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

by Wendy Soliman

  ‘Thank you, Riley. Sorry to bother you with this but it’s a great relief to have shared the burden.’

  Riley put his empty cup aside. ‘Well then, now that you’ve cheered me up with that bit of news you’d best bring Maureen down and we’ll see if a rest has done anything to restore her memory.’

  ‘Gladly.’

  The wait was a short one, and Riley had little time to dwell upon his brother’s latest foolishness before Martha returned with Maureen. Riley stood and watched her approach. She wore what was probably one of Cabbage’s gowns. Her hair had been taken down, brushed out and tied back with a ribbon. She looked younger than her years—vulnerable and afraid, her face blotchy, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. Riley was glad that Jack couldn’t see her like this.

  ‘I’ll leave the two of you alone,’ Martha said, retreating and closing the door quietly behind her.

  ‘How are you, Maureen?’ Riley asked, motioning to the chair across from his and seating himself after she had taken possession of it. He could see that she was awed by her surroundings. ‘Do you have everything you need?’

  Maureen folded her hands in her lap, stared down at them and nodded. ‘Everyone is being very kind.’ She tightened her clenched fingers until the knuckles turned white, but her hands still trembled. ‘The doctor came and gave me something to make me sleep. It helped, but I still keep seeing…seeing Mrs Faulkner and all that blood.’ A tear leaked from the corner of her eye. She produced a clean handkerchief from her pocket and swiped it away.

  ‘It will get easier, especially when we find who did this and you can return home to your family. Your father sends his love.’

  ‘He isn’t…’ More sniffing. ‘He isn’t disappointed in me because he thinks…Is that why he’s not here with you? I couldn’t bear it if he…’

  ‘Not in the least. He was desperate to come and see you but I wouldn’t let him. You found the body, you see, Maureen—’

  ‘And I’ll never forget it. I don’t need no reminding.’ She glanced up, looking startled. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to talk out of turn. Lady Gaston explained that normally like, you’d have had to take me to Scotland Yard and ask me lots of questions. I’m really glad you didn’t do that. I’d be terrified but, upon my life and as God is my witness, sir, I didn’t do nothing wrong. All I did was find the body and then Miss Cornish came in and started screaming that I’d done it—but I didn’t, I swear it.’

  ‘I believe you, Maureen, and more importantly so does your father, but until we can find out who did kill Mrs Faulkner it won’t be safe for you to return to work. You must have disturbed whoever did it, you see, and they might think you saw them.’

  Her eyes widened as she processed that possibility. It hadn’t been Riley’s intention to frighten the child, but at the same time there was only so much preferential treatment he could extend towards her.

  ‘Tell me everything all over again. Everything you remember right from the moment you left your room.’

  ‘I wish I’d buried my head under the pillow and stayed where I was. Beryl—the girl I share with—she can sleep through anything, but the slightest noise wakes me.’

  ‘Did you hear a noise?’ Riley sat forward. It was the first mention she’d made of it and could be vital. ‘Is that what disturbed you?’

  Maureen wrinkled her brow in an obvious effort to recollect. ‘I’m…I’m not sure. I think there was something. A voice, a sharp rap that came from inside the house. Sorry, I don’t want to say something that isn’t true and I was only half awake. I might have imagined it. Anyway, I gave up on sleep for some reason and got up with the intention of working on my latest design. I had it in my head and wanted to get it down on paper before the details escaped me. I washed my face and hands, got dressed in the dark and slipped downstairs and that’s…that’s when I almost fell over Mrs Faulkner.’

  Maureen swallowed several times and then the words came fast, tumbling over themselves as she become increasingly anxious. ‘She was still alive and asking for help. I tried…I really tried to help her but there was so much blood. I didn’t know what to do. I pulled the shears from her chest. I probably shouldn’t have but I did it by instinct, then she made a gurgling sound and her eyes fluttered closed and I knew she was dead. Then Miss Cornish arrived and started screaming and that’s all I know.’

  ‘Think carefully, Maureen. It could be important. Did you at any time hear any other sounds?’

  Maureen closed her eyes and swayed slightly from side to side. ‘Yes!’ Her eyes flew open again. ‘I did. What with everything else and the noise Miss Cornish was making, I’d clean forgotten. Well, it didn’t seem relevant I suppose, but just as she came in there was a sound from out the back like breaking glass.’

  Riley closed his own eyes briefly, thinking how fortunate Maureen had been. The murderer had still been on the premises, possibly prevented from making sure he’d finished Mrs Faulkner off because the sound of Maureen coming down the stairs had disturbed him. Since he hadn’t broken in, it stood to reason that he had been there ahead of Mrs Faulkner. Perhaps he had acquired a key, legitimately or otherwise.

  Miss Cornish’s arrival prevented him from leaving through the front door. Perhaps she was involved and had intended to let him out, but again Maureen had scuppered their plans. The murderer had hastily broken that pane in a clumsy attempt to make it appear as though he had gained access through the back door.

  Miss Cornish definitely needed to be looked at more closely. From her perspective it probably seemed a lucky coincidence that Maureen had found the body. Miss Cornish was jealous of her talent and intended to exploit the fact that she’d found Maureen kneeling in a pool of the victim’s blood. She would likely spread vicious rumours to blacken Maureen’s reputation so that Madame would have to dispense with her services, no matter how valuable she might be. Not so fortunately for Miss Cornish, Riley was equally determined to find the killer and remove any doubts about Maureen’s innocence.

  ‘Thank you, Maureen. You’ve done very well and I don’t have any more questions.’ He stood to ring the bell, almost sure that the summons would bring both his sister and his niece running.

  ‘When can I see my dad?’ Maureen asked.

  ‘Not for a little while, because I can’t allow him to be involved in a case that’s so close to him. You can stay here for another day or two, until we’ve got to the bottom of things. I hope you won’t mind.’

  ‘I don’t want to be a nuisance.’

  ‘You won’t be,’ Martha answered, walking into the room and overhearing Maureen’s hesitant response. ‘Sophia is glad to have your company.’

  ‘Of course I am.’ Sophia walked solemnly into the room in Martha’s wake, a sense of reserve covering her normal effervescent character. ‘Hello, Uncle Riley.’ She wrapped her arms around Riley’s neck and kissed his cheek with unrestrained affection. ‘You are going to find the horrible person who killed that lady and upset Maureen. I have told her repeatedly that you always get to the truth.’

  ‘Such touching faith,’ Riley replied, squeezing her waist.

  ‘Oh, but it’s true. I always read about your cases in the newspapers, even though Grandmamma says I am being ghoulish. Oh, sorry, Maureen, that was insensitive. Anyway, Maureen is going to draw a design for a new hat that I badly need. That will keep us both occupied and out of trouble. Whoops.’ She giggled. ‘There I go again.’

  Maureen appeared to recover her spirits in the presence of Sophia’s infectious good humour. Riley found it hard to imagine anyone not being lifted by her sunny disposition and was deeply obliged to his unaffected young niece; a marquess’s daughter who was as much at home with an apprentice milliner as she was with a duke’s son. She had been largely ignored and given little guidance by her parents during her younger years, and yet she had turned into a compassionate young woman, quite without pretentions. Riley was inordinately proud of her.

  ‘Well then, ladies, you must excuse me. I will be back as so
on as I have any news to impart.’

  Sophia clung to his arm and walked with him all the way to the door. ‘You will find out who did this terrible thing, won’t you, Uncle Riley?’ Her perpetual smile briefly dimmed. ‘Poor Maureen. I heard her sobbing earlier and I didn’t know what to do.’

  ‘Be yourself, Cabbage, bear her company and do your best to keep her spirits up. It will be an enormous help to me if I know that I don’t have to worry about her.’

  ‘Will it?’ Sophia blinked.

  ‘It certainly will.’ He smiled at her. ‘I shall work as quickly as I possibly can.’

  Riley accepted his outdoor garments from Martha’s butler, kissed his niece and stepped out into a chill wind. He strode the short distance to Sloane Street, remaining alert. It was already dark and the creatures of the night had begun to emerge. Even in the better parts of town danger lurked, ready to strike against the ill-prepared. Riley’s brisk pace deterred two separate females from approaching him. A would-be pick-pocket slunk away when a uniformed policeman approached from the opposite direction.

  Riley’s thoughts dwelt upon how best to bring his brother to his senses. He sometimes thought that Henry harboured a self-destructive streak. He hadn’t reached a solution to the dilemma by the time he reached home, where the door was opened to him by Stout.

  ‘Thank you for coming up,’ Riley said, removing his hat.

  ‘A distressing affair, my lord. Sergeant Salter is here and has appraised me of the facts. I will of course do whatever I can to help with your investigation.’

  ‘Thank you, Stout. I depend upon you.’

  Riley walked into the drawing room that spanned the entire length of the ground floor. He had lived out his bachelor years in comfort and style in this house before marriage and parenthood changed his priorities. In the daylight, the room benefited from the light afforded by the window at the front that gave onto the street and the French doors leading to the terrace and garden beyond to the rear. Stout had a fire going and stood beside the sideboard, whisky decanter in hand.

  ‘Thank you, Stout. I dare say Sergeant Salter would appreciate a drop too.’

  ‘That I would,’ Jack agreed, standing up from the chair he’d occupied beside the fire.

  Stout poured for them both and quietly left the room.

  Riley stripped off his coat and sat in waistcoat and shirtsleeves at the opposite side of the fire to Salter, glass in hand.

  ‘To successful results,’ he said, raising his glass.

  ‘I’ll drink to that.’ Salter took a healthy swig of Riley’s single malt. ‘How’s our Maureen?’ he asked.

  ‘The doctor gave her something to calm her nerves and she had a long sleep.’ Riley sipped at his own drink. ‘She’s coping remarkably well, all things considered, and Sophia is keeping her spirits up.’

  Salter managed a brief smile. ‘I’m obliged to her. If anyone can…’

  ‘Precisely. But look, the thing is, Maureen has remembered that she heard glass breaking at more or less the same time as Miss Cornish arrived.’

  ‘The devil she did!’ Salter half rose from his chair and then sank back down into it. ‘Her coming down the stairs disturbed the murderer.’

  ‘It’s looking that way. It’s fortunate that Miss Cornish arrived when she did. Things might have ended very differently otherwise.’

  Salter paused to consider this latest development. ‘You don’t think she was telling you want you wanted to hear? I mean, she must have been scared half out of her wits and we both know how easy it is for imagination to get the better of someone in those situations.’

  ‘Grant me a little intelligence,’ Riley replied, making allowances for Salter’s parental concerns and reining in his irritation. ‘I asked her if she’d heard anything, but I didn’t specify what or when.’

  ‘Sorry, sir. I’m not myself.’

  ‘I’m concerned about Miss Cornish, Jack. Very concerned. Whoever killed Mrs Faulkner either had a key or was let into that shop, as was Mrs Faulkner herself. Given that the only people who slept there overnight were the four apprentices, and as far as we know only Madame and Miss Cornish have keys…’

  ‘Ah, I see what you mean. Of course, Miss Cornish might not have arrived when she said she did. She could have been there before, perhaps to let the killer in, then returned at her regular time so that other shopkeepers would notice her. She wouldn’t have expected any of the girls to be up and about, given that they’d worked so late and been offered a rare opportunity for a lie in.’

  ‘Now you’re thinking like the detective I depend upon,’ Riley replied with a smile. ‘And your thoughts closely mirror my own. We need to know a lot more about Miss Cornish and we shall speak with her again.’ Riley got up, fetched the decanter and topped up their glasses. ‘Now, what news do you have for me about Faulkner and his sons?’ he asked, resuming his seat.

  ‘I’ve found the sons. Alfred is a train driver. Bernard’s shown a little more flair and works as a clerk for a shipping company. They both live in London and I’ve managed to unearth their addresses.’

  ‘Well done. And the father?’

  ‘He’s their father, sir, but he ain’t Mrs Faulkner’s husband. They never married, but she is the boys’ mother.’

  ‘Interesting.’

  ‘He’s employed by a haberdashery wholesaler in the east end.’

  ‘The east end again. It keeps cropping up. That’s where Madame cut her teeth after leaving Faulkner’s employ.’

  ‘Well, there are a lot of fashion outlets there.’

  ‘One imagines that Mrs Faulkner’s friend Hatchard is also from that area.’ Riley paused. ‘Did you manage to find a home address for Faulkner, Jack?’

  ‘Course I did.’

  Riley chuckled, glad for his sergeant’s sour expression when Riley questioned his efficiency. He would need Salter to be at his fighting best if they were to resolve this mess quickly.

  Or even at all.

  Riley dismissed the possibility of failure from his mind since it wasn’t an option and returned his attention to his righthand man.

  ‘We need to see Faulkner tomorrow, first thing, Jack, before the victim’s name is revealed in the newspapers and before he leaves for work. Forget searching Mrs Faulkner’s premises for now. That will have to wait. Let’s see what Faulkner can tell us first. Then we’ll see his sons.’

  ‘You make it sound as though I can join you for those interviews,’ Salter said, looking expectant.

  ‘I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t, as things stand.’

  Salter rubbed his hands together, drained his glass and stood up. ‘In that case I’ll get myself home and break the news to Mrs Salter. Heaven alone knows how she’ll take it, but at least I can assure her that our Maureen is safe and not a suspect.’

  ‘That you can, Jack.’ Riley stood too. ‘Good night, and please assure Mrs Salter that I am taking personal responsibility for Maureen’s wellbeing.’

  ‘That’ll be a great comfort to her, sir,’ Salter replied, as Stout responded to Riley’s bell and appeared with Salter’s hat in his hand, ready to show him out.

  Chapter Seven

  Early the following morning Riley and Salter made their way to an address in Fairclough Street, the home of Ralph Faulkner.

  ‘Is this it?’ Riley asked, glancing up at a shabby tenement house with peeling paint and a gaggle of small children clustered around the entrance. A grocery shop occupied the ground floor and a young lad in an apron too large for him was putting out a display of sad-looking vegetables. Salter opened a side door and peered at a list of names above a row of letterboxes.

  ‘It would seem so,’ he said, pointing at one of them. ‘Faulkner has the top floor.’

  Riley rolled his eyes. ‘Of course he does.’

  The two men made their way up the narrow staircase, but were surprised upon reaching the top floor to discover that it wasn’t divided into several separate units, as had been the case on the lower floors. />
  ‘Interesting,’ Riley remarked, as Salter rapped at the door.

  He was on the point of knocking for a second time when it was wrenched open by a man who was too young to be Ralph Faulkner.

  ‘Yes?’ the man said. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘A word with Ralph Faulkner,’ Salter replied, equally belligerently.

  ‘Now ain’t convenient.’

  The man tried to close the door, but Salter stuck his foot in the opening. ‘Scotland Yard detectives,’ he said. ‘I suggest you make it convenient.’

  The man didn’t seem impressed by their status and looked to be on the point of arguing. He took in the stormy set to Salter’s features and wisely changed his mind, retreating into the apartment and leaving the door open behind him. Riley took that as an invitation to follow him inside, surprised to notice as he removed his hat that the expansive room he stepped into was tastefully furnished and spotlessly clean. The shabby exterior of the building had not promised anything nearly so elegant.

  ‘We ain’t all heathens,’ the man said with a sneer, watching Riley’s reaction. ‘Anyway, what do your lot want with me pa?’

  ‘You are Alfred Faulkner.’ Riley recognised his uniform as that of the London and South Western Railway.

  ‘What of it?’ he asked.

  ‘Look son, we ain’t got all day.’ Salter glowered belligerently. ‘You’d be better advised to ask how you can help with our enquiries, if you don’t want to spend the rest of the day in a cosy cell, reconsidering your attitude.’

  ‘What enquiries?’ Faulkner asked, only slightly less pugnaciously.

  ‘We need to talk to you, your father and your brother.’

  Riley smiled to himself, glad to have Salter with him again. He didn’t need to be told when to become assertive. Salter was wound up as tight as a spring, especially given Maureen’s situation, and would welcome an excuse to rid himself of a little aggression.