Riley Rochester Investigates
Death of a Footman
Wendy Soliman
Riley Rochester Investigates
Death of a Footman
Copyright © Wendy Soliman 2020
Edited by Perry Iles
Cover design by Clockwork Art
This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations contained are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance of actual living or dead persons, business, or events. Any similarities are coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any method, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of
The Author – Wendy Soliman
This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction fines and/or imprisonment. The e-Book cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this e-Book can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the author.
Prologue
London: Summer 1872
The sun beat down on Riley Rochester’s bare head as he swung his six-month old son in the air, making him giggle. He watched his wife Amelia as she wandered the length of the extensive garden in the Bromley manor house they had almost made up their minds to purchase. This was a second and more protracted visit, and so far everything at Ashdown had exceeded their recollections. The garden was meticulously tended, a riot of colour with heavy-headed flowers spilling petals over manicured lawns as they swayed in a gentle breeze. The lawn itself was shaded by a maple tree, and the sun filtered through its leafy canopy, dappling the grass below as birds flitted through its branches, chirping to one another like a flock of gossiping housewives.
‘I can just imagine you and the prune settled on a blanket beneath that tree while I’m slaving away at Scotland Yard,’ Riley said, grinning at his wife’s exuberant expression as she rejoined him and took Simon from his arms.
‘You mustn’t call Simon the prune anymore,’ she chided. ‘He will soon be old enough to understand and it will confuse him.’
‘It’s a sign of affection.’ Riley ruffled his son’s hair. ‘Anyway, do you really like the house? There are others we can look at.’
‘No, my mind is quite made up. This will be perfect for us.’
‘You think we shall be happy settled here as a family?’ He focused his gaze at Amelia’s abdomen, although signs of her condition were not yet apparent.
‘How could we not be?’ She glanced at a magnificent magnolia in full bloom, giving off a heady perfume, and at something mauve spilling over an old wall. Its identity was a mystery to Riley. ‘The air is so clean and fresh, especially when compared to London in the middle of summer, with its noxious smells and its crowded streets.’ Bruno, the scruffy mongrel that had adopted Riley a few months ago, bounded up to them, his jaws dripping water following his investigation of the stream that ran along the bottom of the garden. He wagged his tail and barked, making them laugh. ‘You see? Bruno likes the idea of more freedom too. And I absolutely love the house.’
They both looked up at the old manor with its weathered Cotswold stone walls partially covered in wisteria, its gently sloping roofs and mishmash of chimney stacks. A short gravel driveway flanked by flower beds led to a modest entrance with stone steps to double oak front doors protected by a canopy supported by slender pillars. The property had been vacant for some time and although the grounds had been maintained, the interior had been neglected, which is why the price was so reasonable, Riley had been reliably informed by the agent.
They were neither of them deterred by the need for a little renovation, especially not when they left the musty interior for the first time and stepped through double doors that led directly from the south-facing drawing room onto a wide terrace and from there into the fabulously secluded gardens. There were several acres of paddocks that went with the property, as well as a stable block and barns, an orchard and woodland.
‘What is that ramshackle building?’ Amelia asked, pointing to a structure that was partially hidden from view by the encroaching treeline.
‘It was a steward’s cottage back when the estate was much larger. A lot of the land was sold off in separate parcels, I gather. Anyway, the place isn’t big enough to need a steward anymore, and the man who tends the grounds lives in the village.’
‘We should have it renovated, perhaps as a summer cottage that you can retreat to when the family gets too boisterous.’
‘I cannot imagine ever wanting to be away from you.’ Riley smiled at his wife and tweaked Simon’s nose. The baby gave a toothy grin and kicked his legs.
‘I shall remind you of that when this latest one keeps us up all night, grizzling and generally misbehaving.’ Amelia placed a protective hand over her abdomen.
‘I’ll take my chances. Anyway, if you are sure about the house then I shall close with the agent,’ Riley said, indicating the individual who stood in the hallway, waiting for their final decision.
‘Are you sure we can afford it, Riley?’ Amelia asked, looking anxious. ‘There is so much that needs to be done.’
‘Certainly we can. With good fortune, we can sign the deeds within the month and be settled here well in advance of your next confinement. In the meantime, we can decide what renovations would best suit us and I will arrange for them to be carried out. Stout can supervise, leaving you and Olivia free to purchase whatever furniture you think we shall need.’ He smiled at his wife’s sparkling expression. ‘That is definitely an occupation better left to you ladies.’
‘Well then, let’s do it,’ she said, squeezing his arm with the one she wasn’t using to hold Simon. ‘The house is just the right size for us.’
Riley nodded his agreement. Several large reception rooms and six commodious bedrooms, as well as servants’ quarters in the attics, was more than enough space for his growing family. It left room for the occasional guest, but not so much space that Riley’s mother would feel inclined to inflict herself upon them for too long. Such a relatively small establishment would definitely be beneath her dignity.
‘We will keep our saddle horses down here,’ he said, his own enthusiasm growing as he anticipated taking long rambles on horseback across the local countryside with Amelia at his side. ‘We seldom ride in London. And we will be able to have ponies for the children in due course.’
Amelia nodded eagerly. ‘But your work. I worry that you will spend all your time on a train.’
Riley laughed. ‘A small price to pay for all this freedom. Besides, I shall keep my town house in Sloane Street. That will more than suit our needs if you are not intending to spend much time in London.’
‘I don’t imagine ever wanting to leave this haven of tranquillity.’
‘In that case, with your approval, I will put the Eaton Square house on the market.’
‘Please do. But what of the servants?’
‘Most of them will come to Bromley with us. Those who would prefer not to can form a skeleton staff in Sloane Street.’
‘I can see that you have it all worked out, and that I have nothing to think about at all.’
‘Certainly I have. And as to my work, if I get embroiled in a difficult case, I can stay in town if needs be. As it is, Charing Cross is less than ten miles away by train and Stout can drive me to the station. Don’t worry about me, my love. I sha
ll enjoy having the best of both worlds.’
Amelia’s captivating smile was all the reward that Riley required. Amelia and Simon had made his life complete. With another child to look forward to, he was without doubt the luckiest man alive. He kissed his wife, ruffled his son’s downy hair and made his way into the house to track down the agent, Bruno at his heels. Matters were quickly settled between them and the delighted agent assured Riley that he could have the contract ready for his signature and sent to his legal people early the following week.
With nothing else left to resolve, Amelia and Riley returned to their waiting carriage. They had been driven down by Riley’s long-standing manservant, Stout.
‘Well, Stout, I hope you like Ashdown because Lady Riley and I have just agreed to purchase the estate.’
‘Very suitable for a growing family, my lord,’ Stout replied as he helped Amelia into the carriage. The ordinarily dour man grinned broadly when Simon gurgled at him.
Riley and Bruno climbed into the carriage in Amelia’s wake, and Bruno proceeded to take up most of the floor space with his rangy body.
‘I am so glad that Stout approves,’ Amelia said, smiling. ‘Otherwise you might have been obliged to look elsewhere for the sake of a quiet life.’
Riley smiled. ‘Stout is in danger of becoming sociable, at least insofar as you and Simon are concerned. You both make him smile, which is a feat I have seldom managed to achieve in all the years he has been in my service.’
Amelia laughed. ‘He is devoted to you and well you know it.’ She glanced out the window at the passing scenery, taking an avid interest in surroundings that would soon become familiar to her. ‘When do you intend to tell your mother about our plans? I know you didn’t want her to know before we decided upon a place in case she tried to influence our decision. But now that it’s settled I dare say Sophia will want to help with the furnishings and decoration, so word will get back to Dorothea. It would be unkind if she didn’t hear it from you.’
‘You cannot expect to be spared from Sophia’s company now that she spends the majority of her time in London,’ Riley replied, smiling with affection at the thought of how much his exuberant niece would enjoy the new house.
‘I am happy spending time with her.’
‘When it comes to choosing furniture her taste will be modern—but be warned, my mother is a traditionalist. Anyway, we will tell Mother about the house and the new baby at the same time. With great good fortune, the latter will prevent her from interfering too much with the former.’
Amelia cradled Simon in the crook of her left arm. The movement of the carriage had lulled him to sleep. ‘He is so much more adorable when he’s asleep,’ she said, making them both smile. ‘Anyway, Riley, I am so very happy, and I know that I shall enjoy making a home for us in Bromley.’
‘Did you know that it was first recorded in a charter way back in 862 as Bromleag?’
Amelia blinked at him. ‘Bromleag?’
‘It means a woodland clearing where broom grows.’
‘How on earth do you know all these obscure things, Riley? Really, you make me feel quite dense at times.’
He chuckled. ‘Much as I would like to bask in your admiration, I must admit to having looked up the history of the place when we thought to settle here.’
‘Of course you did,’ she replied, rolling her eyes. ‘Always the detective…’.
They arrived back at Eaton Square and Amelia passed Simon to his nursemaid before herself going to change. Riley enjoyed a rare evening dining at home with his wife, free for once of other social engagements and the demands of his occupation as a detective chief inspector at Scotland Yard—an occupation that had spoiled their plans more than once. The doors to the garden were thrown open in the hope of catching what breeze there was to be had. Amelia bubbled with excitement at the prospect of moving into their new home and talked of her plans for redecoration and improvement.
‘Decide what needs to be done and I will have it carried out before we move. That way, you and the prune won’t be inconvenienced.’
‘Are you sure? How much can I spend?’
Riley lifted one shoulder. ‘As much as is necessary for you to make a comfortable home for us all.’
Amelia leaned over the table and, mindless of Stout’s presence, kissed Riley full on the lips.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You are the most generous of husbands.’
Riley glanced up at Stout and was almost sure that his lips had twitched, but he’d arranged his features into their customary neutral expression again before he could be certain.
Chapter One
Riley made his way into Scotland Yard the following morning, still smiling at recollections of his wife’s enthusiastic gratitude the previous night, which hadn’t allowed him much time for sleep. Even so, he was wide awake and barely conscious of the high temperatures and the accompanying smells that pervaded the London streets.
‘Morning, Barton,’ he said as he entered the police station, acknowledging the desk sergeant, who never seemed to be off duty.
‘Morning, sir. Nice day for it.’
Riley didn’t pause to seek clarification. Barton was a law unto himself and Riley had learned at an early point in his career always to remain on his good side. He could make life exceedingly difficult for anyone he took in dislike or of whose methods he disapproved, and it had taken Barton several months before he decided that Riley didn’t fall into either category.
Riley, having accepted promotion to the position of chief inspector with some reluctance, had thus far found his additional duties less onerous than he had feared would be the case. His disgraced predecessor, Riley soon realised, had created work for himself in order to enhance his standing—much good it had done him. Riley now supervised two detective inspectors and still kept his own hand in by heading up serious investigations with the essential help of his sergeant, Jack Salter.
‘There’s been a suspicious death reported to us down in Clapham,’ Barton said. ‘The local bobbies thought it worthy of us, so I sent young Peterson down to rouse Salter. No sense him coming up here and then having to return to his own back yard.’
‘Thank you, Barton,’ Riley replied. ‘Very forward thinking of you.’
‘I aim to give satisfaction.’
Riley made his way to his office, silently cursing. He’d hoped for a continued quiet spell, even though he knew it was overly optimistic to expect local criminals to curb their unlawful activities just to oblige him.
Riley read the messages that had accumulated overnight and then called Inspectors Turner and Grayson into his lair. They began their regular morning meeting, updating Riley on the progress of ongoing cases while he allocated responsibility for anything new that had come to the interest of the detective department since the previous day.
‘Morning, sir.’ Jack Salter walked in, looking harried.
‘Morning Salter,’ Riley said. ‘I hear the denizens of Clapham have been ill-mannered enough to do one another harm at a time when we were enjoying a lull in the crime wave and a pleasant spell of sunshine.’
‘Afraid so, sir. The locals were right to call us in. It’s murder right enough—and what’s more, I know the victim.’
‘Sorry to hear that.’ Riley nodded to a chair and Salter fell heavily into it. ‘Do we know what happened?’
‘A pub brawl by the looks of things. The victim, John Dawson, was bashed on the back of the head with something solid and left to die in a side alley. He was found by a baker on his way to work early this morning who popped down that alleyway to relieve himself and got more than he bargained for. I’ve got young Peterson asking questions of the landlord and then waiting to talk to his regulars, but you can bet your last shilling that no one saw nothing.’
‘Has next of kin been informed?’
‘Aye, sir. The lad has a mother. Spoke to her myself. She’s beside herself, poor woman. Dawson didn’t deserve that sort of love, and she sure as heck doesn’t deserv
e to have her heart broke.’ Salter let out a long sigh. ‘Anyway, I came in to let you know what’s what. Want me to spend the rest of the day on it?’
‘And the one after that, if necessary. You may not have liked the victim, Jack, but he probably doesn’t deserve to be dead, and his demise warrants our best efforts.’
‘Right you are, sir.’
‘Take Carter and Soames back with you,’ he said, referring to the two detective constables who ordinarily worked with Salter. ‘Ask more questions. Lean on the landlord. He won’t want his trade interfered with, so he might suddenly remember something useful.’
‘Right you are.’
‘You said you knew the man, Jack. How?’
‘Sorry to interrupt, sir,’ Barton said, putting his head round the door. ‘But I’ve had an urgent message from a Lady Ida Randall. She reckons you know her.’
‘I do, Barton,’ Riley said, smiling and rolling his eyes simultaneously. ‘What does she want?’
Barton sniffed. ‘She reckons she’s misplaced one of her footmen and what do you intend to do about it?’
‘Oh heck,’ Salter said. ‘That’ll be Dawson she’ll be looking for.’
‘Why?’ Riley felt justifiably confused. ‘Your murder victim turned up in Clapham. Lady Randall resides in Portman Square. Is there a connection?’
‘There could be.’
Riley frowned as his normally forthright sergeant hesitated. ‘Out with it, man,’ he snapped.
‘Dawson was always a bit of a jack the lad as a child. Up to all sorts of no good, but happy-go-lucky like, always popular. Most people couldn’t help but like him.’ Riley nodded. He knew the type and was also aware that Salter, with his rigid Christian morality, would not have approved of Dawson’s conduct. ‘Grew up to be quite the charmer. Well, he and his two brothers are all blessed with good looks, but there was something about John that had all the local girls falling at his feet in the vain hope of being noticed by him. Even caught the eye of my Maureen and turned her head—just to annoy me, I’ve always thought.’
Death of a Footman (Riley Rochester Investigates Book 8) Page 1