Death of an Artist (Riley Rochester Investigates Book 5)

by Wendy Soliman

  ‘Now he has to live with her death on his conscience, even if he didn’t wield the knife that killed her.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  A tap on the door announced the arrival of Giles Manton, the footman.

  ‘You wished to see me, gentlemen.’

  He stood before them, feet slightly apart, hands clasped behind his back. He was a short, stocky individual with a shock of ginger hair and the freckles to go with it. He took little persuading to talk about Miss Mottram.

  ‘A right madam, so she was, full of herself. Looked upon herself as above her company, as my old Mum would say.’

  ‘Attractive, though,’ Riley remarked.

  ‘And well she knew it.’ Giles sniffed. ‘I’m sorry she’s dead. She didn’t deserve that, but I didn’t like her much.’

  ‘She rejected your advances, I take it,’ Riley suggested mildly.

  ‘You what?’ Giles laughed. ‘Not me. Too self-aware for my tastes, was that one. Anyway, I’m walking out with Sally, one of the maids here. She’d come after me with a blunt knife if I so much as looked at another woman. Besides, I’m no oil painting. I know that, but Sally likes me for who I am. Why would I want to risk all that for a tart like Melanie Mottram? She would never settle for a mere footman and would always want more than I could provide her with.’

  ‘Why indeed?’ Riley settled himself in a more comfortable position, stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed his feet at the ankles. ‘Any idea who Miss Mottram did have in her sights?’

  ‘The young master. Batted her lashes at him at every opportunity, so she did, but he didn’t take much notice of her. That made us all laugh, seeing her getting some of her own medicine.’

  Giles knew nothing about Miss Mottram’s extra-curricular activities and seemed genuinely disinterested in her. Riley thanked him and sent him on his way, asking him to send Sterling in next.

  Lord Vermont’s valet proved to be younger than Riley had anticipated—no more than thirty—and devastatingly handsome. With a thick fall of dark hair and keen grey eyes, Riley found it hard to believe that the victim wouldn’t have been attracted to him. If she resisted him because he couldn’t further her ambitions, it implied that she really was very single-minded.

  ‘You have worked as Lord Vermont’s valet for three years,’ Riley said by way of introduction.

  ‘That I have, sir.’ Sterling kept his response short and respectful, making no effort to enhance it, as so many witnesses felt a pressing desire to do when confronted by a detective’s questions.

  ‘How did you get along with Miss Mottram?’

  ‘Well enough. She kept herself apart from the rest of us, so I didn’t have much to do with her.’

  ‘You must have wanted to though,’ Salter said. ‘She was a pretty gal, by all accounts.’

  ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,’ Sterling responded evasively.

  ‘Quite so,’ Riley said, cutting across whatever Salter had been about to say. ‘Can you tell us anything about the lady’s friends, or what she did in her spare time?’

  Sterling shook his head. ‘I cannot. I saw her once, in the tavern in the village, The Greyhound. She was with some gent. I couldn’t see who. I was across the road, obviously.’

  Riley flexed a brow. ‘Obviously?’

  ‘Ah, of course, you wouldn’t know. There are two taverns in the village, more or less opposite one another. The Greyhound is frequented by the gentry, which made me a bit surprised to see Motty in there. Not that I’d expect to see a lady in a tavern at all, but there you have it. Across the road is The Crown, which is the local’s local. A far more down-to-earth, spit and sawdust sort of place, if you take my meaning.’ Riley nodded to confirm that he did. ‘Anyway, I have no idea who took Miss Mottram into the Greyhound and didn’t tell her that I’d seen her because I really didn’t care.’

  ‘You expect us to believe that?’ Salter growled.

  ‘Believe what you like, sergeant. I didn’t kill Motty, nor do I know who did. I was here all of last night. I share a room with Giles Manton and he can vouch for my whereabouts. I was never alone and didn’t leave the house at any point.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Riley said. ‘You can go.’

  ‘Why’d you let him off so quickly?’ Salter asked the moment the door closed behind Stirling. ‘Don’t tell me you think he didn’t try it on with the gal.’

  ‘That is what I am telling you, Jack. How many times must I remind you to observe witness’s evasiveness to certain questions and learn from what they don’t say.’

  Riley waited until his sergeant caught on. ‘Ah, you think he doesn’t have any interest in the opposite sex.’

  ‘I would say that you or I would be more to his liking.’

  ‘Aw gawd, another one of them.’

  ‘I think it very likely.’ Riley pushed himself to his feet. ‘Come along. Let’s have a word with the groom, and I’d like to see that side gate for myself. Bring the key we found in the victim’s purse. We need to be sure that’s what it unlocks.’

  ‘Where do you suppose she obtained the key?’ Salter asked as they retrieved their hats and coats and made their way out into the cold.

  ‘From Daniel Vermont, is my guess. Think about it, Jack. If she went up to London on her afternoons off in order to be with him when he finished his duties, there wasn’t the slightest chance of her returning before dark, so she had to have a way to get into the grounds.’

  ‘And the house itself?’

  ‘Ah, that’s the stumbling block. She must have had help, but so far we haven’t found anyone who has a good word to say for her.’

  ‘I reckon Kemp would’ve watched her comings and goings,’ Salter grumbled. ‘Perhaps he colluded with her, in return for…well, favours.’

  ‘Can’t see it myself,’ Riley replied. ‘She was aiming higher than a butler. If she couldn’t charm her way into his good graces, she would have found another way to overcome the inconvenience of a curfew.’

  ‘Aye, most likely.’

  Davidson, the groom, looked old enough to retire. Small and wiry, he walked with a permanent stoop and bandy legs. Even so, Riley suspected that he was as strong and as healthy as the horses he cared for. His twinkling eyes were bright with curiosity, but his expression remained sombre.

  ‘Miss Mottram was a live wire,’ he said, allowing himself a brief smile. ‘A bit of a law unto herself, she was. But she had some spunk about her. Knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it. “Davey,” she said to me on more than one occasion, “life is what you make it and I don’t plan to spend mine trying to drum dull facts into the heads of other people’s children.” Aye, she was ambitious, right enough, but she obviously sailed too close to the wind once too often.’ He turned his head and spat on the ground. ‘Shame about that.’

  ‘You found her?’

  ‘I did. Gave me a right turn, I don’t mind telling you.’

  ‘What made you look in that direction?’

  ‘The key,’ he replied as though it ought to be obvious.

  ‘What key?’ Riley asked.

  ‘The key to the kitchen door. I keeps one in the tack room. Part of me duties is to lug in logs for the fires, and I do that first thing. Don’t have much need for sleep at my age so I likes to keep busy. That’s why I have me own key. Anyway, when missy comes in late from her afternoons off, which she does more often than not, she lets herself in through that gate over yonder.’ He pointed to the gate in question with a gnarled finger. ‘I gave her the spare key to it myself.’

  ‘This key?’ Salter produced the one they had taken from Miss Mottram’s purse.

  ‘Aye, that looks like the one.’

  ‘Why?’ Riley asked. ‘Surely, if you were caught handing out keys it would be more than your position is worth.’

  Davidson shrugged. ‘Didn’t see no harm in the lass having a bit of fun.’ He paused. ‘Given what happened, perhaps I should have. Anyway, she lets herself in through the gate, then ta
kes the kitchen key to let herself in. But it were still there this morning, which is why I worried something might have happened to her.’

  ‘Do you know who she went to see on her afternoons off?’ Riley asked.

  Davidson chuckled. ‘Nope, and I didn’t want to. But she used to laugh herself silly sometimes when she came out for a chat. She’d tell me that men were universally stupid, myself excluded. She was always careful to make that point.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you know what she meant by all men being stupid,’ Salter said, sighing.

  ‘I can take a good guess. She used her feminine wiles to make an impression upon any man with brass in his pocket who might be in need of a wife. She fully intended to raise herself up from her relatively humble origins. Her words, not mine. “Davey,” she used to say to me, “it’s as easy to fall in love with a rich man as it is a blacksmith and a great deal more comfortable.”’ The old man chuckled and scratched his nose. ‘Well, you have to hand it to her. She was right about that much.’

  Having extracted all the information that the groom could supply them with, Riley and Salter rejoined Carter and Soames in the morning room.

  ‘None of the female servants had any time for the victim,’ Carter said, ‘and didn’t know much about her activities.’

  ‘None of them will be weeping over her demise, either,’ Soames added. ‘Sally tells us that she walks out with the footman and never had reason to feel threatened by Miss Mottram’s presence, so I think we can rule him out.’

  Riley updated the constables on what he and Salter had learned and surmised.

  ‘I want you two to take yourselves off to Devon,’ he told Carter and Soames. They looked pleased at the prospect of the unexpected jaunt. ‘Someone has to inform Mr Mottram of his daughter’s demise and I would prefer not to send the news in a telegram. I want to know how he reacts to it. Besides, he will have to come up to London and identify the body, at which point I’d like to talk to him myself. I want to know what it was that he asked her to reconsider in his letters, and why those letters stopped. You have taken his address from his correspondence?’ Carter nodded. ‘Right. Get back up to London and then onto the first train to Devon. Put up overnight somewhere local, see Mottram first thing in the morning and bring him back with you once you’ve broken the news. Insist upon his coming if he tries to prevaricate. I don’t have the time or inclination to go to him.’

  ‘Right you are, sir.’

  ‘What about us?’ Salter asked, watching his colleagues depart.

  ‘We are going to the college to see if we can discover the identity of Miss Mottram’s friend there. After that, I think a visit to Daniel Vermont is overdue.’

  Chapter Four

  The impressive college buildings were situated on sixty acres of Dulwich common and provided employment for a vast number of locals in various capacities; most of them menial. Occasional scuffles broke out in the village between senior boys and local residents, but on the whole the elite establishment went about the business of educating the country’s next batch of doctors, lawyers and politicians without creating too much discord.

  ‘Nice schooling if you can afford it,’ Salter remarked, sniffing as he looked up at the façade of the rambling building. They watched a number of adolescents running the length of a rugby pitch, tossing a ball before being tackled to the ground and yelled at by a master who ran up and down the sidelines with a whistle in his mouth. Master and boys seemed impervious to the biting cold.

  Upon being admitted to the grounds by a porter and asked their business, Riley presented his credentials and asked to see the master. They were conducted to a small ante-room that would have benefited from a fire, its spartan interior reflecting the detectives’ less than fulsome welcome.

  ‘Ever felt unloved, sir?’ Salter asked with another disgruntled sniff.

  ‘We won’t be kept waiting for long. This sort of establishment doesn’t want policemen stirring up their routine.’

  ‘We’ll do more than stir the pot if we think someone here killed the poor lass.’

  ‘That we will, Jack.’

  The door opened. ‘The master will see you now, gentlemen.’

  A prefect led them across a wide flagstoned entrance hall and up a small flight of stairs. Trophy cabinets lined the walls, recording past successes. A board listing names of head boys past and present took up a significant spot. The prefect tapped on a door and upon being invited to enter, dutifully turned the handle and stood to one side.

  ‘Your visitors, sir.’

  ‘Thank you, Paulson.’

  Paulson withdrew and closed the door quietly. Riley thought it interesting but not surprising that the lad hadn’t known they were Scotland Yard detectives. If he had, he wouldn’t have looked so disinterested and their identity would have spread through the ranks of the students and thence onto their parents faster than Riley’s sister-in-law could spend fifty guineas. He knew from experience that those charged with running establishments such as this one put reputation before all else. Gaining their cooperation in a murder investigation, even if Riley suspected someone here to be the culprit—especially then—would, he also knew, be an uphill struggle.

  The man who stood from behind an ornate desk to greet them wore a traditional scholar’s gown and an air of self-importance. He subjected both men to scathing appraisals, but his rigidity lessened when he took in Riley’s pristine apparel.

  ‘I am Doctor Hayward, master of this establishment. How may I be of assistance to Scotland Yard?’ he asked. ‘I cannot imagine any of the high-spirited pranks carried out by our boys being sufficiently serious to warrant the attention of two such senior officers.’ He glanced at the card which Riley had given to the porter and which had found its way into the master’s hands. His tone remained condescending, bordering on the impolite. Riley disliked him on sight.

  ‘We require your assistance.’ Riley’s refined accent caused an immediate alternation in the master’s attitude.

  ‘You are Lord Riley Rochester.’ He made it sound like an accusation. ‘Your reputation precedes you, my lord. I have read about your successes in tracking down dangerous criminals and commend your dedication to a career that few would select through choice, as you appear to have done.’ He scratched his ear. ‘But that only makes your presence here harder to fathom.’ He waved Riley to a chair, which he declined to take, obliging Hayward to remain standing also. Salter leaned against the closed door, pencil poised. ‘However, you are assured of my complete cooperation.’ Riley doubted that, but allowed the untruth to pass unchallenged. ‘How may I be of assistance, Lord Riley?’

  ‘We would like your help in discovering the identity of a tutor from this establishment seen in heated conversation with a young local lady a short time ago.’

  Dr Hayward frowned. ‘I do not encourage members of my teaching staff to associate with local females,’ he replied haughtily. ‘Besides, there are twenty members of the teaching faculty. Without a name I don’t see how—’

  ‘If we had a name, we wouldn’t need your help,’ Salter growled.

  ‘Your tutors don’t frequent the local taverns?’ Riley raised a sceptical brow. ‘The majority of your students are day boys, I understand.’

  ‘They are. We do have some boarders but they are housed in the village in the homes of local women approved by our governors as being of good moral character…ah, I see your point. You imagine a tutor had reason to speak to a landlady regarding the conduct of one of the boys. If you give me the name of the boy, we can narrow the matter down. Although why you didn’t simply ask the landlady… I assume she has complained to you about some impropriety.’ He looked a little flustered. ‘I dare say it’s all a misunderstanding and there is no need for your involvement.’

  ‘It’s a little more than a misunderstanding, Dr Hayward. The lady in question is dead.’ Riley paused for emphasis. ‘Murdered.’

  ‘Dear God!’ Dr Hayward looked shocked, but Riley suspected that he was already a
ssessing what impact, if any, a local murder would have on his school’s reputation. ‘I have not heard of any of our landladies being murdered.’

  ‘I didn’t say that the victim had any connection to your school,’ Riley replied.

  ‘Surely you noticed all the police activity across the road earlier,’ Salter added.

  ‘I did not, sergeant. I have better things to do with my time than to gawp at situations which don’t concern me.’

  ‘Lord Vermont’s governess has been brutally murdered,’ Riley replied, ‘and she was recently seen involved in an altercation with a member of this faculty. I appreciate your willingness to cooperate with our investigation,’ even though you have shown precious little of it thus far, ‘and should be grateful for the names of the younger tutors.’

  Dr Hayward spread his hands in an unconvincing display of regret. ‘I have the interests of my students to consider, Lord Riley. I cannot have them upset by—’

  Salter stepped forward and slapped the flat of his hand down onto the polished surface of the master’s desk, causing his ink well to wobble and the master himself to flinch. ‘We don’t give a tuppenny damn about your students’ interests,’ he said, pushing his face close to that of the astonished master, a man who was clearly not accustomed to having his decrees challenged or his space invaded. ‘A young woman has lost her life in the most brutal of fashions and you are worried about your precious reputation. Where’s your compassion, man?’

  ‘That will do, sergeant,’ Riley said, his tone mildly reproving. ‘My sergeant and I have different methods of achieving the same outcome, Dr Hayward. You can either lend us your assistance and we will conduct our enquiries as discreetly as possible and with the minimum of disruption to your regime.’ Riley’s tone hardened, ‘or we will send in an army of uniformed constables to speak with every tutor and senior boy in the establishment.’ Dr Hayward’s complexion paled. ‘The choice is yours.’