Death of a Courtesan: Riley Rochester Investigates

by Wendy Soliman

  ‘How can you be sure?’ Riley asked.

  My brother is a lay preacher and does not tell lies.’ She fixed Riley with a smug look. ‘There, what do you say to that?’

  ‘If Mary was so well supervised, where did she acquire such intimate knowledge?’

  Miss Huxton affected a bored expression, as though unaccustomed to having her word challenged and wanting done with the conversation. ‘Books, I would imagine.’

  ‘Her reading material was not approved beforehand?’

  ‘Yes, but she was not spied upon, Inspector Rochester. There was an element of trust.’

  ‘I assume there are no books with graphic descriptions of sexual congress in this house,’ Riley said, pushing his point home.

  ‘Certainly not.’ Miss Huxton folded her hands primly in her lap. ‘But I cannot speak for the households of her friends.’

  ‘I fail to understand why you were so quick to dismiss her allegations. Did you even ask your brother about them?’

  ‘Of course I did, embarrassing though it was. Naturally, he was shocked and denied them absolutely.’

  ‘And you believed him.’

  ‘Derek has never lied to me.’ Miss Huxton looked angry at being subjected to such a prolonged interrogation. ‘As I already said, young girls nowadays are very aware of matters they shouldn’t know anything about. I don’t know what the world is coming to.’

  ‘What did you brother actually say about the allegations when you put them to him?’ Riley asked, addressing the question to Huxton.

  ‘What has any of this to do with the girl’s death?’ Miss Huxton demanded to know. ‘It’s all ancient history.’

  ‘Not so ancient. Five years is not very long and it was the catalyst that caused Mary to leave home, so it must be significant. It certainly changed her outlook on life. Given how comfortable she had once been and how sheltered her upbringing actually was, I do know that it can’t have been easy for her to leave everything that was familiar to her. Girls do sometimes make up stories, I agree with you about that, Miss Huxton, but they seldom leave home if they are not believed. I can’t tell you what bearing, if any, her decision to do so has on her murder until I am in possession of all the facts. That is why I came here myself rather than having the local police break the news to you.’

  ‘I was away for a month in France on a buying expedition when the trouble started,’ Huxton said. ‘We import French wines into England. The storm broke whilst I was away and I knew nothing about it.’ He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. ‘When I got back it was pandemonium. Mary refused to apologise for lying and so my wife accepted my sister’s advice and confined her to her room until she did so.’

  ‘But she did not,’ Salter said, scowling. ‘Has it occurred to you that she might have been speaking the truth?’

  ‘Subsequently, yes. Had I been here at the time things would have been handled very differently.’

  Miss Huxton sniffed. ‘If you had been here the accusation would not have been made.’

  ‘Perhaps because your brother wouldn’t have dared to take liberties when you were here, Mr Huxton?’ Riley suggested mildly.

  ‘He did not take any liberties!’ Miss Huxton puffed out her puny chest. ‘How many more times must I tell you? It was that wretched girl making up wicked lies because she hadn’t got her way in something or other. I forget what.’

  Riley didn’t believe it for a minute. If Mary had been trying to get her uncle in trouble, Miss Huxton would not have forgotten the reason why. There was an element of truth in Mary’s allegations, Riley was absolutely convinced of it, and he suspected that Miss Huxton knew it too—which was why she was choosing to defend her brother’s conduct so forcefully. Ruth Huxton resented Mary and her mother for being everything that she was not—beautiful, spirited, admired and educated—probably everything she herself secretly wished to be. It was a classic example of spiteful intransigence.

  ‘Where is your brother now?’ Riley asked. ‘I would like to talk to him.’

  ‘He lives here with us and always has,’ Miss Huxton said, folding her hands neatly in her lap. ‘Since Peter withdrew from the day to the day running of the business, that responsibility has fallen to Derek. There is no need for you to trouble him. We are a Christian family with no unnatural desires, and he cannot tell you anything about that unfortunate time that you have not already heard from me.’

  ‘Be that as it may, we shall speak to him and your nephews.’

  Miss Huxton sniffed. ‘If you must.’

  ‘We must,’ Salter assured her.

  ‘By the time I got back from France, Mary was gone,’ Huxton said, looking devastated. ‘I searched high and low but no one had seen hide nor hair of her. I assumed she had gone to London and walked the streets for days on end, desperate for news of her. She knew no one there and I was well aware of the pitfalls that awaited such an innocent and beautiful child.’

  ‘Innocent?’ Miss Huxton’s eyes bulged in harmony with her puffed out her cheeks. ‘She was awake on every suit and had you wrapped around her little finger. She could do no wrong in your eyes, and well she knew it.’

  ‘In the end, when I found no trace of her, I was obliged to return home. I had neglected my duties for too long. I thought—hoped—that she would come back eventually, but she never did. I think it was that which caused my wife’s decline. She felt guilty for not having taken her complaints more seriously and never knew a moment’s peace from that point onwards. No one will convince me that she did not die from a broken heart.’

  ‘If she was restricted to her room, what made her flee, I wonder,’ Riley mused.

  ‘Oh, Fanny gave in and let her out again without receiving an apology, or indeed any retraction of the allegations she made.’ Disapproval radiated through Miss Huxton’s voice. ‘Far too soft-hearted for her own good, was that one. Anyway, there was some unpleasantness. Mary attacked my brother when she next saw him for no apparent reason.’

  ‘You witnessed this attack?’ Riley asked.

  ‘No, Fanny and I were out at the time and Mary was at home alone. But we saw the results of her vindictiveness. Poor Derek is scarred for life.’

  ‘Scarred?’ Riley and Salter exchanged a look.

  ‘She attacked him with a carving knife and slit his cheek clean open.’ Miss Huxton’s eyes misted. ‘It was a terrible scene. Blood everywhere and the knife still in Mary’s hand. She was like a wild animal. I even thought she might attack me at one point. However, she did not. She simply dropped the knife and turned away. Fanny and I, naturally, enough, concentrated upon getting help for Derek. By the time the doctor had stitched him up and I thought to call the police to have Mary arrested, she had disappeared and we never saw her again.’

  ‘You would have had your own niece arrested without first asking her what made her behave in the way that she did?’ Salter asked in a disbelieving tone.

  ‘Certainly I would.’ Miss Huxton elevated her pointed chin. ‘Good riddance to her, I say. The child was born evil, but then blood will out. That’s what I always say. I warned Peter not to marry Fanny. She came from the lower classes, you see, and I knew no good could come of it. But he was blinded by her beauty and thought he could make a lady out of her.’

  ‘Ruth, that’s quite enough!’

  ‘I shall be speaking to your brother and hear his account of events,’ Riley said calmly, thinking they had most likely found their killer. He must be the man Adelaide had been seen arguing with in the London street. A man bent on revenge because his niece had disfigured him. ‘Is he here?’

  ‘No, he is away on business. However, he is due back tomorrow. I shall come up to London and bring him with me. We can identify Mary together,’ Huxton replied, rousing himself from his lethargy. ‘It is the very least I can do for my girl, albeit five years too late.’

  ‘That will be satisfactory.’ Riley crossed his legs and dangled one hand over the arm of his chair. ‘Are your son
s here? I would like to hear their recollections of their sister.’

  ‘They are at our warehouses in London,’ Huxton said. ‘But they were away at school when the business with Derek blew up and know only what they have subsequently been told.’

  Riley nodded, thinking that was very likely the case. Even so, Mary might have told them things that she felt unable to tell her mother or father. Unlikely, but the possibility needed to be explored. ‘I shall need to speak with them at some point too, just to make sure I have got everything straight. Please have them contact me,’ he added, handing Huxton one of his cards before standing.

  They made arrangements to meet the following day at King’s College Hospital, and took their leave.

  ‘Blimey,’ Salter said as they walked away and climbed back into the ancient trap. ‘I’m starting to feel right sorry for the chit. That place and that woman is enough to make anyone run away.’

  Riley laughed. ‘There is always more than one side to every story, Jack, but I’m glad you no longer feel the need to condemn Adelaide for the choices she made. Sometimes in this life there are no choices.’

  Chapter Six

  Riley’s first action when he got back to London was to check up on the investigation’s progress. There was none. By the time he returned to his Sloane Street townhouse he barely had time to change before keeping his dinner engagement with Amelia Cosgrove. His man, the inaptly named Stout, had Riley’s evening clothes and a hot bath ready for him.

  ‘Been gallivanting about on the railways I see, my lord,’ he said, turning up his nose at the sooty stains on Riley’s formerly pristine white shirt.

  ‘Having a whale of a time, Stout,’ he replied, stripping off the rest of his clothing and sinking gratefully into the steaming water. ‘I’m short of time. Can I get away without shaving?’

  Stout pressed his lips together and looked at Riley with an expression of disdain.

  ‘Best shave me whilst I’m still in the tub then.’ Riley sighed, knowing better than to earn Stout’s disapproval by flouting his exacting standards. Stout was inordinately fond of Amelia and would consider it to be a stain on his own character if Riley looked anything other than perfectly turned out. She was one of the few people who could persuade Riley’s dour servant to occasionally smile, or to speak when words were not strictly necessary. Despite his lack of social graces, Stout was loyal to a fault, had connections in the most unlikely of places and often helped with Riley’s official investigations, using his ability to blend into certain areas where officialdom was not welcome.

  ‘What do you know about specialist brothels, Stout?’ he asked as his servant lathered Riley’s jaw.

  Stout didn’t show any reaction to the odd question. ‘Care to be more specific, my lord.’

  Riley gave Stout a brief account of his current investigation, managing to elicit a brief snort of amusement from his man when he learned of Danforth’s predilections.

  ‘I’ve heard of Mrs Sinclair,’ he said, stropping the blade of his razor. ‘She has a reputation for keeping a clean house and catering for the more discerning client. But the services her girls provide don’t come cheap.’

  ‘Adelaide was arguably her most valuable asset. How much would an hour in her company set a man back?’ Riley belatedly realised that he should have obtained that information from Mrs Sinclair, even though he was unsure what bearing it might have on his investigation. He let out a slow whistle when Stout told him, thinking it better not to enquire how his man could have provided him with such a precise answer. Riley had no idea how Stout occupied his leisure hours and had no intention of asking him. He was entitled to his privacy.

  ‘How much would Adelaide receive, do you suppose?’

  ‘Half. That’s the usual arrangement.’

  ‘So setting up on her own, or accepting a more generous percentage from a competing madam keen to steal a march on Mrs Sinclair would be an attractive proposition? Perhaps that was what she intended to do. Mrs Sinclair found out, couldn’t persuade her to stay and so eliminated her, or arranged for someone else to do the eliminating.’

  ‘It’s certainly a cutthroat business,’ Stout agreed, ‘but would she do the deed on her own premises and leave the poor girl there for all the world to see? Wouldn’t help her business, I don’t expect.’

  Stout wielded a razor perilously close to Riley’s own throat as he spoke, so Riley thought it wise not to nod, and merely grunted. ‘Take yourself out this evening, Stout,’ he said, when the razor was out of harm’s way, ‘and see what’s being said about the death of Adelaide. I dare say word has spread by now.’

  ‘As you wish.’

  ‘Who is Mrs Sinclair’s main competitor in the specialist market?’

  ‘Mrs Arnold, in Half Moon Street. She opened for business a few years ago and I think she stole a few of Mrs Sinclair’s girls. There has been open warfare between them ever since.’

  ‘Has there indeed! Thank you, Stout. Thank you very much.’

  ‘I live to serve.’

  Further conversation was rendered impossible by the swishing of Stout’s razor and its renewed proximity to Riley’s throat. Recollections of the cause of Adelaide’s death were still fresh in his mind and he had no desire to endure a similar fate.

  A few minutes later, shaved, bathed and dressed in his evening clothes, Riley inspected his image and nodded his satisfaction. His dark hair, a little too long, fell across his cynical grey eyes, giving him a rakish appearance, of which his mother thoroughly disapproved. He looked as tired as he felt, but was sure that Amelia’s beguiling and always challenging company would revive him.

  ‘Thank you for making me look presentable, Stout.’

  ‘Have a pleasant evening, my lord.’

  Stout helped Riley into his coat before handing him his hat and gloves. Riley strode through the door that Stout opened for him and took himself off to walk the short distance through the light yet persistent drizzle to Amelia’s house in Chelsea. Stout, he knew, was bound for less respectable parts and would blend in with his surroundings effortlessly, speaking little, missing nothing. Riley chuckled to himself, concluding that Stout couldn’t possibly possess such precise information about London’s demimonde unless he spoke from experience. He found it hard to imagine his fastidious manservant relaxing his standards to the extent that he would place himself in someone else’s hands, ceding control in the pursuit of pleasure. But then again he was a man, with needs that would require satisfying, just as Riley’s did. He could afford the exclusive services of a courtesan. Most men could not.

  Amelia’s butler Norris admitted Riley only ten minutes after the agreed time. He found his hostess looking as lovely as always, clad in a strawberry-coloured gown of changeable silk that bared her shoulders and was cut low enough to display a tantalising glimpse of her breasts. Her smile when Riley walked into her drawing room lit up her lovely features and took his breath away. He felt the travails of the day slipping from his shoulders and wondered, not for the first time, what prevented him from proposing to her. If she agreed to be his wife, he could look forward to her company every evening and would have a reason to…well, to live for something other than his work.

  He was sorely tempted, but Amelia’s attitude deterred him. She had made it clear that she had no interest in marrying again after a less than happy first marriage. Keen as she was to see him married, Riley’s mother had made it equally clear that she would not approve if Amelia was his choice. She had been married before and that union had been childless, so his mother would assume that Amelia was barren. Riley might well be required to sire the next Marquess of Chichester, his brother’s only son being of a sickly disposition. In his mother’s biased opinion, regardless of Riley’s feelings for her, Amelia would not be a risk worth taking.

  Be that as it may, his mother’s views wouldn’t prevent Riley from following his heart. Perhaps it was the prospect of rejection that held him back, or the conflict that would be
created between his duties at the Yard and his obligations as a husband. He would no longer be free to please himself if he had a wife’s interests to consider. There again, he felt comfortable in Amelia’s company simply because she didn’t try to ensnare him—the only unmarried woman of his acquaintance who did not. Best leave matters as they were and not rock the boat, he reluctantly decided. If he suspected that she had taken an interest in another man, then he would reconsider his strategy.

  ‘I apologise for being so tardy,’ he said, kissing the back of her hand and holding onto it for a protracted period. ‘I hope I have not disrupted your arrangements.’

  ‘You are barely late at all,’ Amelia replied, reclaiming her hand and motioning Riley towards a chair. He waited for her to seat herself and then took it. ‘I dare say you are investigating some ghastly crime and that has kept you fully occupied for the entire day.’

  ‘Something of that nature, but for now I would prefer not to discuss it.’

  ‘Then we will not talk of it. Whisky for his lordship please, Norris. I get the impression that he is sorely in need of it.’

  ‘Tell me about your day,’ he said, smiling at her and nodding his thanks to Norris as he took the glass from his salver.

  ‘Oh, it was fairly ordinary, apart from the fact that your niece came for her harp lesson this afternoon.’

  ‘Cabbage was here?’

  Riley had always affectionately referred to Sophia, the eldest of his brother Henry’s children, as Cabbage. Her parents took little interest in her, reserving their attention for their precocious son, the seven-year-old and much cossetted Jasper, heir to the Chichester marquessate. Henry and Riley didn’t see eye to eye on most subjects and Riley avoided contact with the stuffy and self-aware marquess as much as he possibly could. But Sophia possessed a sunny disposition, and if she realised that she was neglected she didn’t seem to mind. It fell to Riley to mind on her behalf and he tried to make it up to her by giving her as much of his time as he could manage.