‘It’s a suggestion we shall certainly put to him.’
Salter sniffed. ‘I should be interested to know how he made the transition from gaolbird to gatekeeper in a high-end brothel.’
‘Mrs Sinclair must trust him.’
‘Always supposing that she’s aware of his past.’ Salter stared out the window at the passing scenery, barely visible through the thick cloud of sooty smoke belching from the locomotive. ‘Perhaps they’re related.’
‘We will find that out in due course, Jack, and also endeavour to discover what other secrets he’s keeping from us. We have to assume that his loyalties lie with Mrs Sinclair. He has a comfortable position within her establishment and he wouldn’t want to risk losing it.’
‘Putting aside the fact that it’s against the law to live off immoral earnings.’
Riley conceded the point with a tilt of his head. ‘Putting aside that detail and the fact that one of the girls was murdered on his watch.’
‘Which means he’ll say or do anything to make up ground in Mrs Sinclair’s eyes, especially if he has been letting his friends in through the back door. Whatever she tells him to say is what will be said.’
‘Now you’re assuming that she’s the one with something to hide,’ Riley pointed out.
‘Can I help it if this job’s given me a suspicious nature?’ Salter spread his hands. ‘You have to admit that someone ain’t telling the truth. More than one person in that cathouse has a hidden agenda, you just mark my words.’
Riley chuckled. ‘The day when the suspects in a murder case voluntarily tell us the truth will restore my faith in human nature, but I don’t see that happening any time soon.’
‘Just as well that we’ve become so good at reading between the lines, then.’
‘No one ever said this job would be easy, Jack.’
‘Where would be the fun in that?’
Salter returned to his reports and Riley resumed his cogitations. He had an uneasy feeling that this particular case would prove particularly testing and that the very worst form of human cruelty would prove to lie at its core. His detectives would track down and interview as many of the men who had been in attendance at the previous night’s party as they could, but Riley suspected that it would be an exercise in futility. He’d stake his reputation on the fact that none of them had killed the girl. The perpetrator was either one of the six men whom Adelaide had entertained that evening, a regular client who had not been in attendance—at least not officially—or someone from her past with a grudge to bear.
A member of the family they were about to visit, perhaps. If Adelaide’s whereabouts had been discovered, and if she had refused to return home and stop shaming her relations with her activities, there is no saying what actions an upstanding middle-class family might take to protect their reputation. Especially if her occupation had been discovered by someone who bore the family a grudge and was in a position to ruin its reputation by speaking out.
When they arrived at Ware, they discovered that cabs were far less abundant than in the capital. A word with the station master brought a trap after a ten minute delay, conveyed by a plodding cob and driven by a scruffy individual of few words that rose above a grunt. He knew where to find Haydock House, Adelaide’s family home, and drove them there without saying a word or showing the slightest curiosity about their arrival. In return for an advance on his fare, he nodded his agreement to wait for them.
Riley alighted from the rickety conveyance and took a moment to examine the house that confronted him. Set in neat yet unimaginatively planted gardens, the building was an equally unimaginative two-storied block of weathered bricks, with small windows and a slate roof. Smoke belched from both chimney stacks. The rain had subsided to a persistent drizzle, but the biting wind and the grey skies did little to enhance Riley’s first impression of a very ordinary, somewhat gloomy residence. Ordinary by his own standards, he reminded himself, but probably fairly salubrious in these parts. It looked to be set in about twenty acres of land, with several large outbuildings close at hand, although there were no livestock in evidence.
Salter opened the gate for Riley, and the two men’s boots crunched on the slick gravel as they made their way to the front door. The knock was answered by a plain young woman with a ruddy face who wore a maid’s uniform. Riley proffered his card and asked to see her master.
‘Be so good as to wait in here, sir,’ she said, looking flustered, as though visitors to Haydock House were a rarity and she wasn’t quite sure how to deal with them.
They were shown into a tiny north-facing parlour that had no fire burning in the grate. The temperature was artic and the room itself had a neglected and austere feel to it. The furnishings were sparse, the wallpaper peeling in places.
‘Give me the city any day,’ Salter grumbled. ‘It might be smelly and overcrowded and dangerous and all that, but at least all them people keep it warmer than this mausoleum.’
Before Riley could formulate a response, the door opened and the maid returned.
‘If you would kindly follow me, my master and mistress will see you now.’
The maid led them into a drawing room that faced south, and mercifully there was a fire burning in the grate to take the chill off. The furnishings were of slightly better quality, but the atmosphere was equally frosty. This was not a happy house, Riley surmised. The pictures on the walls all contained religious overtones and the family Bible was prominently situated on a stand in one corner.
A man of middle years rose to greet them. The lady in the room remained seated. She wore a thick woollen blue gown and had an equally thick shawl draped around her shoulders. Her hair was threaded with silver and coiled into an unflattering crown that revealed a scraggy neck, drawing attention to her sharp features. She looked old enough to be the man’s mother, but Riley assumed she must be his wife. Guilt or unhappiness about the disappearance of her daughter had aged her prematurely.
‘Inspector,’ the man said, taking Riley’s hand in a firm grasp. ‘I am Peter Huxton. This is my sister, Ruth.’ Ah, Riley thought, that would explain it. ‘I cannot think what brings two of Scotland Yard’s detectives to my door. We are intrigued. Please take a seat.’
They did so, declining Miss Huxton’s reluctant offer of refreshments.
‘I shall not take up much of your time, sir,’ Riley said, ‘and will come straight to the point. I believe you have a daughter by the name of Mary.’
Miss Huxton gave a sharp intake of breath and then clamped her thin lips together in a tight expression of disapproval. Huxton’s sister had to be a good decade older than her brother and, Riley suspected, disapproved of most things. If she was mistress of this house it was little wonder that it felt so joyless.
‘I have not seen her for over five years…or could it be six?’ He looked vaguely at his sister, who didn’t bother to respond. ‘Time passes so quickly. It’s hard to keep track. Do you know where she is?’ he asked, a hopeful gleam in his otherwise dead eyes. Huxton missed his daughter and wanted her home, there was no question about it. She would be restored to him, Riley had the unenviable task of telling him, but not in the manner that her father wished. ‘Is she in trouble? It must be something serious to bring you all the way from London? Tell me, if you please. I feel persuaded that we can resolve matters. We miss her so very much, you see.’
‘But did not look for her?’ Salter asked.
‘My niece made her own decisions,’ Miss Huxton replied, even though the question had not been addressed to her. ‘She was always headstrong and we lost control of her. She told outright lies and defied us at every turn.’ Miss Huxton’s sharp features matched her disapproving tone. ‘She had every advantage but refused to behave as she ought. She took to flaunting herself and grew quite wild.’
‘My sister exaggerates, inspector.’ The look that Miss Huxton dealt her brother implied that he seldom found the strength to refute any statement she made. How, Riley wonder
ed, had such a weak man managed to build such a decent business? ‘She has high moral standards and fails to make allowance for the aspirations of today’s youth.’
‘What do you mean by that, sir?’ Salter asked.
‘My daughter is exceptionally lovely,’ Huxton said, straightening his hunched shoulders and ignoring his sister’s angry tut. ‘She took after her mother in that respect. She was admired by everyone who knew her, but she and my sister disagreed upon how she ought to conduct herself.’
‘You all live here together in the family home?’ Riley asked, wondering how anyone could reside beneath the same roof as the sanctimonious Ruth Huxton and retain their sanity. Five minutes in her company had almost exhausted Riley’s patience. No wonder Adelaide decided to take her chances elsewhere.
‘This is our family home,’ Huxton replied. ‘I inherited it from my parents.’
‘I see,’ Riley said. And he did see, all too clearly. Miss Huxton had never married, and so became Huxton’s responsibility. His cross to bear, although it seemed that the tables had been turned and the sister now took responsibility for her brother, who was a broken man.
‘There was nothing we could do to make Mary less arrogant,’ Miss Huxton said. ‘She seemed to think that being beautiful gave her special privileges, which of course it did not.’
‘My daughter was not happy here,’ Huxton said, ‘but I was too distracted by my business affairs to realise it.’ He shook his head. ‘I shall never forgive myself for that.’
‘You spoiled and indulged the child at every turn, Peter, so must shoulder your share of the blame for the way she turned out. I keep telling her that you must put her from your mind like the bad apple that she is.’
‘In the end she just upped and left one night,’ Huxton said, his eyes downcast. ‘It was a grave disappointment to my wife, who never recovered from her broken heart.’
‘You wife is not here?’ Riley asked.
‘Alas, she passed away four years ago. My sister has kept house for me since that time.’
‘I am sorry for your loss,’ Riley said, following Huxton’s glance to a miniature portrait sitting on a side table of a beautiful woman with blonde hair and an angelic smile. Mary’s mother, he assumed. He had only seen Mary in death, but the resemblance was unmistakable.
‘Thank you.’
The deterioration in Huxton now made more sense to Riley and he felt great sympathy for the man’s plight.
‘What is this about, inspector?’ Miss Huxton asked briskly. ‘I assume your purpose in coming all this way is not simply to rake up the past and upset my brother, whom you have probably already seen for yourself is no longer strong. You bring news of Mary, I dare say.’
‘I regret to inform you, Mr Huxton,’ Riley said, ignoring the spinster sister and her self-righteousness indignation, ‘that there has been a murder and that the victim is your daughter.’
‘Oh, dear God!’ Huxton fell back in his chair, pale as a ghost, clutching at his heart. ‘What have I done to deserve such punishment? First my wife, now Mary. The thought of my beloved daughter eventually returning home is all that has kept me alive these past years.’
‘You have done nothing whatsoever to reproach yourself for,’ Miss Huxton replied briskly, unmoved by the news that had destroyed her brother. ‘Mary was already dead to us. She made her choice and we long ago agreed never to mention her name in this house again, did we not?’
‘What makes you imagine that Mary’s life was not respectable, Miss Huxton?’ Salter asked.
‘She was bad to the bone, sergeant. Always making a show of herself, even in church, and then inventing stories, blaming others, to get herself out of trouble.’ Once again the thin lips stretched across yellowing teeth and a muscle in her jaw ticked. ‘My brother refuses to accept the truth, but she followed her mother’s example. I hesitate to speak ill of the dead—’
‘But you will anyway,’ Salter said, his tone hostile.
‘Certainly I will, sergeant. I am a God-fearing woman, devout and honest. My brother was deceived by the pretty face of a manipulative hussy, but has yet to acknowledge the fact. I pray for him, and hope the day will come when he eventually realises that he is better off without them both.’
‘That will be enough, Ruth!’ Huxton’s head shot up. The sister looked so surprised by the sound of his raised voice and authoritative tone—a situation which Riley suspected seldom occurred these days—that her month snapped closed. ‘What happened to my girl, inspector?’
‘Always assuming it is your daughter, and we will require you to come to London and make a formal identification—’
‘Yes, yes, of course.’
‘I regret to tell you that she was working as a prostitute—’
‘I knew it!’ Miss Huxton couldn’t disguise her glee. ‘The shameless Jezebel.’
‘She’s paid a high price for her rebellious ways,’ Salter said, treating Miss Huxton to a scathing look. Well done, Salter, Riley thought. The pious old harridan appeared to have rid his sergeant of his disapproval of Adelaide, or perhaps given him a better understanding of the choices she’d been forced to make. ‘Her throat was cut from ear to ear.’
Riley frowned at Salter’s blunt expression when Huxton sobbed and buried his face in his hands. Miss Huxton, on the other hand, expressed no shock and seemed anxious for more information.
‘Was it indeed.’ Her dour face showed the first signs of animation Riley had seen on it since entering the room. ‘Well, God judged her, just as I always knew He would.’
‘Not terribly forgiving, is he, your God?’ Riley said.
‘God forgives those who truly repent, inspector. Clearly, Mary did not, and so got what she deserved.’
‘I cannot imagine anyone doing anything that would make them deserve such a violent end,’ Salter said, glowering at the woman.
‘Lord have mercy!’ Huxton dropped her head into his hands and shook it from side to side. ‘I failed her. I failed them both.’
‘You failed no one, Peter,’ his sister replied sharply. ‘I will not listen to such talk. Mary was never an obedient daughter and you know very well that the lies Fanny repeated were products of Mary’s vindictive imagination.’
Huxton looked too devastated to make a response.
‘What lies, Miss Huxton?’ Salter asked.
‘I cannot bear to repeat such scurrilous gossip.’ Her thin shoulders shuddered. ‘There is absolutely no truth in them. The girl would say anything, make accusations against anyone who tried to temper her wild ways, simply to conceal the depths of her own depravity. Nothing was ever Mary’s fault. Someone else was always to blame, and you can be sure that Peter and Fanny would always take her side, encouraging her rebellious behaviour, until I made Fanny see sense. Spare the rod and spoil the child has always been my mantra.’
Riley didn’t doubt it. ‘Even so, Miss Huxton,’ he said. ‘We would like to know what drove her from this house. I am told she had a comfortable upbringing and benefited from the attentions of a governess. What changed?’
Huxton pulled himself together and it was he who answered Riley’s question. ‘Mary was our only daughter,’ he said. ‘She has two older brothers who live here and have worked with their uncle to keep the business going since I had my breakdown.’
Riley didn’t bother to ask what had caused the breakdown to which he referred. He didn’t look old enough to have permanently absolved himself from his responsibilities, but it was equally clear from the manner in which he kept glancing at his wife’s portrait that he had loved her very much. Her dying so soon after his daughter’s abrupt disappearance had made him lose touch with reality. Throw a dour and bitter sister into the mix and it would be enough to make the strongest of men lose his wits.
‘We doted on Mary and made sure she had everything her heart desired,’ Huxton said. ‘Ruth is wrong to say that she was wicked, and that she didn’t have strict guidance. If anything, the restrict
ions placed upon her were too severe.’
‘Spare and rod and spoil the child,’ Miss Huxton said for a second time, accompanying the words with another of her increasingly annoying tuts.
‘As Mary grew older, it quickly became apparent that she would become even more beautiful than her mother.’ Huxton smiled at a private recollection. ‘She loved her books and was thirsty for knowledge. Educated women have a place in the modern world and are taken seriously. That was what I wanted for Mary.’
‘I thought it was dangerous to give her too much latitude, but precious little notice was taken of my opinion,’ Miss Huxton said.
‘Then, when she was fourteen, perhaps fifteen, she started to change.’
‘In what way?’ Salter asked, keenly interested from a father’s perspective, Riley assumed.
‘I can’t say precisely.’ He frowned with the effort of recollection. ‘It came on gradually. She became more withdrawn, more secretive.’
‘Then, one day, she told her mother that our brother had…well, I can hardly bear to repeat what she said. It was completely untrue, of course. She was just trying to draw attention to herself, as usual.’ Miss Huxton sniffed. ‘As if Derek would take an unhealthy interest in his own niece. I blame all those books she read for putting ideas into her head. Anyway, Peter was away on business at the time, and for once Fanny sought my opinion, asking me what she should do about Mary’s allegations. Fanny always was over-protective, unable to think for herself, and was ready to take Mary’s word for what had happened. I told her in no uncertain terms to chastise the girl for being untruthful.’
‘How did you know she was being untruthful?’ Riley asked. ‘These things happen, I regret to say. If the girl was young and beautiful, temptation might have got the better of your brother. Besides, she would have no direct experience of men’s desires, so how could she have made the allegations up?’
‘Mary was very aware of…’ Miss Huxton straightened her bony shoulders and sniffed derisively. ‘Of the ways of the world. I prefer not to think about how she acquired such knowledge or who it was that did to her what she accused our brother of doing. All I can tell you is that it wasn’t Derek.’
Death of a Courtesan: Riley Rochester Investigates Page 8