‘Aye, I heard that too, which is why I assume I’m here. What do you need me to do?’
Danforth winced as he shifted position, proof that he had not given up the sexual proclivities that had cost him his career, his reputation and what little respect his rank had afforded him. As his superior officer, Danforth had gone out of his way to make Riley’s life difficult. Now Riley had taken over his position as Chief Inspector in the elite Scotland Yard Detective Department, which must have been a bitter pill for Danforth to swallow. But Riley wasn’t a man to bear grudges. He was arguably the only man at Scotland Yard who sympathised with Danforth’s addiction. He was also aware that he had a large family to feed and would throw whatever crumbs he could in his direction.
Riley briefly explained about the three daughters’ expectations, without revealing the contents of Lady Pemberton’s will or making any mention of Barlow.
‘Mrs Kinsley interests me the most. She’s the eldest and has never moved out of her mother’s house. In fact she moved her family into it. All three sisters are struggling financially and I have absolutely no idea which of them ran out of patience and resorted to murder.’ Riley took a sip of his ale, attempting to tamp down his frustration. ‘For all I know, the three of them could have been in it together. I have Stout working on the Axtons and Soames and Carter are looking into the Huxleys. I shall speak with someone myself later about Kinsley’s failing business, but I need you to keep Mrs Kinsley under observation. I want to know where she goes and to whom she speaks. Anything out of the ordinary will be of special interest.’
Danforth nodded slowly. ‘I can do that, but it will get expensive if you want me on it continuously. I have a lad working with me now, as well as my eldest boy. Between us, we can keep watch on her. The boys are inventive. No one notices them.’
They agreed terms and shook hands on the deal.
‘Not sure you should be employing outside help, but I’m grateful to you for the opportunity,’ Danforth said, not looking Riley in the eye as he made the grudging admission. ‘I wouldn’t have authorised it.’
‘It’s a complicated case,’ Riley replied. ‘And I don’t have the manpower to spare for long surveillances that I can’t justify. The uniformed men would stand out and my detectives already have too much to do.’ Riley pushed his half-finished ale aside. ‘Anyway, let me have a daily report. I’ll send Salter to meet you here at the same time if I can’t make it myself.’
Danforth grunted, probably aware that his predilections offended Salter’s Christian sensibilities and that he was one of Danforth’s main detractors. Riley picked up his hat, placed it on his head and left without another word. He glanced back as he reached the door and noticed his former superior officer reaching for Riley’s discarded tankard and draining its contents in one long swallow. He shrugged as he stepped outside, hoping he had not made a mistake in placing his trust in the man.
Chapter Nine
Riley walked to White’s on a fine afternoon. The wind had died down and the sunshine had brought the people out in droves. The fashionable streets were thronged with equally fashionable equipages, the people within them making a point of displaying themselves. Nannies pushed perambulators, children cavorted, tradesmen went largely ignored. Riley wasn’t the only gentleman heading on foot for White’s. He raised his hat to an open landau occupied by friends of his mother’s that was heading in the direction of the park.
The weather made no difference to the population of the club, which was always comfortably full in the late afternoon. Gentlemen seeking a respite from their responsibilities in an atmosphere where they could be assured of congenial male company. Riley nodded to acquaintances as he scanned the coffee room, looking for Parkinson, whom he hoped to recognise by sight. He found him seated in a quiet corner, half-hidden behind the day’s copy of The Times. Riley cleared his throat, Parkinson lowered his paper and blinked myopically up at Riley.
‘Hope I’m not disturbing you,’ Riley said.
‘Not at all. Rochester, isn’t it?’
Riley nodded, Parkinson stood and the two men shook hands. Parkinson motioned to the chair across from him and resumed his own seat, looking vaguely concerned at Riley’s determination to speak with him.
‘Can I get you anything?’ Parkinson asked politely.
‘Thank you, but I have already ordered.’ A steward appeared at Riley’s side with a glass of single malt. ‘Perhaps I can get you something.’
Parkinson shook his head and Riley dismissed the steward.
‘This is not a chance meeting, I take it,’ Parkinson said, leaning forward. ‘Are you here in your professional capacity? What have I done to offend Scotland Yard’s leading light?’
Riley smiled. ‘Nothing to my knowledge, but I was hoping that you could help me with an enquiry.’
Parkinson shrugged. ‘In what respect?’
‘You will have heard of the death of Lady Pemberton.’
‘No, actually I had not. I’m sorry. She was old, of course, and one assumes her time had come, but even so…’ Parkinson frowned. ‘You are here speaking of the matter, which implies that her death was not attributable to natural causes.’
‘It was not.’
‘Ah, I see. That’s awful, but I don’t see how I can help. I was barely acquainted with the lady.’
‘You know Kinsley rather better, I’m told.’ Riley took a sip of his drink, finding it a vast improvement upon the ale he’d supped under sufferance with Danforth. ‘You invested in his fund.’
Parkinson shook his head decisively. ‘He pursued me vigorously, so I decided to give it a go. Sounded like a good punt, on paper at least, as these things so often do. But it didn’t perform well—the trust that is. I realised I had made a mistake and asked for the return of my funds within the agreed cooling off period. Had to threaten legal action when he was slow to return them but that threat worked and I got my money back eventually.’
‘May I ask why you withdrew?’
‘Certainly you may. If he managed the fund half as diligently as he’d expended energy in the aforementioned pursuit of my investment then I would not have hesitated to leave my money where it was and let it work for me. But contrary to what Kinsley appeared to think, I am nobody’s fool and I soon realised I’d been hoodwinked. Talked to a couple of others who’d left their investment in past the cooling off time and I could see that they were disappointed by their returns, or lack thereof, so I cut my losses.’
‘Why was Kinsley so keen to attract your investment if you did not encourage him to think you were interested?’
‘Ah well, that’s just the thing, I was interested when I heard that he was flogging shares in MDCs.’
‘Model dwelling companies?’ Riley nodded slowly as he sought his memory. ‘Housing to improve the overcrowded conditions for the working classes. A very worthy scheme.’
‘I think so.’
‘I have heard them described as five per cent philanthropy. In other words, you get a better than average return and feel as though you’re doing your bit for the masses as well. I have never been tempted into that market myself,’ Riley said, ‘but I would be interested to know why you declined to get involved, if you had blunt to invest and you support the initiative.’
‘I’m cautious by nature, and my concerns grew when Kinsley put undue pressure on me. In my view, something that seems too good to be true almost always is. The Earl of Derby was banging on about MDCs in Liverpool last year, extolling the need for private enterprise to fund the building. “Either it will pay or it will not,” were his exact words.’ Parkinson snorted. ‘Hardly a ringing endorsement, especially since he reckoned that asking local governing bodies to provide homes for the poor at less than cost price would be unreasonable.’
‘In other words, ask the rich to take a gamble, because they can afford to absorb the loss.’
‘Precisely, and I knew that. Even so, I’d never heard of the MDC that Kinsley was touting. He was reluctant to provide me
with the names of other investors, claiming confidentiality. Frankly, I had a bad feeling about the entire set-up. I asked my broker and he couldn’t find any public record of Kinsley’s scheme.’
Riley frowned. ‘You think it was a fiction?’
‘I might be doing the man a disservice, but suspicions of that nature were precisely what made me decide to withdraw my investment.’
‘He was paying interest from investments made by newcomers such as yourself to longer standing members, I would imagine, making the scheme appear successful so that those involved would recommend it to others.’ Riley scowled. ‘I have heard of such underhand tactics, and they can only work for as long as more people keep pouring their money in.’
‘And it’s very hard for someone in your line of work to find sufficient proof to prosecute,’ Parkinson added. ‘There wouldn’t be much public sympathy for losses incurred by rich men in their endeavour to increase their riches. That’s how men like Kinsley get away with being underhand.’ Parkinson sighed. ‘I have no actual proof that Kinsley was behaving deceitfully, but I’ve asked around since then, just as a matter of interest, and can’t find anyone who’s invested with the man who’s come out ahead. Anyone other than my friend Gifford. Are you acquainted with him?’
‘I know him by sight, perhaps well enough to pass the time of day.’
‘Yes well, even he got cold feet and withdrew his investment at the first opportunity. Apparently, Kinsley was furious.’
‘How long ago was this?’
‘A couple of months or thereabouts. You will need to ask him yourself if you want specifics.’
‘Thank you. I might very well do that.’
Parkinson shifted his position in the comfortable leather chair. ‘Anyway, I eventually invested with the Peabody Dwellings scheme instead and have no complaints to make about their management style. Very well run, transparent and profitable. Get onboard if you can afford it, that’s my advice.’
‘How did Kinsley react when you declined to remain with him?’
‘He became damned insulting. Desperate if you ask me.’ Parkinson’s face coloured as he recalled the slights he had endured from a man who was not his equal. ‘But if you are asking me whether he’s desperate enough to bump off an old lady…well, I wouldn’t be prepared to commit myself on that one.’
‘I would not ask you to. I’m simply attempting to get an honest measure of the family’s circumstances, and you’ve been a great help in that regard.’ Riley stood. ‘Thank you. I won’t intrude upon your leisure any further.’
‘Glad to have obliged,’ Parkinson replied, picking up his discarded paper and disappearing behind it.
Riley made his way home to Eaton Square, wondering if he would again have the dubious pleasure of his mother’s company. Instead, he was pleased to observe his sister Martha’s carriage outside his door, but upon entering the house he was told by Norris that the family were in the mews. Frowning, Riley made his way down the garden and into the mews beyond where the horses and conveyances for all the residences in that part of the terrace were housed. Her heard Sophia’s voice coming from one of the stalls reserved for Riley’s animals.
‘What the devil…’ He peered around the door to find Martha and Amelia fighting smiles as they watched Sophia fussing over a skeleton of a nag.
‘Riley!’ Amelia’s eyes lit up as Riley kissed her cheek. ‘I was not expecting you so soon, but you are just in time to see what you have done. This is all your fault.’
Riley looked more closely at the horse and comprehension dawned. ‘Ah,’ he said, returning her smile. ‘The circumstances of the coal merchant’s sorry excuse for a horse have just taken a turn for the better, it would appear.’
‘Apparently so.’ Martha laughed. ‘Amelia’s right. It is all your fault. Sophia has been on at me all day to take her to see the beast because it made her heart ache to think of it being mistreated. In the end, it was easier to capitulate.’
They stood and watched Sophia, who made an incongruous sight in her delicate muslin gown as she energetically brushed the horse’s skinny frame, all the while talking to the beast in a gentle voice. The horse seemed only interested in the manger of hay he’d been supplied with, and tolerated Sophia’s efforts to improve his appearance with blithe indifference.
‘Oh, Uncle Riley.’ Sophia turned at the sound of his voice and her cheeks coloured. She put her brush aside and joined him, throwing her arms dramatically around his neck. ‘You see, I saved Bertie from an intolerable fate. Please don’t be angry.’
‘Bertie?’
‘That’s his name. I think it’s a rather silly name for a horse, but he’s used to it so there’s nothing to be done. The poor creature is already confused enough. Anyway, I took him some carrots, as I said he would, but when I got there the coalman was in negotiation with the knacker’s man.’ Her expression turned to one of outrage. ‘What else could I have done?’
‘Ah.’
‘Exactly. It’s not poor Bertie’s fault if he’s so poorly fed that he cannot work hard enough. The coal merchant said he couldn’t afford to keep him if you insisted that he treat him better.’ The child looked endearingly scandalised. ‘He made it sound as though his neglect was your fault. Well, I put him right on that score, rest assured.’
‘I am perfectly sure that you did,’ Riley replied, eyeing the scrawny beast and attempting to keep his amusement in check. ‘What I’m less sure about is how Bertie finished up in my mews.’
‘Well, I couldn’t let him be put to death,’ she cried dramatically, eyes widened with indignation, ‘so I offered the coalman the same amount that the knacker would give him. He tried to make me pay more, but I was having none of it and told him I would set you on him if he swindled me.’ Sophia beamed, looking very pleased with her negotiating skills. ‘So anyway, Uncle Daniel doesn’t have room for another horse in his mews and I can hardly ask Grandmamma without having to endure a scolding, but I knew you would not mind.’
‘I think what you did today was an act of great compassion, Cabbage, and I am very proud of you.’
Sophia beamed. ‘I hoped you would see things my way.’
‘What am I to do with Bertie now?’ he asked, sharing a smile over her head with Amelia.
‘Oh, nothing. Just feed him and make him stronger. I fully intend to take him back to Chichester with me and ride him myself. He’s quite handsome, or he will be when he’s fit again, and I am absolutely certain that he already likes me.’
‘I don’t see how he can help himself. Everyone likes you if they have a lick of sense.’
‘Not everyone.’ A cloud momentarily passed through her eyes and Riley wondered who had dared to slight her. ‘Anyway, Mr Dakin, the coal merchant, stopped complaining about you once I agreed to purchase Bertie and sent you a message instead. He said that he had heard about the ’orrible murder,’ she added, in a very close intimation of the coal merchant’s rough tone. ‘He said that he delivered coal to Lady Pemberton’s establishment early that morning, unaware that her ladyship was laying upstairs dead in her bed, and that he had information that you might find useful.’
‘Did he indeed? Thank you very much, Cabbage. I shall call and see him tomorrow after he has finished his rounds.’
‘He says he is always to be found in The Fox and Ferret from midday, if that helps.’
‘It does, considerably.’
‘Come along, Sophia,’ Martha said, smiling at Riley. ‘Now that your uncle has agreed to house your new horse, we had best be leaving. We are engaged to dine with the Simpsons this evening and time’s getting on.’
‘Of course. I am quite ready. Good afternoon, Bertie,’ she said, darting back into the stall to give the beast a pat. ‘I shall call and see how you are tomorrow.’
‘Well,’ Riley said, slipping an arm around Amelia’s shoulders as they waved his sister and niece away, ‘they say no good deed goes unpunished.’
‘She really does have the softest of hearts. If you could
have seen the spectacle they made, arriving here in Martha’s fine carriage with that pathetic beast tethered behind.’ Laughter bubbled from Amelia’s throat. ‘And Sophia looked ready to fight the world on Bertie’s behalf. I should not have liked to be that coalman, on the receiving end of her sharp tongue. Obviously, I couldn’t refuse to give the animal stable room.’
‘Of course you couldn’t.’ Riley led his wife back into the drawing room. ‘Anyway, my love, enough of that. I came home early because I am impatient to know what Doctor Hayward had to say about your condition.’
‘He confirmed my suspicions.’ Amelia sent Riley a beaming smile. ‘Early next year, most likely February, Simon can expect a brother or sister.’
Riley enclosed Amelia in his arms, feeling like the luckiest man alive but also scared out of his wits at the thought of the dangers. ‘I am not sure I’m ready to go through it all again yet.’
‘You are not. It’s a little late for that. You have already done your part.’
‘True, my love. Very true. But you know my fear is for you.’
‘I am told it’s easier the second time.’ She sent him a worried look. ‘You are pleased, aren’t you?’
‘Delighted,’ he assured her. ‘What have I done to deserve you?’
Amelia flapped a hand. ‘There is nothing extraordinary about women having babies, Riley. It’s been happening for millennia.’
‘They have not been having my babies, and therein lies the difference.’ He pushed an escaped strand of hair behind her ear. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Perfectly well. Certainly not as queasy in the mornings as I did with Simon.’
‘Where is my son?’
‘We sent him back upstairs before going out to admire the unfortunate—or perhaps that should be the fortunate—Bertie. I wasn’t sure what we would be confronted with. With Sophia, it’s never safe to make assumptions.’
Death of a Matriarch (Riley Rochester Investigates Book 7) Page 11