Death of an Artist (Riley Rochester Investigates Book 5)

by Wendy Soliman

  Riley was rewarded when Salter chuckled and finally began to do justice to his lunch.

  ‘Bear in mind also,’ Riley said, ‘that someone jealous of Miss Mottram could have committed the crime.’ He paused. ‘Miss Bowden, for example.’

  ‘That American lass?’ Salter’s brows disappeared beneath his hairline. ‘Why would she?’

  ‘She’s wealthy, Jack. I could tell that much from her clothing, and she’s decided to remain in Dulwich for reasons other than the scenery.’

  ‘Reggie.’ Salter sighed.

  ‘Quite. And if a young lady wealthy enough to amble around Europe at her leisure and, presumably, accustomed to having her way in all things, knew she had a rival for Reggie’s affections, well… The women knew each other and Miss Mottram wouldn’t have thought twice about letting her into the grounds. Miss Bowden isn’t a slight woman, and possesses enough strength to stab her rival, I should have thought, if she was sufficiently jealous. We need to find out more about her.’

  Salter look a little more optimistic. His family loyalty clearly ran deeper than his disapproval of Reggie. ‘I suppose we do, sir.’

  ‘Right, sergeant, if you’ve finished, we had best have a quick word with Vermont about his reasons for taking Miss Mottram to the Founders’ Day celebrations, then take ourselves up to London to speak with Daniel Vermont.’

  Salter wiped his plate clean with a crust of bread, drained his tankard and stood. ‘Let’s get to it, sir,’ he said.

  Lord Vermont kept them waiting for more than ten minutes before the detectives were admitted to his presence, a pettiness that irritated Riley. When he received them in his untidy library, he seemed annoyed by the distraction.

  ‘Was there something you forgot to ask me, Lord Riley?’ he asked with barely concealed irritation.

  ‘It is more a case of something you omitted to tell us,’ Riley replied in an urbane tone.

  Vermont sent Riley a sharp look. ‘I cannot begin to think what that might be.’

  ‘The Founders’ Day celebrations at the college.’

  He lifted a negligent shoulder. ‘What of them?’

  ‘I understand that Miss Mottram accompanied you to them.’

  ‘She did, as a matter of fact. My wife was unwell, which frankly irritated me. She was aware how important the proceedings were, and that she was expected. She should have made more of an effort.’

  ‘I don’t suppose she could help being unwell.’

  ‘She only had a headache.’ Vermont sighed. ‘She gets a lot of them, believe you me. Anyway, Miss Mottram expressed an interest in seeing the college. Daniel was here and suggested we take her along.’

  ‘She couldn’t take your wife’s place.’

  ‘Of course not, but she brightened up an otherwise frankly dull affair. She had that effect wherever she went. There was nothing more sinister to the matter than that, in case you thought otherwise. No improprieties of any sort took place between any member of my family and Miss Mottram.’ Vermont looked unsettled. ‘And now, if there is nothing else, you really must excuse me. I have another engagement and I dare say you have more investigations to undertake.’

  ‘Well,’ Salter said when they stepped out into the cold again. ‘There might have been nothing between Vermont and his children’s governess, but I don’t think it’s for want of trying on his part.’

  ‘I agree with you, Jack. His marriage is clearly far from satisfactory and we already know that Miss Mottram was a charmer. What’s more, Vermont suspects a partiality on his son’s part. Did you notice how he made it plain there was nothing between her and any members of his family?’

  ‘I did. And iffing Vermont himself tried something with her and she rebuffed him, holding out for a man of substance in a position to marry her, well…’ Salter shrugged. ‘She might have tried to blackmail Vermont when he made advances, anything’s possible, and his lordship don’t strike me as the type to put up with anything like that. He would have known her routine and she certainly wouldn’t have been afraid to speak with him in a dark orchard.’

  ‘We have more suspects than we know what to do with, Jack, so we might as well take ourselves up to London and see if we can add Daniel Vermont to the list.’

  ‘Why not?’

  They were about to leave the grounds of Lyndenhurst when one of the uniformed constables charged with continuing the search for evidence after Carter and Soames departed for Devon bustled up to them.

  ‘Begging your pardon, sir, but this was just found.’

  He held up a knife with a sharp-looking blade, the handle of which was covered in paint. The blade itself bore unmistakable traces of blood. Riley shared a glance with Salter.

  ‘Where was it found?’ Riley asked.

  ‘On the side of the road in a hedgerow, between here and Fuller Road. It was, Riley knew, the quickest route from here to Reggie Archer’s studio. ‘It would have gone unseen, but for the fact that the sun happened to come out for a few minutes and I caught a glimpse of the blade glinting.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Riley said, taking the knife and passing it to Salter, who stored it in his satchel. ‘It looks as though you have found our murder weapon. Well done.’

  The constable took himself off, leaving Salter shaking his head.

  ‘It don’t look good for Reggie, does it, sir?’

  ‘Don’t despair quite yet, Jack. You know as well as I do that it doesn’t do to jump to conclusions. It could just as easily have been dropped by Miss Bowden, or someone aware of your nephew’s partiality for the girl who wanted to point the guilt away from himself. If Reggie intercepted the girl armed with a knife and with murder on his mind, he strikes me as too intelligent to just drop the weapon on his way home. He only needed to return to his studio and leave it where it belonged and we’d be none the wiser.’ He slapped Salter’s shoulder. ‘Come along, we’re still for London. Your nephew isn’t going anywhere.’

  Chapter Six

  Neither detective had much to say during the short train journey back to London. Riley pondered upon the delicacy of Salter’s situation. His relationship to Archer could not remain secret; especially now that they now knew the use to which the artist’s knife had been put. Riley was uncomfortably aware that he ought to have taken Archer in for further questioning immediately. Less thorough detectives would have leapt upon the knife as confirmation of Archer’s guilt and considered the case closed.

  Riley remained unconvinced, but knew he had no alternative but to make his superiors aware of his sergeant’s connection to the man who was arguably their prime suspect. Salter muttered to himself, his unflappable calm replaced by a distracted expression as he tutted and cursed beneath his breath. Riley knew his sergeant had sufficient experience to realise that Reggie Archer would have to be interviewed formally. Danforth would seize on the opportunity to cast a shadow over Riley’s judgement if he declined to remove Salter from the investigation—a course of action he fully intended not to follow. Salter had proved his worth time and again, and enjoyed Riley’s complete confidence. Riley would fight his sergeant’s corner but couldn’t trust Salter to keep his sometimes volatile temper in check if Danforth made disparaging remarks about his relatives. If that happened and Salter was goaded into insubordination towards a senior officer, Riley wouldn’t be able to protect him.

  Damn Danforth and his petty resentments! Riley let out an angry hiss. Chasing down criminals made his working life dangerous enough. He could do without having to guard against those who were supposed to be on his own side but who seemed more interested in finding opportunities to metaphorically stab him in the back.

  ‘I think we should take a look at Vermont’s premises in Watling Street before approaching the man himself,’ Riley remarked, putting thoughts of Salter’s personal circumstances to the back of his mind as their train pulled into Victoria station.

  ‘You want to know if he had any visitors last night,’ Salter surmised.

  ‘I anticipate that he will be less tha
n forthcoming about his relationship with the unfortunate Miss Mottram. That being the case, I would prefer to confront him with as much advance knowledge as possible.’ Riley stepped onto the platform and helped a woman to lift a perambulator from the guard’s compartment before walking briskly towards the ticket barrier. ‘I believe the houses in Watling Street are divided into apartments. These will be presided over by a landlady or catered for by a maid. Either will be able to enlighten us as to Vermont’s habits, I dare say.’

  ‘I expect so,’ Salter agreed distractedly.

  ‘Focus, sergeant,’ Riley said in a mildly reproving tone. ‘The best way to help your nephew is to find the actual killer.’

  ‘Always supposing it ain’t him,’ Salter replied grimly.

  They took a cab to the address in question and were gratified to discover that the premises were owned by a genteel lady of advancing years who gave her name as Mrs Seaton. She seemed flustered by a visit from Scotland Yard detectives but perfectly willing to admit them to her house.

  ‘I cannot image what business you have here, inspector,’ she said, leading the way into a large drawing room that displayed signs of past elegance, much like its owner. She invited the men to sit. Riley waited for her to claim her own chair before taking the one on the opposite side of a decent fire. Salter, as always, remained standing. ‘This is a respectable household and my tenants are gentlemen of impeccable character. However, I am sure you already know that. Now, before we begin, I dare say that you would appreciate a cup of warming tea on such a cold day.’

  Riley thanked her and assured her that they would. Time was of the essence, but he wasn’t about to rush this interview. His suspicions regarding Daniel Vermont were on high alert for no reason other than that Miss Mottram had been an attractive young woman and Daniel would have come into frequent contact with her. Riley knew that young men of elevated rank were often not above exploiting their social status for their own gratification. Mrs Seaton, properly handled, could be a mine of useful information regarding Daniel’s friends and habits. The lady rang the bell, which was answered by a young maid wearing a not especially clean apron. Further signs of financial restraint, Riley thought. Mrs Seaton asked for tea to be brought for her visitors, and while they waited for it to arrive Riley asked her about the house.

  ‘My husband was an investment banker in the city,’ she said. ‘He passed away five years ago, leaving me with this barn of a house and very little financial security.’ Riley thought that he couldn’t have been a very shrewd investor in that case, but kept his opinion to himself and instead expressed sympathy. ‘Thank you, inspector. I thought of moving to the country, of course, but I have lived in London, close to the hub of the financial world, my entire life. I shouldn’t know what to do with all that empty space and fresh air. And I so love the theatres and museums. I should miss all the hustle and bustle of the city. Anyway, most of the houses in this street are now divided into apartments, providing accommodation for single gentlemen who pursue the same line of work as my late husband. All highly respectable, so I thought, why not? And here you find me. Ah, thank you, Annie.’

  The tea was delivered, the maid dismissed and Mrs Seaton poured with meticulous care for the three of them.

  ‘Do sit down and enjoy your tea, sergeant. There is lard cake, too. I dare say you will take a slice.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’ Salter smiled at her and perched on the edge of a spindly chair. ‘I think I could manage that.’

  ‘You were telling me about your tenants,’ Riley prompted, when Salter and their hostess came to the end of a lengthy discussion about the quality of the cake and Mrs Salter’s skill in that regard.

  ‘Which, I assume, is what brings you to my door, inspector. I cannot conceive that any of my three tenants have done anything to offend the keepers of law and order. They are all very respectable gentleman, I can assure you of that, and don’t give the least trouble.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it.’ Riley put his empty cup aside, having declined a refill, and smiled at Mrs Seaton. ‘We are interested in Daniel Vermont.’

  ‘My favourite.’ She smiled. ‘So thoughtful. Never too busy to stop for a cup of tea and chat about his activities.’ She frowned. ‘What on earth could he have done?’

  ‘Nothing, to the best of my knowledge. We are investigating a matter that involves him only indirectly.’

  ‘How intriguing.’ Mrs Seaton fixed Riley with a sapient look. ‘But I’m sure you did not come here in the middle of the afternoon expecting to find him at home. You must be aware that his duties keep him at Charles Stanley until six in the evening.’

  A timely reminder not to underestimate the lady, Riley thought. She might be lonely, but she was far from senile. ‘Quite so.’ Riley inclined his head. ‘We are interested to know how he occupies his leisure time.’

  Mrs Seaton frowned. ‘And you cannot ask him that question directly?’

  ‘It helps to get the opinion of someone who knows him well. I reiterate that we do not suspect him of committing a crime, but he might have become involved in a delicate situation. I am mindful of his standing and reputation, which is why I am keen to learn more about him before bothering him at his place of work.’

  ‘Ah, then a lady must be involved.’

  Riley shared a brief look with Salter, who was again standing and scribbling away with his pencil. ‘What makes you say so?’

  Mrs Seaton smiled in a patronising manner. ‘I have not always been old, inspector, and I understand the implications behind the euphemism. I assume that a lady has been attacked, or hurt in some way…’ She shrugged. ‘I cannot begin to image the precise nature of her complaint but know it must be serious for officers of your standing to become involved.’ She flapped a wrist. ‘Let me put your minds at rest by assuring you that Mr Vermont is a gentleman to his fingertips and would cut off his own hand before he harmed a lady. Whoever gave you his name has grossly misled you.’

  ‘Does Mr Vermont get a lot of lady visitors?’ Riley asked.

  ‘He is popular with both sexes, but I can assure you that no ladies calling at these premises are permitted upstairs.’ She straightened her shoulders. ‘I am not so old that I have forgotten those sorts of temptations exist, inspector.’

  ‘Did any ladies call here to visit Mr Vermont?’

  Mrs Seaton hesitated for so long that Riley wondered if she was about to tell him an untruth. It was natural that she would want to protect the reputation of her tenant, to say nothing of her own good name. His impression of her as a lady of impeccable character, incapable of deceit, was vindicated when she gave a thin smile and inclined her head.

  ‘Mr Vermont enjoys his entertainments, and usually goes off straight from his work to have dinner at his club or to the theatre to meet with friends and what have you. I’m sure I don’t keep track of my tenants’ activities. I have seen him once or twice with ladies when we’ve happened to attend the same opening, or at some social event arranged in the city. My husband was well-respected there and I am still on the guest list.’

  ‘Is there any particular lady with whom you have heard his name connected, Mrs Seaton?’ Riley asked.

  ‘No, he is careful in that regard. His father is a viscount, you know, and he will inherit that title when the time comes. A lot of ladies are attracted to him for that reason, although he is a handsome and charming young man too, which doesn’t harm his cause. He told me once that he is often targeted by ambitious females for all the wrong reasons. “I won’t be trapped, Mrs S,” he said. “I’d prefer to wait until a lady engages my affections and I can be as happy as you were with Mr Seaton.” I told him that I thought he was being very sensible. After all—’

  ‘Did any ladies call here in the hope of seeing him?’ Riley asked, sensing that Mrs Seaton would go off on tangents and talk for a half-an-hour if he didn’t keep her on track.

  ‘Funny you should mention it, but one did, just last week.’ She was now assured of Riley and Salter’s complete a
ttention. ‘A very attractive young woman. She called in the middle of last week and said that Mr Vermont was expecting her. Well, if he was he hadn’t told me about it. Anyway, I invited her in…’

  Riley gave up a silent prayer of thanks for lonely landladies. ‘Did she give a name?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh yes, sorry. How silly of me. A Miss Mottram. She told me that Mr Vermont had been given the afternoon off from his duties and that they were supposed to be attending an exhibition at the National Gallery but had somehow missed one another. He told her if that ever happened she should come here and he would know where to find her.’

  ‘How very forward thinking of him,’ Riley remarked, almost to himself.

  ‘She was lucky to find me at home. I have a regular bridge game every Wednesday afternoon that I never miss. She told me to go. That she wouldn’t dream of keeping me from it, but of course, I couldn’t leave her here alone. Not when she was a stranger in the city.’ Riley flashed a glance at Salter, who raised his brows. ‘Anyway, she told me that she would have known me anywhere because Mr Vermont had…well, she repeated a very flattering description of me. She said that she felt uncomfortable, alone in the middle of London and unsure if Mr Vermont had been prevented by his duties from joining her after all. She hoped I would not mind if she waited for him to come home.’

  ‘Did she tell you how she made a living?’ Riley asked.

  ‘Oh yes. She was an aspiring artist sponsored by Lord Vermont. She was very respectable, and spoke knowledgeably and passionately about art. Her interest in it is why she was so keen to see the exhibition and so vexed because she had muddled the arrangements with Mr Vermont. Danby’s work was being exhibited and she badly wanted to see it. Anyway, Miss Mottram got tired of waiting, said she had somewhere else she needed to be and went off. And I was just in time for my bridge game.’ Mrs Seaton beamed at Riley. ‘He has not mentioned the young lady since, but then why would he? He had merely done his father a service by offering to escort Miss Mottram to the exhibition. Frankly, I suspect that he forgot all about her. He has so many demands upon his time, you see. He’s a popular young man.’