Death of a Milliner: Riley Rochester Investigates Book 9 (Riley ~Rochester Investigates)

by Wendy Soliman

  Chapter Three

  Riley’s first priority was to find Madame Boise and ensure her safety. He also had to decide what to do about Miss Cornish and the remaining three apprentices while their investigation proceeded. Riley couldn’t be certain that Mrs Faulkner had been the intended victim, at least until Madame could be found and questioned. Miss Cornish waved aside Riley’s concerns and wouldn’t hear of the girls leaving the premises.

  ‘It will take more than a corpse in our workroom to halt production,’ she told him in that irritatingly scornful tone that was beginning to set his teeth on edge. ‘Our order books are full and we have a duty to meet our customers’ expectations.’

  ‘We cannot guarantee your safety, Miss Cornish,’ Riley said.

  ‘I am sure Madame will arrive directly and assume control.’ Having regained her composure, Miss Cornish appeared to be enjoying her position of authority. ‘In the meantime, there is plenty we can be getting on with.’

  ‘There’s blood all over the floor,’ Beryl wailed.

  ‘Then clearing it up will be our first job,’ Miss Cornish replied briskly. By us, Riley suspected that she meant the three apprentices. ‘The culprit has been arrested, so there is no further danger to anyone here. You are worrying unnecessarily, Chief Inspector.’

  ‘We do not know who killed Mrs Faulkner, and no one has been arrested in respect of that crime, Miss Cornish,’ Riley replied in a mordant tone. ‘Please don’t spread rumours in that regard. It will impede our enquiry and get you into trouble.’

  ‘Where is Miss Salter, then?’ Miss Cornish planted a fisted hand on one hip, her stance combative. ‘Or does she get special protection, what with her pa being one of you.’

  Riley disliked the woman intensely, but he had the good sense to realise that she was merely articulating what others would be thinking.

  And what Riley had been fearing.

  ‘I will not discuss my strategy with you,’ he replied in an imperious tone that was deliberately designed to highlight the differences in their social positions. It succeeded in silencing the irritating woman, who made do with huffing and tossing her head.

  He looked at the wan faces of the three apprentices and decided that they would be safe enough remaining here. The place was swarming with policemen, and even if the killer had mistaken his target he was hardly likely to come back and try again. Peterson had told him that none of the girls had families in London, so they had nowhere else to go anyway.

  Hopefully Madame Boise would appear shortly, reassure her girls and explain Mrs Faulkner’s mysterious presence in her premises. Riley had only spoken to her briefly during the fashion show at Alexandra Palace, but she had struck him as being both refined and sympathetic—the polar opposite of Mrs Faulkner, who had shown herself in a bitter and resentful light.

  ‘I shall leave a constable at the door,’ Riley told Miss Cornish. ‘Needless to say you will not be opening for business, and the moment Madame arrives, I shall need to speak with her.’

  Miss Cornish responded with a curt nod and then turned to the girls, giving instructions about buckets and mops.

  ‘Did you look into the office?’ Riley asked Carter.

  ‘Yes, sir. Nothing appeared to be disturbed. It don’t look like a robbery, if that’s what you’re thinking. Well, not unless you consider the amount they charge for them hats.’

  Riley appreciated the attempt at levity and gave a grim smile. ‘Very well. Have two of Barton’s constables remain; one inside in case one of the girls mentions anything interesting or remembers hearing anything significant. The other should be stationed outside to keep gawpers away and to make himself visible. I’m sure that if Madame has gone into hiding and hears of a uniformed constable deterring custom, it will bring her running soon enough. The moment she shows her face, I want her brought to the Yard. Is that understood?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ his detectives replied in unison.

  ‘Peterson, go to Madame’s address in Finsbury Park. If she isn’t there, I assume there will be at least one servant. Quiz him or her, find out what you can about her movements and when she is expected to return home.’

  ‘You’re worried she’s involved?’ Peterson asked.

  ‘I have it on good authority that Madame and Mrs Faulkner couldn’t abide one another. If that’s the case, why was the victim in Madame’s shop at such an early hour? Why was she here at all come to that? How did she get in and more to the point, where is Madame now?’ Riley shook himself, tired before the day had really begun. ‘Carter and Soames, we three are for Clapham. We need to see Mrs Faulkner’s premises and find out what we can about her circumstances.’

  The detectives made their way to Victoria railway station and installed themselves on the next train to Clapham Junction. Upon arrival at Mrs Faulkner’s establishment a short time later, Riley took a moment to observe the drab exterior, painted in a dull serviceable brown which didn’t attract the eye. The paint was old and patchy in places, and the wares on display behind a window that needed cleaning were uninspiring. Madame Boise’s jaunty awning and fresh green and gold paintwork seemed like a different world. Clapham wasn’t Bond Street, but Riley thought that it would not have cost Mrs Faulkner a great deal to improve the outside of her premises.

  Now, of course, she would never get the opportunity.

  Riley pushed the door open and strode inside, flanked by Carter and Soames. He saw three young women bent over their work in a poorly lit back room. The interior of the shop was cold and uninspiring, and would discourage all but the most determined of customers from lingering, Riley imagined.

  ‘How can I be of assistance, gentlemen?’ A slightly older woman came up to them, smiling. ‘A gift for a lady friend perhaps? We have some very pretty hand-embroidered handkerchiefs. Or gloves might better suit your requirements.’

  ‘We are here on another matter.’ The woman’s smile faded when Riley introduced himself and the others.

  ‘What do Scotland Yard detectives want in this place?’ she asked, her attempt at a refined accent far from convincing.

  ‘You are?’

  Riley nodded at Soames, who hastily withdrew a dog-eared notebook from his pocket and turned to a fresh page.

  ‘Miss Carol Sharp. I am Mrs Faulkner’s senior assistant. Well, her only assistant apart from the apprentices, who are not permitted to wait upon customers.’

  ‘Is there somewhere we can talk in private?’ Riley asked, as Carter turned the open sign on the door to closed.

  ‘Hey! What did you do that for?’

  The apprentices had given up all pretence of working and watched the unfolding drama with dropped jaws and undisguised interest.

  ‘These premises will not be opening for business today.’ Riley placed a hand on the young woman’s shoulder and turned her towards what was obviously an office. ‘Now, if you please.’

  She looked confused but complied, leading the way. All four of them crammed into the tight space with difficulty. Riley glanced around but saw nothing that he wouldn’t expect to find in such an establishment. Nor did he see anything that would give him a better idea of Mrs Faulkner’s character. Hopefully Miss Sharp would be able to fill in some of the missing details.

  ‘Now then, Miss Sharp. You had best sit down and prepare yourself for a shock.’

  ‘Why?’ She took a chair and blinked up at him. ‘What am I being accused of? You’re one of them fancy detectives, not some local bobby. You ain’t wasting your time with them hat pins what went missing and I’m sure I ain’t…’

  Riley waved a hand, cutting off her stuttering protest. He then told her as gently as he could that her employer had been found dead that morning, without explaining the violent manner in which her life had ended. Miss Sharp blinked several times but didn’t look to be on the point of swooning, nor did she seem especially surprised.

  ‘Blimey! Dead, you say?’ She rubbed the back of her neck, looking bewildered. ‘What happened? Did she have an accident?’


  ‘In a manner of speaking. Do you need some water, Miss Sharp, or a moment to compose yourself?’

  ‘No, I’ll be all right. The streets are that dangerous nowadays. A woman ain’t safe out there on her own. What will happen to the shop now?’ she asked no one in particular. ‘We’ll all be thrown out of work, and jobs are hard to come by.’

  Riley could see that she was more concerned about her livelihood than the unfortunate fate of her employer. Since Mrs Faulkner hadn’t been a particularly sympathetic woman or—if Maureen was to be believed—an easy person to work for, Riley understood the self-interest.

  ‘Were you surprised when you found she wasn’t here this morning? I understand she lives on the premises.’

  Miss Sharp shrugged. ‘She did live here but she came and went as she pleased. It was my duty to open in the mornings, set the girls to work and deal with customers.’

  ‘A lot of responsibility.’

  Another shrug.

  ‘Does she have any relatives that you are aware of? A husband, or children.’

  Miss Sharp gave a brittle laugh. ‘No husband. She had no use for men, she often said.’ Miss Sharp paused. ‘She spoke of children occasionally. Two sons, I think. They both have careers in London. She visits them occasionally but they never lower themselves to come here. Well, if they do I’ve never seen them.’

  ‘No female friends?’

  Miss Sharp shook her head. ‘Mrs Faulkner, God rest her soul, did not possess a friendly disposition. She found fault in everything she saw. Comes from all the disappointments she endured in her earlier years, I always thought. She was quite the looker in them days, but got exploited and learned not to depend upon anyone other than herself.’

  ‘Disappointed in what respect?’

  ‘She was a good milliner, I’ll give her that, but she never made the most of her talent.’ Miss Sharp straightened a basket of ribbons that sat on the corner of the desk beside her. ‘She reckons she could have taken London by storm, but the people—a man I think—who promised to back her financially let her down and…well, she finished up staying here where she started, picking up the dregs as she sometimes called it.’

  ‘A bitter woman.’

  ‘She had her reasons. I told her once to offer her services to one of the finer establishments in London instead of struggling to make ends meet here. They would have taken on someone with her level of skill. But she almost bit my head off, said she wouldn’t lower herself to work for someone else, so I never mentioned it again. Pride was always her downfall. Of course, she felt hard done by because of Madame Boise—’

  ‘In what respect?’ Riley asked.

  ‘Well obviously, she trained her, taught her everything she knew. She was like a daughter to her, apparently. That was before my time but she sometimes talks…talked about it at night when in her cups. Likes the occasional tipple, does Mrs Faulkner. Well she did, bless her… Anyway, she recognised what she described as a rare talent in Madame Boise—that’s not her real name, of course. She was plain old Meg Butler when she was apprenticed to Mrs F, but she put on what Mrs F called airs when she opened in Bond Street and reinvented herself as Madame Boise. Seemed to think the French sounding name would appeal to ladies of quality, even if she couldn’t speak a word of French herself.’

  ‘What happened to spoil their friendship?’ Riley had allowed Miss Sharp to stray from the point. Experience had taught him that witnesses often gave up valuable information they didn’t know they possessed if they were permitted to reminisce.

  ‘They planned to open up in the heart of London in partnership but, according to Mrs F, Madame did the dirty on her. She got funding from somewhere. Mrs F said, begging your pardon, that she probably managed it by spreading her legs for some rich gent, but I heard rumours that she came into an inheritance.’ Miss Sharp shrugged. ‘Who knows what to believe. Anyway, Mrs F has been bitter ever since and goes into a rage at the mere mention of Madame’s name. But it got worse just a few weeks ago. Mrs F had cheered up because she finally had an apprentice who showed real promise. A girl with flair and vision.’ She paused. ‘And Madame stole her away.’

  ‘What was the girl’s name?’ Riley asked, his calm tone at direct variance to his hammering heart.

  ‘Maureen.’ Miss Sharp scowled. ‘But you’d know that. She was from around these parts and her pa’s a copper like you. Well, maybe not like you, but he’s a copper just the same. Anyway, I’ve never seen her half so angry, and that’s saying something. She told me repeatedly that it was war. She’d had enough of being a muggins and intended to fight back.’ She sighed. ‘Now you tell me she’s dead, so what good did it do her?’

  ‘I’ve heard that a younger man sometimes visited the shop and made Mrs Faulkner quite giddy.’

  Miss Sharp grinned and the gesture lit up her unremarkable features, making her appear quite pretty. ‘That would be Mr Hatchard. A right scallywag is our Mr Hatchard. He supplies ribbons and the like.’ She indicated the basket she had straightened earlier. ‘Works for a London supplier, and between you and me Mrs F rather liked Mr Hatchard despite supposedly having no use for men, and encouraged his attentions in lots of little ways.’

  ‘Did it go beyond encouragement?’

  ‘Oh I’ve no idea, I’m sure I haven’t. But I can tell you that they spent a lot of time locked away in this room. Far more than was necessary for Mrs F to place orders. Anyway, I can give you his details, if it would help.’

  ‘It would, considerably.’ Especially since it was the first solid lead they’d come upon, apart from the not insignificant fact that Mrs Faulkner had trained Madame. ‘In the meantime I’d like to see her rooms, if you’d show me the way.’

  ‘Right you are.’

  ‘Soames, have a word with the other apprentices. See what they have to say for themselves. Carter, with me.’

  Miss Sharp led the way up a narrow staircase. ‘I assume you live in yourself,’ Riley remarked.

  ‘I do.’ They reached the first floor. ‘That’s my room,’ she said, pointing to a closed door. ‘Well, it was. I suppose we’ll all be cast to the four winds now,’ she sighed. ‘Anyway, Mrs Faulkner had the rest of this floor. The apprentices have the loft.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Riley motioned towards the stairs. ‘We will take things from here and call if we need you.’

  Riley and Carter found themselves in two untidy rooms, with an unmade bed and clothing draped over just about every surface. Riley pulled the curtains back and was rewarded with a grim view of a back alley. A desk in the corner supplied the only item of interest, which was an address book.

  ‘Can’t see a note of her sons’ addresses,’ Riley remarked, flipping through it, ‘which seems odd. You’d imagine they would be important to her.’

  ‘Perhaps she had their addresses memorised, sir.’

  ‘Hm, possibly. Mr Hatchard is in here though, with his name underlined, and the name of his employer. We will have to talk to him when we return to the city.’

  ‘What do you make of it all, sir?’

  ‘I haven’t formed any clear opinions as yet, Carter, but all the early indications point to the resolution of the dispute between the two ladies that has clearly raged—in Mrs Faulkner’s mind at least—for years. Maureen being enticed away by Madame Boise was clearly the final straw.’

  ‘Perhaps so, sir, but her being at Madame’s shop at that time of the morning makes you wonder. Surely she didn’t expect to snatch Maureen away from her. That would be lunacy. Even if she managed it, Maureen would simply have gone back. Besides, everyone here knows what Sergeant Salter does for a living and I sure as heck wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of him if someone upsets one of his kids.’

  Riley chuckled, but there was little humour in the gesture. ‘Nor would I, Carter. Nor would I.’ He paused. ‘The fact remains that Mrs Faulkner was in that shop by invitation. She didn’t break in, although someone made a clumsy attempt to make it appear as though she had done so.’ He paused. ‘And
the only person who could issue invitations would be Madame herself.’

  ‘Maureen’s timing was unfortunate. Shame she didn’t go downstairs with the others, then that Miss Cornish would have been the one to find the body.’ Carter scowled. ‘She clearly don’t like Maureen and I’m sure she’ll shout from the rooftops about what she saw, which is Maureen covered in blood with those shears in her hand. And we can’t stop her either, ’cause it’s the truth.’

  ‘I tend to agree with you, which is why we must find the real killer, and find him quickly, before irreparable damage is done to Maureen’s reputation. You know how rumours get exaggerated and that mud sticks.’ Riley sighed. ‘Anyway, there’s nothing in this room to help us. No personal correspondence, nothing other than that book, which seems to be mostly addresses for her suppliers. Never mind, we’ll take it with us, look through the drawers in the office and then we’ll get back to the Yard. Hopefully, Madame will have surfaced by now.’

  The office was equally bereft of personal items. It was almost as though Mrs Faulkner had nothing in her life other than her work. A salutary lesson, Riley thought.

  ‘What are we supposed to do now?’ Miss Sharp looked almost as bewildered as the three apprentices ranged behind her.

  ‘I would suggest that you continue as normal for the time being. Mrs Faulkner will have left a will, and whoever benefits from her estate will be the person to consult with.’

  ‘Ain’t much to benefit from,’ Miss Sharp complained as she escorted them to the door. ‘This place barely scrapes by. Mrs F told me all that was about to change but I’d heard it before and didn’t take much notice.’

  ‘You have no idea what she meant by that?’

  ‘She was pushing fifty but still dreamed of personal glory.’ Miss Sharp rolled her eyes. ‘You’d think she would have wised up, but there you have it. Like I say, she was a very good milliner but not that nice a person. I got along with her because I didn’t take no notice of her constant complaints and stood up to her. She needed me and couldn’t afford to get on my wrong side. Life’s disappointments had worn her down, I suppose. She didn’t seem to understand that talent wasn’t enough. She needed to be agreeable as well, easy to get along with. She never could see that though, and I got fed up with telling her.’