he could vent his spleen. Riley tried to imagine how he would feel if anyone took such liberties with his beloved Sophia, more of a daughter to him than a niece. And yet he didn’t feel as shocked as Salter did at Huxton’s inability to control his base desires. He had dealt with enough of life’s degeneracies, he supposed, to have reached the point where plenty of things still disgusted him but nothing shocked him anymore.
‘That will do, sergeant,’ Riley said mildly. ‘Allow Mr Huxton an opportunity to explain himself, if he possibly can.’
Riley watched the fight go out of his sergeant. Salter exhaled loudly, dropped his fist and released Huxton, who immediately moved as far away from him as the confines of the small interview room would allow. He picked up his chair and sat back down at the table, giving Riley an imploring look.
‘This should be interesting,’ Salter muttered, retreating to the wall again and folding his arms across his chest.
‘It isn’t what you think.’ The remnants of Huxton’s self-assurance deserted him and he wiped his now freely sweating brow with his sleeve.
‘It never is,’ Riley responded with a cynical sigh. ‘Mr Huxton, this is your opportunity to tell us the truth and I strongly recommend that you do so.’ Riley looked meaningfully at Salter, who was chewing a thumbnail and glowering at Huxton.
‘Mary and I were close. She’d talk to me in a way that she couldn’t to her mother, and certainly not to my sister. She told me stuff. About how the local lads were always after her and how confused she was by her feelings. Ruth was always telling her it was sinful to feel…well, what it’s natural for a pretty young girl to feel when a lad pays her attention.’
‘So you took matters a step further and demonstrated your point.’
‘No!’ He slumped in his chair. ‘She used to sit on my lap when she was little. She was crying
one day because Ruth had done something mean and it just seemed natural for her to crawl into my lap for some comfort.’ He spread his hands. ‘I’m only human. She must have felt my response, realised what it meant and turned into a wildcat, screaming and crying and hurling accusations at me.’
‘Wild enough to cut your face?’ Riley asked, not believing a word of it.
‘That was another time. I’m telling you, she overreacted and ran away because she knew she’d got it wrong.’
‘All right,’ Riley said, leaning back in his chair. ‘Let’s pretend that I believe your account. Why did you lie about the number of times you saw Mary here in London?’
‘Was she trying to blackmail you?’ Salter asked belligerently. ‘Did she want revenge?’
‘No. I keep telling you—’
‘Stop lying to us!’ Riley didn’t raise his voice but spoke with enough authority to make Huxton’s shoulders slump as he shrunk in on himself, putting Riley in mind of a tortoise retreating into its shell. ‘We haven’t got all day, so we will tell you what we know. You went to France on your brother’s behalf, but you also just happened to return early on the day that Mary was murdered and are not able to account for your movements.’
‘Which makes you our prime suspect,’ Salter added.
‘You have two choices. You can either tell us what you were really doing, or we will charge you with your niece’s murder, and lock you in a cell that’s full of last night’s drunks.’
Riley remained silent, allowing the man a moment to ponder. Riley was fairly sure that he knew the truth, and that Huxton had not murdered the girl, but he needed to hear it from his own lips.
‘Very well,’ Huxton said after a long period of silence, ‘I was overseeing the import of some extra barrels of wine.’
‘Barrels that you omitted to pay duty on,’ Riley clarified.
‘Look, my brother’s been in a mess since the death of his wife. He blames himself for that and for Mary’s disappearance. He’s pretty much lost his mind and doesn’t care about the business our father worked to establish, so it gets left to me to keep it running. Times have changed, there’s more competition in the wine business since it’s gained in popularity and less scrupulous dealers undercut our prices because they don’t have any qualms about smuggling in the merchandise.’
‘So you store it in those outhouses on your brother’s estate and distribute it from there, away from prying eyes and questioning officials,’ Riley surmised.
‘You knew!’
‘My constables took a look yesterday. None of the barrels in those stores had been stamped by customs’ officials.’
‘Well then.’ Huxton spread his hands. ‘You can prosecute me for trying to save my brother’s hide. You can think what you like about my relationship with my niece. You will anyway. But you sure as hell can’t accuse me of killing her because I was miles away at the time and I can prove it. My sister, as you rightly pointed out, is narrow-minded but she ain’t no liar. She says I was at home that night because I was. She just didn’t tell you what I was doing there.’
‘She approves of your smuggling operation?’ Salter asked.
‘Oh, good Heavens no!’ Huxton gave a derisive sniff. ‘When did she ever approve of anything? But she ain’t stupid and knows that her comfortable existence is dependent upon my turning a profit in a business that’s struggling.’
‘Are your nephews involved in the smuggling?’ Salter asked.
‘No,’ Huxton said emphatically. ‘They just do as they’re told. They don’t have the wits to think and act independently.’
‘But Mary knew what you were doing, didn’t she?’ Riley said. ‘She kept abreast of her family’s activities and became curious when she encountered you colluding with the shifty individuals who smuggled the wine in for you. Unlike her brothers, she did have wits and put it all together. That’s why you saw her more than once and didn’t want me to know about it. She was attempting to blackmail you.’
‘I knew it!’ Salter cried. ‘An excellent motive for murder, if ever I heard one.’
‘Yeah, she tried, but I told her to go right ahead. I never keep the wine at my brother’s house for long and it would have been gone before she could persuade anyone to investigate. Besides, if she did that she would have had to reveal her own identity and let her family know what she had become. I pointed that out to her and she knew we’d reached a stalemate.’ Huxton sat a little straighter, confidence creeping back into his expression. ‘She could accuse me of whatever she liked. She could write fictional accounts of what she wants to think happened, but she had no proof because it wasn’t true.’
Riley and Salter exchanged a look. Riley was convinced that he was telling the truth, at least as far as his recent dealings with Adelaide were concerned. Whether or not he had actually attempted to rape her was another matter. Riley was inclined to think that he had.
‘Very well. Make a full statement to my constable about the smuggling. Names, dates, customs officials who’ve been bribed to turn a blind eye and I will see what I can do to help you.’ Riley sighed. ‘It would have been useful if you’d told me all of this from the beginning. Then we wouldn’t have wasted so much time looking at you.’
Huxton shook his head. ‘I was hoping it wouldn’t have to come out…the smuggling, that is.’ He sighed. ‘Well, I’ve done my best by the family but I suppose it’s all over now.’
There was a tap at the door and Carter put his head round it. He looked agitated. Riley acknowledged him and stepped outside to see what it was that he wanted.
‘It’s Mirabelle, sir,’ he said breathlessly. ‘She left Mrs Sinclair’s early this morning and Peterson just sent word that he followed her to Battersea.’
Riley elevated both brows as the pieces fell into place. ‘To visit Mrs Clement, I assume.’
Carter nodded.
‘Well, well, the plot thickens.’ Riley explained about Huxton’s shenanigans. ‘Take his statement and then lock him up. I don’t have time to worry about him now. Salter,’ he yelled. ‘With me.’
Riley borrowed two uniformed constables from Sergeant Barton and the small procession made their way rapidly to Battersea.
‘They are in it together?’ Salter asked, looking bemused.
‘So much for honour amongst whores,’ Riley replied bitterly. ‘No wonder Celeste asked to see me alone. She put up a show of caring about Adelaide that totally fooled me.’
‘It’s what these women do.’ Salter curled his upper lip disapprovingly, setting the ends of the moustache twitching. ‘They are expert manipulators, and we’re just men.’
‘Even so, I shouldn’t have taken her word at face value.’
‘No reason not to, until you knew that she stood to inherit,’ Salter said as the cab conveying them to Battersea rattled along at a dangerously fast pace, the driver having been promised a large tip if he got them there in record time. The constables he had borrowed followed behind them at a more sedate pace in the wagon used to transport prisoners. Riley knew that he would not be leaving Battersea without making arrests. ‘Did Mirabelle cut her rival’s throat?’
‘That is a question I fully intend to put to her,’ Riley said with grim determination. ‘I have had quite enough of being taken for a fool.’
Riley had the cab stop a short distance away from Celeste’s abode. He paid the jarvey the promised amount and he and Salter then walked the remainder of the way. Peterson greeted them upon their arrival.
‘They’re still both inside, sir,’ he said to Riley. ‘They’ve been in there for some time but I didn’t dare get any closer for fear of being seen.’
‘You did well, Peterson. Is there a back entrance?’
‘Yes, there’s a long garden that leads onto a pathway behind this row of houses. You get to it round this end house.’
Riley summoned the two constables who had just arrived. ‘Round the back,’ he said. ‘If anyone, man or woman tries to flee
from that house, detain them by whatever means necessary.’
The constables saluted and quickly disappeared from view.
‘Right then, Peterson, you’re with us, and keep your wits about you.’
Peterson grinned. ‘You can depend on me, sir.’
Salter didn’t bother to knock and warn the women of their arrival. He simply turned the handle, found the door unlocked and walked through it, followed by Riley. A maid rushed forward, noticed Peterson in his uniform and as quickly disappeared. Raised voices came from the parlour that Riley had been in once before. He stayed Salter with a signal and they listened to what was being said.
‘You owe me,’ Mirabelle said. ‘And I want what’s mine.’
‘You’re talking rubbish. No one forced you to do anything.’
‘I’ll tell ’em what I know.’
Celeste chuckled. ‘And implicate yourself in a murder? I don’t think so. You shouldn’t be here. Now go and don’t bother me again or you will live to regret it.’ Celeste paused, her voice shrill, the cultured, modulated tone that had taken Riley in on his previous visit no longer in evidence.
‘She kept a diary. The police found it, so they’ll know all about you and Adelaide.’
‘They will know what I’ve already told them, which is the truth. Adelaide was my friend and I helped her. In return, she was helping Michael and me.’
‘Michael? Who the devil is Michael? The cove who set you up in this place, I suppose.’ Riley could hear the sneer in Mirabelle’s voice. ‘You’re no better than Adelaide was.’
Celeste’s chuckle held a wicked edge. ‘I, my dear, am a survivor.’
‘And you do whatever you have to in order to keep it that way.’
‘Don’t we all?’
‘If Adelaide was such a good friend to you, why did you kill her?’
Riley tensed as he shared a look with Salter, waiting to hear Celeste condemn herself with her own words.
‘I didn’t,’ Celeste said carelessly. ‘I was nowhere near the place and have witnesses to prove it.’
Death of a Courtesan: Riley Rochester Investigates Page 25
