‘Good afternoon,’ Riley said, standing and continuing to smile at her. ‘We met earlier but I don’t recall hearing your name.’
‘Mary.’ She paused. ‘Mary Nesbitt.’
‘Ah, your father owns the shop.’ Riley indicated a chair in front of his desk and Mary lowered herself gingerly onto the edge of it.
‘He does, and he thinks I’m out making deliveries. There’ll be hell to pay if I’m gone for too long. He’ll want to know where I’ve been and I can’t tell him I came here.’
‘Then we shall not detain you. Tell us what you came to say, Mary. I assume it’s about Mr Hatchard.’
Her face darkened at the mention of his name. ‘If I tell you, you have to promise that me Pa won’t know you heard it from me. He’ll beat me black and blue if he finds out. He can’t abide disloyalty.’
‘Did your father kill anyone, Mary?’ Riley asked kindly.
‘Lud above, I hope not!’ She composed herself and Riley sensed that if she had been born into a better family, her intelligence and morality encouraged, she might have made something of herself. He knew it must have taken her considerable courage to come to Scotland Yard. People from her walk of life, Riley knew, didn’t trust the police and resolved their own disputes, brooking no outside interference. ‘No, he wouldn’t go that far.’
‘Very well, what do you want to tell us about Hatchard?’
Mary glanced at Salter, leaning against the wall with notebook poised. He gave her a fatherly smile that appeared to reassure. ‘Hatchard lends money,’ she said in a rush.
‘Ah, I see.’ And Riley did. It made sense on many levels, and had doubtless been Mrs Faulkner’s idea.
‘We all struggle to make a living, see. Times are hard. Hatchard, friendly as you please, suggested to Pa a while back that he could help him out when he got stuck in a tight corner and was in danger of losing the shop and our livelihood, such as it is.’
‘He loaned the necessary funds in return for a healthy profit, one assumes.’
‘Oh, he charges interest right enough, but not an exorbitant amount. But he does insist that we only buy some of our supplies from Dobson’s.’ She paused, probably aware that she had both detectives’ complete attention. ‘The rest he supplies from elsewhere. Don’t ask me where he gets it from ’cause I ain’t got no idea.’
‘I assume his supplies are substandard,’ Riley said, thinking of the old lady’s criticism of the ribbon.
‘And then some.’ Mary huffed indignantly. ‘We might be poor but we once took pride in supplying decent goods for a fair price. Not anymore though. It ain’t right to fob hard-working people off with shoddy stuff, knowing they can’t afford to go elsewhere. I keep telling me pa that, but he don’t take no notice of me.’
‘It’s brave of you to come forward, Mary. Thanks to you, we will be able to put a stop to Hatchard’s business now.’
‘I didn’t come for that reason.’ She twisted her fingers in her lap, looking very young and unsure of herself.
‘Then why did you come?’ Riley asked in a gentle voice.
‘It’s Hatchard. Pa can’t pay what he owes again and he says he wants…he wants...’ She waved her hands down the length of her body.
‘The devil he does!’ Salter growled.
Riley quietened his sergeant with a look. ‘How old are you, Mary?’
‘Thirteen, sir, and I ain’t never been…’
‘And nor shall you be, not with Hatchard or anybody else,’ Riley said, his tone full of resolve. ‘Why would your father countenance such a suggestion?’
‘We don’t live like you posh people,’ Mary replied, her vulnerability replaced by a shrewd, worldly wise expression. ‘Pa said it don’t mean nothing and I’m not to make an almighty fuss.’
‘Your father mistakes the matter.’ Riley paused. ‘Now, what has Hatchard offered your father in return for your favours?’
‘Business has been slow. Hatchard says he’ll wipe out Pa’s debt if I’m nice to him.’ Tears ran down her face as she spoke in a heated rush. ‘I know what’ll happen. It won’t be once; he’ll keep coming back and I’ll have a baby. Another mouth we can’t afford to feed and my life will be over.’
‘It won’t come to that, Mary.’ Riley stood and gently touched her shoulder. ‘You have my word.’
Mary stood too, not looking especially convinced, as if she was accustomed to life letting her down and had learned never to get her hopes up.
‘Thank you very much for finding the courage to tell us all this,’ Riley said, glancing at his watch. ‘Hatchard won’t get anywhere near you, you can rest assured on that score.’ Riley would personally make sure that he was watched night and day and intercepted if he went anywhere near Whitechapel. Not that he was likely to do so until Mrs Faulkner’s murder had been solved, Riley suspected, since he would be aware that he was under suspicion. ‘Now then, I have a carriage outside and I shall take you almost all the way home so that you won’t be late.’
‘Will you really, sir?’ She looked warily up at Riley, as though expecting there to be a catch. ‘That’s awful kind of you.’
‘Arrange with Barton to keep Hatchard under scrutiny,’ Riley said in a quiet aside to Salter, ‘then get yourself off to Clapham to talk to Wakefield. I’ll make sure the child gets safely home and we’ll catch up in the morning.’
Stout was outside with the carriage waiting.
‘This is Miss Mary Nesbitt, Stout, and she has come forward with some very helpful information. We are going to take her almost all the way home to Whitechapel to save her the inconvenience of a long walk.’
‘Very good, my lord.’
Mary’s mouth fell open at the sound of Riley’s title and then she giggled as she climbed into Riley’s carriage, showing a rare glimpse of the carefree child she still ought to be. Riley thought briefly of Sophia, older than Mary by several years but cosseted and not nearly so well-versed in the ways of the world. He couldn’t bear to think of any child having to cope with the type of threats that rested on Mary’s shoulders. What her father described as a small sacrifice on her part had the potential to save her entire family from the workhouse. Riley felt rage engulf him. What guilt to lay at a child’s door. He was glad that Mary had found the inner strength to rise above it.
‘I ain’t never spoken to a real lord before,’ she said.
Riley enjoyed the pleasure she took from a ride in his well-sprung carriage. He chatted to her about inconsequential matters and let her out close to her father’s abode.
‘Have courage, Mary. I shall not let Hatchard get anywhere near you.’
‘I know it, m’lord,’ she said, standing on the pavement in her grubby gown and bobbing a graceful curtsey. ‘I’m right glad I decided to come and see you. You’ve set my mind at rest and in one respect. What’s to become of us if Hatchard presses for repayment of his loan is another matter altogether. Still, an’ all, Pa’s pled poverty before now and come out the other side. I dare say something will turn up.’
It would if Riley had any say in the matter.
He spent the journey into Bromley mulling over the day’s revelations. Revelations that had thrown up more questions than answers and not brought him any closer to identifying the murderer. Hatchard and Mrs Faulkner had undoubtedly launched the money-lending scheme together and Riley would wager a small fortune that the sub-standard accessories he forced upon his customers were brought in through the docks by Bernard Faulkner without inconveniencing the revenue men. Both men would have to be confronted, but Riley had yet to decide if they had chosen to cut Mrs Faulkner out of their lucrative business.
Permanently.
‘Did you find out anything interesting about Lord Rathbone, Stout?’ Riley asked, when they arrived at Ashdown.
‘They live in a large establishment, my lord, as one would expect in order to accommodate a family with so many children. I spoke with one of Rathbone’s footmen over a tankard of ale in the local tavern, pretending to be in search of wor
k. He told me not to bother knocking at Rathbone’s door. Said he only employed a minimum number of men, far too few to run his rambling home, and was constantly late paying their wages. But in spite of that, they entertain lavishly and keep up appearances.’
‘Any indication that Rathbone keeps a mistress?’
‘Oh yes. Apparently his duties at the House regularly keep him away from home overnight. But the man I spoke to is nobody’s fool and told me that the House often isn’t sitting when his presence is supposedly required there. Seems Lady Rathbone has no interest in politics and is totally taken up with her children. She believes whatever he tells her—or at least she pretends to, poor woman. My talkative footman reckons his master creeps home in the early hours at least once a month reeking of perfume and looking, in his words, right furtive.’
‘Thank you, Stout. That is an enormous help. I shall be able to quiz Rathbone from a position of strength thanks to your diligence. I’m persuaded he will tell me what I need to know rather than risk having his behaviour made public knowledge.’
‘That is pretty much what I supposed, my lord.’
Riley had just enough time available to play with his son before he was required to bathe and change in advance of their friends’ arrival. He took the opportunity to have a word with Ruth when he handed a sleepy Simon back to her.
‘I understand you had a visitor,’ he said mildly.
Ruth’s face flushed. ‘He didn’t come here, m’lord. I met him in the village when the mistress gave me a half hour off.’
‘Where you met him isn’t the point, Ruth. I am more concerned by the fact that he now knows where you are living.’
‘Paul don’t bear me no grudge for speaking out against Sam.’
‘Paul may not, but the rest of his family likely do, especially his mother.’
Ruth examined her feet. ‘She don’t know where I am. Paul would never say.’
‘I hope not, Ruth. I know it took a lot of courage to give Sam up to the authorities and ensure his conviction. I also know you were thinking of your children and your own self-preservation when you did so. I admire that about you, but you can be sure that those you left behind will not.’ Riley paused, wondering how to word his caution without upsetting the girl, who appeared close to tears. ‘If your old friends could see you now, living in relative luxury, they would be jealous rather than pleased for you. It must be hard to be parted from everything that’s familiar to you, I perfectly understand that much, but the point I’m trying to make is that they won’t feel kindly disposed towards you anymore because you have gone up in the world.’
Ruth bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you but I promise Paul won’t cause problems for me.’
‘Let’s hope not. Put your old life behind you, Ruth, and make new friends here. It’s the best way.’
‘I know.’ She jiggled a now grizzling Simon in her arms. ‘Thank you, m’lord. I’m sorry if you think I’ve let you down.’
Riley sent her on her way, aware that if she was wrong about Paul and he was intent upon revenge then the damage was already done. He knew where Ruth was and that she had responsibility for Riley’s child. Hopefully, Riley’s position within society and more importantly his role as a detective would make him think twice before he did anything foolhardy.
As he climbed into the bath that Stout had drawn for him, Riley gritted his teeth. If his own good intentions in rescuing Ruth from an uncertain future brought those seeking revenge to his door, threatening the wellbeing of his own family, Riley was afraid of the violence he would be capable of in their protection.
He understood Salter’s extreme anxiety over Maureen’s situation now. He laid back in the water with his eyes closed, briefly overwhelmed by the responsibilities that came with fatherhood.
By the time their guests arrived, Riley was in control of himself again and greeted them with unrestrained warmth. Seated at table, the ladies lost no time in raising the subject of Mrs Faulkner’s murder, but were unaware of Maureen’s accidental involvement until Amelia enlightened them.
‘Poor Maureen,’ Olivia exclaimed. ‘And poor Sergeant Salter too, for that matter. He must be beside himself.’
‘Fortunately, Maynard has proved that someone of Maureen’s height and slight build couldn’t possibly have struck the killer blow,’ Riley said. ‘But yes, Salter has been ready to commit a murder or two of his own these past days. I sent Maureen to Martha and kept Salter out of things. You can imagine how that went down.’
‘You did the right thing,’ Isaac said, sipping at his wine. ‘If I were defending the killer, I wouldn’t hesitate to highlight Salter’s involvement in the investigation.’
‘I feel responsible,’ Olivia said. ‘After all, it was I who suggested Maureen would do better under Madame Boise’s tutelage. I had no idea that she and Mrs Faulkner despised one another.’
‘Whatever happens to Maureen after Riley has solved this murder, which he obviously will,’ Eva added, ‘we must put our support behind the girl. She really is a marvel with hats.’
The ladies were in agreement on that point and fell into discussing their latest headwear. It wasn’t until they had withdrawn at the end of the meal that Riley could explain the complexities of the case to his old mentors.
‘Mrs Faulkner’s talent was stifled and her life was a disappointment, especially when Faulkner deserted her,’ he explained. ‘She didn’t make herself popular and didn’t care what people thought of her. She had plans to finally make her mark, though, and I can’t help feeling it’s those plans that got her killed.’
Jake and Isaac listened as Riley explained the complexities of the case.
‘She was clearly involved with Hatchard’s money-lending to people struggling to make ends meet,’ he concluded by saying, ‘which is how she started accruing so much wealth.’
Jake shook his head and tutted. ‘She profited from the misery of those least able to afford the repayments.’
‘Quite. And when they could not—pay that is—Hatchard forced them to take his substandard goods and sell them as the genuine article. I am equally sure that Bernard Faulkner supplied the goods in question, or at least got them through the docks without the revenue men being any the wiser. I also think Mrs Faulkner had decided to call a halt. She had accumulated enough funds to reinvent herself in direct competition with Madame in central London and didn’t need any distractions, to say nothing of the risk of being caught and disgraced.’
‘You imagine that Hatchard and her son had become accustomed to their share of the spoils and didn’t want her to stop.’ Jake rubbed his chin. ‘But there was no reason why they should…stop, that is. They could have continued without Mrs Faulkner. In fact, they didn’t need her and would have been better off without her. But surely they didn’t need to kill her either?’
‘Unless she controlled the sub-standard goods at source,’ Isaac pointed out.
‘Precisely. We also don’t know how much Bernard made from his participation but one assumes he had some idea how much money his mother had accumulated and knew he would inherit when she died. He worried that she would pour it all into her new enterprise, which might fail, leaving him destitute, toiling away in a lowly clerical position for the rest of his days when he had his sights set on a far more comfortable life.’
‘It seems to me, Riley,’ Jake said, ‘that you have two potential crimes to grapple with. The moneylending and its spin-off, but more seriously the murder.’
‘Exactly, and the key to it all is the murder site itself.’ Riley topped up his port and passed on the decanter. ‘Every time I think I know who must have done it, I come back to the fact that someone must have let Mrs Faulkner into Madame’s premises. I am satisfied that she didn’t break in but was there by invitation.’
‘You don’t imagine she went there in the hope of catching Maureen alone?’ Isaac asked.
Riley shook his head. ‘Even if she had been at work, she wouldn’t have been by herself.’
>
‘The invitation must have come from Madame,’ Jake said, ‘or at least it was made to look that way.’
‘Apparently only she and her chief assistant, Miss Cornish, have keys. And it was Miss Cornish who let herself in moments after Maureen found the body—very conveniently so. I should add that she isn’t kindly disposed towards Maureen.’
‘She feels threatened by her talent, presumably,’ Jake remarked.
‘I’d imagine so.’
‘Could she have invited Mrs Faulkner into the shop to speak with Maureen at a time when she knew Madame wouldn’t be there?’ Isaac asked. ‘It would be within her own best interests to see her rival gone. Maureen was a threat to her own ambitions.’
‘I think it unlikely. And she could hardly have staged the murder to make Maureen look responsible since she had no idea that Maureen would come down alone when she did. Even so, I have people looking into Miss Cornish’s circumstances.’
‘I begin to see your difficulty,’ Jake said sympathetically.
‘I have been attempting to find out how Madame came by the considerable funds she would have needed to set up in such a prestigious location, and thanks to Stout I am now convinced that she’s intimately involved with Rathbone.’
Jake and Isaac exchanged a raised-eyebrow look.
‘The sanctimonious ones seldom practise what they preach,’ Isaac remarked.
‘Precisely so. I know from Mrs Faulkner’s bank that she received a large influx of funds over the past few months; sufficient for her to move her plans forward.’
‘You suspect blackmail?’ Jake asked.
Death of a Milliner: Riley Rochester Investigates Book 9 (Riley ~Rochester Investigates) Page 14