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

by Wendy Soliman

  ‘Don’t say anything to anyone about this conversation, Beryl. That way, there’s a chance you will keep your position.’

  Her round face brightened considerably. ‘Really, sir? I’ve been that worried. I ain’t been able to eat or concentrate on anything.’

  ‘One last question, Beryl. Mrs Faulkner was here very early in the morning. She would have had to leave Clapham before the first trains and omnibuses were running. How did she get here? Do you know?’

  ‘Oh yes, sir. I can tell you that.’ The girl now seemed eager to oblige. ‘I said I’d have to let her in at cock-crow, before anyone else was about, and would it be a problem getting here? She said not to worry. She could get here easily enough because she’d stay the night before in her room in Dover Street.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Riley and Salter shared a prolonged look. In a matter of seconds this comparatively innocent child appeared to have solved the mystery that had been plaguing Riley’s mind and supplied them with the rough location of Mrs Faulkner’s alternative living quarters. Now he had a good idea where to look for them there was a real possibility of narrowing down the field of suspects in this most complex of cases.

  He motioned to Salter to open the door to the office. He did so and Miss Cornish almost tumbled into it.

  ‘Listening at doors, Miss Cornish?’ Salter asked severely.

  ‘Not in the least.’ Miss Cornish sniffed as she drew herself defensively up to her full height, putting her almost at eye level with Salter. ‘I dropped something. Are you finished with Beryl? She needs to return to her work. We have orders to fill and without Maureen we are shorthanded.’

  At a sign from Salter, Beryl scurried from the room as though the devil was at her heels. Salter opened his mouth to speak as they watched her go, but Riley silenced him with a look. The two detectives left the premises, watched by the shop’s fascinated clientele and a worried-looking Miss Cornish. Whether she was concerned because she had overheard Beryl’s confession, because her employer had been detained at Scotland Yard or because she herself had a hand in the murder, Riley had yet to decide.

  ‘Well sir,’ Salter said, as the shop’s door closed behind them. ‘I didn’t anticipate any of that. What the devil made you ask her about Mrs Faulkner?’

  ‘I’m not sure. We haven’t come at this case in our usual methodical manner, which is forgivable in some respects, given its personal nature, but something has been nagging away at my sub-conscious. Something so obvious that we should have taken it into account long ago. It subsequently occurred to me that we’d absolved all the other apprentices of involvement without either of us speaking to them personally.’

  ‘I weren’t allowed to…’

  Riley’s absent wave stopped Salter in his tracks. ‘Someone had to have let Mrs Faulkner in. I didn’t suppose any of the apprentices would have the nerve, but Beryl’s evasiveness roused my suspicions. She was unable to disguise her resentment, her jealousy of your daughter, which made me wonder if Mrs Faulkner, whose devious character I’m starting to understand a lot better, was aware of Beryl’s situation and sought to exploit it. She obviously kept close tabs on Meg Butler—especially after Maureen’s defection—so I threw the question in without expecting such an explosive response.’

  Salter nodded emphatically. ‘Explosive is about right.’

  ‘I think young Beryl was glad to clear her conscience by confessing to her misdeeds.’

  ‘As a true Christian, I suppose I should forgive her, but I find it hard. It could have been so much worse for Maureen.’ Salter hailed a cab. ‘What now?’

  ‘I think we’ve kept Meg waiting for long enough. Once we get back to the Yard, have our three and as many men as Barton can spare knocking at the doors of all the lodging houses in Dover Street. We need to find Mrs Faulkner’s room.’

  ‘Right you are, sir.’ Salter removed his hat and scratched his scalp. ‘Now we know how Mrs Faulkner got into the shop, it’s simply a question of finding out who else had advance warning that she’d be there.’

  ‘It is indeed. If Beryl told the truth about the arrangement, which I rather think she did, then she wouldn’t have risked confiding in anyone. Her position means too much to her. Which implies that…’

  ‘That Mrs Faulkner herself told someone of her plans.’

  ‘Either that or Miss Cornish somehow got wind of Beryl’s intentions. She’s very good at eavesdropping, that one.’

  Salter pulled a gloomy face. ‘And there I was thinking we were getting somewhere, but the waters seem as murky as ever.’ He let out a long-suffering sigh. ‘That’s the problem with an unpopular victim, I suppose. Too many people had reasons to want her out of the road. Most unreasonable of them, making our job difficult like that.’

  ‘Cheer up, Jack.’ Riley slapped his sergeant’s shoulder as they alighted from the cab. ‘We know a lot more than we did this time yesterday.’

  ‘Much good it seems to be doing us,’ Salter complained.

  ‘Madame’s getting impatient,’ Barton told them when they walked into the Yard.

  ‘That’s rather the point,’ Riley replied. ‘I do like to give my suspects time to dwell upon their misdeeds in the comfort of our elegant and fragrant accommodation.’

  Barton chuckled. ‘Most considerate of you, sir, I’m sure.’

  Riley returned to his office and flipped through his messages, giving Salter time to arrange the search for Mrs Faulkner’s room in Dover Street. Once he had done so, the two of them joined Meg Butler in the interview room she’d been confined to. The walls had been painted a dull, institutional grey many years before, and rain pattered against the small grimy window. The aroma of unwashed bodies and desperation prevailed.

  ‘At last!’ She sent Riley an imperious look tinged with a modicum of fear. ‘Why am I here and why have I been kept waiting for so long?’

  Riley seated himself with fastidious care, without responding immediately. Salter dismissed the constable who’d kept Meg company, closed the door behind him and leaned against it, ready no doubt to exact a modicum of revenge. This woman, intentionally or otherwise, had put his precious daughter in the path of danger; a situation that required retribution.

  ‘Do you prefer Miss Butler or Mrs?’ Riley asked, not looking at her as he settled himself into a comfortable position, one knee crossed over its opposite number.

  ‘I prefer Madame Boise.’

  ‘We reserve the title of Madame for brothel keepers.’ Riley flexed a brow. ‘But if it fits the bill…’

  ‘Don’t be impertinent, Lord Riley.’ Meg inverted her chin. ‘You know very well that I am no such thing. You may address me however you wish, but I would still like to know why I am here.’

  ‘A woman was killed on your premises, in case it’s slipped your memory,’ Salter pointed out.

  ‘As if it could.’ Meg shuddered. ‘Mrs Faulkner and I were rivals who did not like one another. But she was no impediment to my success, and I had no reason for wanting her dead. I am however very sorry that your daughter became involved in this tawdry business, Sergeant.’

  ‘She is not involved,’ Riley replied. ‘She has been entirely absolved of any blame or guilt. And you would not be here yourself if you hadn’t tried to deceive us regarding the nature of your relationship with Mrs Faulkner.’

  ‘Relationship?’ Meg shuddered. ‘We had no relationship. It’s no secret that we despised one another but I had absolutely nothing to do with her, no communication of any sort. Nor did I kill her.’ She sighed impatiently as she fiddled with her glove’s cuff. ‘How many more times?’

  ‘As many as it takes for you to tell us the truth,’ Salter growled. Riley watched him clench his fists, well aware of the degree of self-restraint he would be exercising. Riley wouldn’t permit his sergeant to resort to violence against a woman, and despite Salter’s anger he doubted whether he would stoop that low.

  ‘I am telling you the truth. The woman meant less to me than an irritating fly.’
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  ‘And yet you were allowing her to blackmail you,’ Riley pointed out calmly.

  ‘Blackmail?’ Meg flapped a hand, but the colour had drained from her face and her bluster was far from convincing. ‘Don’t be so ridiculous. What could she possibly hold against me?’

  ‘We see it time and again in our line of work, don’t we, Sergeant?’

  ‘We do indeed, sir. Guilty parties feel the need to over-compensate by asking questions or pretending to be outraged.’

  ‘I understand your desire to clear your daughter’s name, Sergeant, but you will not achieve that ambition by casting aspersions over mine.’

  ‘I will give you one final opportunity to tell us about the blackmail.’ Riley fixed Meg with an implacable look. ‘But bear in mind before you try to lie to me again that we seldom ask questions that we don’t already know the answers to.’

  Meg defiantly held his gaze for a protracted moment but couldn’t maintain the deception and was the first to look away. ‘I have nothing to say to you.’

  ‘Lock her up, Sergeant.’ Riley stood. ‘I don’t have time to waste playing games.’

  ‘Wait!’ Riley paused but didn’t resume his seat. ‘You can’t put me in a cell.’

  ‘Actually I can, and I will not hesitate to do so.’ Riley fixed her with a look of steely resolve. ‘A word to the wise. In case you assume that friends in high places will come to your rescue, I think it only fair to warn you that Rathbone has returned to the bosom of his family and will deny all knowledge of your relationship if you apply to him for assistance.’

  Her cheeks bloomed and she let out a long breath. ‘Lord Rathbone and I are friends; that much is true.’

  Salter snorted. ‘You’re a sight more than that,’ he muttered.

  ‘I have no idea how the Faulkner woman found out about it.’

  ‘We found out by asking just two people,’ Riley replied, resuming his chair. ‘You were not quite as discreet as you seem to think.’

  ‘Yes, all right, she was extorting money from me. I had been paying her for three months and I didn’t tell you because…Well, it’s obvious why I didn’t. The woman was killed in my shop. If you knew about the blackmail, then I would have been carted off in handcuffs and you wouldn’t have bothered to look for the real killer.’ She fixed Riley with an intense look. ‘Despite what you think of me, I did not kill my rival, tempting though the prospect was, and nor did I arrange for her to be killed.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I have not always behaved well, so I can understand why you might think me guilty, but I assure you that I draw the line at murder.’

  ‘Rathbone financed your establishment in Bond Street. I had a long conversation with him yesterday and it became apparent very quickly that he is fond of you. Why didn’t you confide in him about the blackmail?’

  ‘Isn’t that obvious too?’

  ‘Not to me.’

  ‘I didn’t want to lose him.’ The artifice fell away, and Riley saw a brief glimpse of a vulnerable woman who was in love with a married man. ‘As you say, he was affectionately inclined towards me, but his reputation as a politician and a family man mean a great deal more to him that I ever could. Well, that much must be clear to you if it’s true what you say and he’s severed all connections without a backward glance.’ She wiped away an errant tear, the only display of emotion that Riley suspected she would allow herself. Many female suspects had fallen back on hysterics during Riley’s time as a detective in a show of remorse designed to invoke his sympathy. He admired Meg for not attempting a tactic that would have irritated him and done nothing to improve her situation. ‘He might have had the courtesy to tell me himself,’ she said softly.

  ‘You knew that Mrs Faulkner would never stop coming back for more, so why pay at all?’ he asked. ‘It wasn’t as if she had definitive proof.’

  ‘I panicked, and paid for three months in succession. Then, last month, I told her enough was enough. She agreed to stop bleeding me dry if I released Maureen and sent her back to Clapham.’ Riley glanced at Salter, who was scowling. ‘How was I supposed to do that? Not only is Maureen the most promising apprentice I have ever come across, but she is also a policeman’s daughter and I would be asked to explain myself, always supposing that Maureen was willing to return, which is doubtful. She often tells me that she has more freedom to develop her talents now and is much happier with me. But I knew that if I told you any of that, it would only make me look guilty. And casting me as the guilty party was obviously why someone murdered the wretched woman in my own shop. I have been racking my brains trying to figure out how she came to be there and who could have known she would be, but so far I have come up with nothing.’

  ‘Is Miss Cornish your daughter?’ Riley asked in one of his abrupt changes of subject, designed to wrong foot a suspect.

  ‘What?’ Meg’s mouth fell open in apparently genuine surprise. ‘Good heavens no! Whatever gave you such an idea? I have no children.’

  ‘Another lie, Sergeant,’ Riley said, sighing. ‘As predictable as it is tedious.’

  ‘Not this time. I can assure you that I don’t have any children. I am sure I would remember if I had given birth.’

  ‘Wakefield,’ Riley said.

  ‘Goodness me but you have been busy, Lord Riley.’ Meg had recovered a little of her fighting spirit and eyed Riley dispassionately. ‘Do you get some sort of vicarious thrill out of delving into the private lives of others?’

  ‘The chief inspector gets to ask the questions, not you,’ Salter pointed out, looming over the woman’s shoulder. ‘Don’t make me lose my temper. It’s not advisable, especially when I’m not feeling favourably inclined towards you, given the miserable time you’ve put my daughter through.’

  ‘I might have implied to Mr Wakefield that he had impregnated me,’ Meg said after a prolonged pause. ‘It wasn’t true, but the threat served three purposes. It stopped him from raping me again. Yes, rape, Lord Riley,’ she added emphatically in response to Riley’s sceptical look. ‘I went to visit my sister, who was in service in the Wakefield residence, and…well, I don’t suppose I need to spell it out to you. Suffice it to say that I was only thirteen and not very well versed in the ways of the world. I believed the man when he offered to show me some of the books in his library, given that I enjoyed reading whatever I could get my hands on.’

  ‘Go on,’ Riley said quietly when she paused to regain her composure. Clearly this was an episode in her life that she was not comfortable talking about.

  ‘He gave me a few coins afterwards, as though I was a child whore, and I knew that I wouldn’t be safe from him; that he would come back for more and that I couldn’t defy him without endangering my sister’s position in his household. So, I implied that I was pregnant and would have to tell my parents who the father was. He panicked, arranged for me to take up a fictional position on a country estate and gave me enough money to disappear until after the birth.’

  She snorted. ‘He avoided me like the plague when I returned home, not even asking if the child had lived or what had become of it.’ She lifted her chin and fixed Riley with a defiant expression. ‘That, Lord Riley, is how I learned a few harsh lessons in life early on. I knew I would have to stand up for myself from that point onwards, since no one else was likely to protect my interests without expecting something in return.’

  There was a quiet dignity about her response, and Riley believed her. She had grown up too soon and had learned to fight her own battles. Whether or not she had actually killed Mrs Faulkner, or arranged to have her killed, he had yet to decide. She had the most compelling reason to do away with her, but was probably unaware that one of her apprentices had arranged to let her into her premises that morning.

  ‘Very well. Thank you, Miss Butler. You may go.’

  Riley stood and left the room without another word, leaving Salter to arrange for her to be shown out.

  Riley returned to his office moments before a breathless Peterson appeared to tell him that Mrs Faulkner’s
room in Dover Street had been found.

  ‘Grab your coat, Jack,’ he said when Salter joined them. ‘The room’s been found. Did you leave anyone there, Peterson?’

  ‘Yes, sir. One of Sergeant Barton’s men is guarding the place, just in case…’

  ‘Good man.’

  ‘What did you make of Madame’s little performance?’ Salter asked as they made their way to Dover Street in a hackney.

  ‘I’m inclined to believe her, despite the fact that she attempted to taunt you, Jack. I certainly believed her as far as Wakefield is concerned.’ The cab hit a rut, jolting its occupants and causing their shoulders to collide. ‘Anyway, we’re no further forward, since we still can’t rule out any of our suspects.’

  ‘My money’s on Miss Cornish being involved somehow,’ Salter replied.

  ‘Mine too, as it happens, Jack. What does your daughter make of her?’

  ‘She has a sharp tongue, which she curbs when Madame is around. Maureen admires her, what with her being a foundling and having worked her way up to a responsible position, but she shuns all of Maureen’s friendly approaches.’

  ‘Does she resent Maureen? See her as a threat?’

  ‘That ain’t the sort of question I can ask her, guv’nor. She’s far too naïve and it’s hard for her to see that anyone would find her a threat, or that there’s anything remarkable about whatever it is that she does with those damned hats.’

  ‘Right. Well, here we are.’

  The cab stopped outside a tall, terraced lodging house that looked to be neatly maintained. The paintwork was fresh, the step scrubbed and the windows sparkled, defying the efforts of the light rain that pattered against them to dull their shine.

  ‘Very different to Mrs Faulkner’s sloppy living arrangements in Clapham,’ Riley remarked, tilting his head back and staring up at the building. ‘It’s almost as if she decided to give herself a new start, which would explain why she skimped on the upkeep of the premises in Clapham. She knew she would be vacating them soon. Has anyone attempted to gain access since you have been stationed here?’ he asked, turning his attention to the uniformed constable who saluted him.