‘I do. Madame and Rathbone cover their tracks, but not that well. Stout found out about their liaisons with a few well-placed questions. Anyone else determined to get to the truth would be able to do the same, or would simply have had her watched.’
‘And Rathbone would go to just about any lengths to protect his reputation,’ Isaac said, nodding.
‘Either that or Madame was the one who paid up, Rathbone knows nothing about the threat and Madame silenced Mrs Faulkner, getting rid of a permanent thorn in her side once and for all before she could enlighten him. She does not want her supply of funds to dry up and no matter how enamoured of her Rathbone happens to be, I am sure his reputation means more to him. But once again, why would Madame arrange for the killing to take place in her own establishment, casting a shadow over her reputation?’
‘I don’t envy you this one, Riley,’ Jake said with feeling. ‘Just about everyone involved seems to have had a reason to want Mrs Faulkner dead.’
‘Perhaps she was a means to an end. Any victim would have done, provided she was killed on Madame’s premises, casting the aforementioned shadow over Madame’s business and character.’ Riley sighed. ‘Anyway, I dare say something will happen to point me in the right direction.’ He pushed his chair back. ‘Shall we rejoin the ladies?’
Chapter Twelve
Feeling refreshed after an evening in the company of his oldest friends, Riley arrived at Scotland Yard the following morning, ready to chase down the latest leads in this most complex of cases. Salter appeared close on his heels, looking windblown and exasperated.
‘Wretched omnibus was crowded as usual,’ he said by way of explanation. ‘Had to stand on the outside deck the entire way.’
‘At least you reached here unscathed,’ Riley replied, grateful that he himself was not subjected to such indignities. ‘Anyway, what did you make of our visit from Mary Nesbitt?’
‘I’m proud of the chit for finding the courage to come to us. It can’t have been easy for her to speak out against her own pa, and I’m ready to strangle him for making her feel that she had to sacrifice herself in order to save her family’s livelihood. Mind you, that’s nothing compared to what I’m prepared to do to our Mr Hatchard.’ Salter growled with frustration. ‘What sort of father does that to his innocent daughter?’
‘A desperate one,’ Riley replied, ‘which is why we need to have both Hatchard and Bernard Faulkner in here today to read them the riot act. Problem is, we don’t have any actual proof, especially when it comes to Bernard’s involvement.’
‘I’ll be happy to loosen his tongue,’ Salter replied, flexing his knuckles in gleeful anticipation.
‘It might well come to that, Jack. Ask Carter and Soames to find Hatchard.’ Riley paused to reflect. ‘No, on second thoughts, let’s pay him a visit ourselves. I shall be interested to observe his living arrangements.’
Salter looked dubious. ‘Is he likely to be at home at this hour of the day? He does have duties to discharge.’
‘I suspect that he’ll be keeping a low profile as things stand. He knows we suspect him of something, so he will be on his guard. If he’s not at home, I dare say we can persuade his landlady to give us access to his rooms. I’m willing to wager we will find a supply of the substandard goods he forces upon his customers stored in them.’ Riley leaned back in his chair. ‘How is Maureen’s recovery coming along?’
‘She’s being fussed over by her mother. My sons think that her stumbling upon a dead body is more exciting than this new-fangled Fry’s cocoa all the kids are in a tizzy about. Can’t seem to make them understand that a person’s been murdered. It ain’t no cause for such gruesomeness.’
Riley chuckled. ‘Boys have a duty to be gruesomely inclined.’
‘Anyway, our Maureen’s still shaken up by what happened but I think she’ll come through it all right. She’s got a level head on her shoulders. I asked her about Hatchard’s friendship with Mrs Faulkner but there wasn’t much that she could tell us that we don’t already know. She reckons they locked themselves away in her office whenever he called, and Maureen never heard what they talked about. But she did say that Miss Sharp found reasons to hang around outside the door. She hadn’t given it any thought before but reckons now that she was trying to eavesdrop.’
‘Interesting.’
‘It seems that Miss Sharp and Mrs Faulkner were friendlier that Miss Sharp led us to believe.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Maureen said all the apprentices were afraid of Mrs Faulkner and knew to keep their heads down or risk a tongue-lashing. But she and Miss Sharp seemed like their roles were reversed. Miss Sharp was the one in control, like a favoured relative given special treatment.’
Riley fixed Salter with a speculative look. ‘Do you think that’s possible?’
‘What, that Miss Sharp could be Mrs Faulkner’s child?’ Salter shrugged with disapproval. ‘That lot appear to have the morals of alley cats, so anything’s possible.’
‘Miss Sharp is younger than Mrs Faulkner’s sons so if there is a connection, she’s probably not Faulkner’s progeny.’
‘Hatchard?’
‘I doubt it. He’s too young. Anyway, it’s mere speculation. We know Miss Sharp was favoured by Mrs Faulkner but isn’t mentioned in her will, which implies that they were not actually related.’
‘I wonder if Miss Sharp knows that she gets nothing. Perhaps she has expectations.’
‘Possibly,’ Riley conceded. ‘And it would explain why we found her rooting through the office that day but not why she seemed indifferent about the woman’s death. If they were related, you’d expect a degree of affection, not to mention concern about her demise and curiosity about the identity of her murderer. Besides, why keep the connection between them a secret? I think we need to speak to her again.’
‘I managed a word with Wakefield on my way home last night an’ all.’
‘You have been busy, Jack.’
‘I’m responsible for removing any shadow of suspicion from my Maureen. Unless we can bring the killer to justice, there will always be those who think she received special treatment and I ain’t having that. If she really does have as much talent for making hats as everyone seems to think, I don’t want those who resent her abilities to use Mrs Faulkner’s death as an excuse to blacken her name.’
‘We’ll get the person, Jack. My family have promoted Maureen’s career, so I have a vested interest too.’ Riley leaned back in his chair. ‘Anyway, what did Wakefield have to say for himself?’
‘He didn’t want to say anything. Had a servant tell me he wasn’t at home.’
‘Oh dear.’ Riley flashed a wry smile, imagining how well that would have gone down with Salter in such an uncompromising mood.
‘I said, in that case some of my uniformed colleagues would call the following day and make a show out of pulling him in. Funnily enough, Wakefield must’ve suddenly come home at that point and decided to see me straight away.’
‘I’m perfectly sure that he did. I suspect that he also had an inkling as to your reasons for calling.’
‘Pompous, that’s how I’d describe him. Looked down his long nose at me and didn’t invite me to sit. So I made a big show out of sitting, then got straight to the point and asked him in a loud voice whether he’d fathered a child with Madame.’ Jack chuckled. ‘He was a bit more willing to cooperate after that. Told me to keep my voice down, offered me a drink and spoke to me man-to-man, seeming to think I would understand him having it away with a thirteen-year-old and be willing to overlook it.’ Salter sniffed, and Riley knew that his Christian morality would have been severely offended by the suggestion. ‘I eventually got him to admit that Meg Butler did have a child when she was still a child herself, but he reckons it wasn’t his.’
‘So how did he know about it?’
‘That’s what I asked him. He hummed and hawed but the bottom line appears to be that he did have it away with her. “Some harmless fun” he called it.�
�� Salter scowled and Riley was well aware of the nature of his thoughts, even before he articulated them. ‘A man like him, a respected Justice of the Peace, pontificating upon the lifestyle of others whilst simultaneously taking advantage of a young girl, probably more than one. Men like him take what they want and the hypocrisy sticks in the craw.’
‘He paid for her silence, one assumes, since he can’t have known for certain that he wasn’t the father.’
‘One assumes rightly. I asked him why he gave her money if he wasn’t responsible for her condition, or how he could know he wasn’t the father, just to see how he would justify himself. He tried to blame Meg, of course.’ Salter scowled. ‘Said she made excuses to call at the house to see her sister at times when she seemed to know that his wife wouldn’t be at home. She flaunted herself in front of him, tempted him like a modern-day Eve and then blamed him, even though he hadn’t, as he put it, emptied himself inside her.’
‘So he gave her money?’
‘Yes.’ Salter named a figure that caused Riley to let out a low whistle.
‘Has she been back for more since then?’
‘No. Wakefield told her that if she tried it then he’d have her arrested. She knew that a man in his position could invent charges and make it happen, so she didn’t push her luck.’
‘Well, well. Progress of sorts. Well done, Jack.’
‘Not sure how far it gets us.’
‘It tells us something about Madame’s character and how low she’s prepared to sink to get what she wants. Even at the age of thirteen, it seems she had identified what a man of Wakefield’s stature could do to help her achieve her ambitions.’ Riley shook his head. ‘And my family recommended that your daughter be apprenticed to her. I owe you an apology, Jack, even if they did it with the best of intentions.’
Salter waved the apology aside. ‘She’s no worse than Mrs Faulkner, sir.’
‘Aye, perhaps not, but sometimes—often, in this line of work—I feel ashamed of the depths people are prepared to trawl in order to advance.’
‘Easy for you to say, sir, if you don’t mind my mentioning it, given that you’ve never gone hungry.’
Riley looked up at his sergeant and acknowledged the point with a wry smile. ‘True enough, Jack. Anyway, Stout got into conversation with one of Rathbone’s footmen. Seems he’s a cheapskate when it comes to his living arrangements, even though he keeps up appearances.’
‘One of them.’ Salter screwed up his nose.
‘Indeed, Jack, and Madame seems still to be getting her claws into the hides of wealthy men who can help her career. I shall be having words with Rathbone later today. I dare say he’ll be forthcoming, provided I keep his dalliance with the lady to myself.’
Salter sniffed. ‘I don’t intend to make no promises in that regard.’
‘I’m perfectly sure that you don’t.’ Riley pushed himself to his feet. ‘Anyway, let’s get ourselves off to Cheapside and see what our friend Hatchard has to say for himself. Have Carter and Soames pick Bernard Faulkner up from his place of work and bring him back here. He can stew until we’ve finished with his partner in crime. It’s beyond time that the people who were involved with Mrs Faulkner told us the truth about their unlawful activities. I am starting to lose patience. Besides, I don’t intend to allow Hatchard to get anywhere near Mary Nesbitt.’
‘Amen to that, sir.’
Having sent Carter and Soames on their mission, Riley and Salter arrived at Hatchard’s lodgings to be told by his landlady that the gentleman who rented her first-floor front had not yet gone out. Salter led the way up the stairs and rapped hard on the door in question. After a considerable delay, it was opened by a bleary-eyed Hatchard, who appeared to be suffering the consequences of a night’s over-imbibing.
‘What the devil…’ He blinked up at Salter and paled. ‘Come back later. It ain’t convenient.’
He tried to slam the door but Salter’s foot had already been inserted in the aperture. Using a shoulder to knock Hatchard aside, Salter strolled into a dark room that smelled strongly of whisky and cheap perfume. A tousled female head appeared from beneath rumpled bedding. She let out a horrified squawk when she noticed the detectives and promptly disappeared again.
‘You can come out, Miss Sharp,’ Riley said calmly. ‘We’ve already seen you.’
‘Have we?’ Salter asked in a quiet aside. ‘I just saw the top of a head.’
‘A lucky deduction on my part and a connection that ought to have occurred to me before now,’ Riley whispered, turning his back so that Miss Sharp could reach for her discarded clothes, even if her dignity would be harder to relocate. ‘Hatchard appears to specialise is exploiting females who can be useful to him, and they aren’t all as unwilling as Mary Nesbitt.’
‘What do you want?’ Miss Sharp demanded. ‘What right do you have to come here, disturbing honest people who are minding their own business?’
Riley and Salter both turned back to face a disgruntled Miss Sharp. She had hurriedly donned a skirt and crumpled blouse but her hair was falling about her shoulders in a disorderly tangle and her eyes were as bloodshot as Hatchard’s. Her bluster was far from convincing and failed to hide her acute embarrassment at her loss of respectability in the detectives’ eyes.
Salter pulled back the curtains, flooding the room with weak morning sunshine. Hatchard blinked and turned away, as though the light hurt his eyes. Miss Sharp’s face looked pasty and blotched. It was not a prepossessing sight and Riley could see now that she was older than he had originally supposed. He put her somewhere about the same age or older than Madame Boise, but considerably less poised and definitely not the child that had resulted from Madame’s affair with Wakefield.
‘Sit down.’ Riley’s commanding tone ensured that they both complied, albeit with a flounce and defiant toss of Miss Sharp’s head. Riley himself remained standing, as did Salter. ‘We have questions for you.’
‘Ask away, Chief Inspector.’ Hatchard seemed to have recovered his aplomb. ‘Anything we can do to help clear up this dreadful business.’
‘Why did you not tell us that you two were close friends?’ Riley asked, addressing the question to Miss Sharp.
‘Is it relevant to your enquiry?’ It was Hatchard who answered.
‘Listen, Romeo.’ Salter hovered over him, his stance deliberately threatening. Riley knew that Salter wouldn’t approve of the man bedding a woman who was not his wife, and it wouldn’t take much for him to make Hatchard uncomfortably aware of the fact. ‘We ask the questions and you answer them. That’s how this works.’
‘Ray and I have known one another for a long time.’ Miss Sharp touched his arm, but Hatchard seemed indifferent to the gesture, and Riley sensed his unease. That unease was not, he suspected, created by having been caught in flagrante delicto. ‘I introduced him to Mrs Faulkner, as a matter of fact. I worked in a haberdashery before joining Mrs F.’
‘You were one of her apprentices?’ Riley asked. He hadn’t known that.
‘I was, and evidently I showed some promise.’ She preened. ‘Which is why she kept me on as chief assistant.’
‘You two have been romantically involved all that time?’ Riley wondered, in that case, if any children had ensued.
‘Only recently,’ Miss Sharp said, staring devotedly up at Hatchard. ‘Ray had feelings for me but he knew I would lose my position if we were to marry. Mrs F wouldn’t have countenanced that, so he selflessly put my interests first and didn’t press his claim. But now…’
From which Riley surmised that Hatchard had only recently bedded her, either because there was nothing to hold him back and he’d sensed her willingness, or to protect his own interests. If Hatchard had been involved in Mrs Faulkner’s murder, then a quick tumble on those grubby sheets would be sufficient to ensure Miss Sharp kept whatever she knew to herself.
He’d underestimated Hatchard. If a man could bargain with another man’s livelihood in order to have his way with his far-too-young daughter th
en there was little he would not stoop to. Riley pushed aside his revulsion.
‘Was the moneylending her idea or yours?’ he asked, skewing Hatchard with a penetrating look of disapproval.
Hatchard looked momentarily shocked, then relief filtered through his expression, as though he’d expected a question on another subject. ‘It’s not against the law,’ he said with bravado.
‘Which ain’t what the chief inspector asked you,’ Salter pointed out, getting into Hatchard’s face again. ‘Leave the interpretation of the law to those of us who understand it and answer the question.’
‘Mrs Faulkner realised the difficulties that arose for merchants when their customers were slow to settle their accounts,’ Hatchard replied, addressing his words to Riley and pointedly ignoring Salter. ‘She saw a way of helping them out of their temporary difficulties—’
‘And helping herself and you as well,’ Riley finished.
‘No one in this world has any right to expect something for nothing. We were providing a service.’
‘That isn’t all you provided, is it?’ Hatchard paled and Riley knew he was about to deny his other activities. ‘Did you really think we wouldn’t find out?’ he asked.
‘Find…find out what?’
Riley sighed and nodded towards a door on the other side of the room. Salter walked towards it.
‘Here! You can’t go in there.’
Miss Sharp jumped up and threw herself in front of the door, arms stretched wide. Salter simply moved her aside by pushing her shoulder and wrenched open the door. Boxes filled with ribbons, lace, hat pins and silk flowers spilled out. Riley said nothing but merely looked at an ashen Miss Sharp and a resigned-looking Hatchard.
‘How long have you been playing this particular game?’ Riley asked. ‘And before you think of lying to me again, you should be aware that Bernard Faulkner is currently awaiting our return to Scotland Yard. If you don’t give us honest answers, I’m perfectly sure that he will, if only to save his own skin.’
‘You might as well tell ’em, Ray.’ Miss Sharp sniffed. ‘The game’s up.’
Death of a Milliner: Riley Rochester Investigates Book 9 (Riley ~Rochester Investigates) Page 15