Death of a Courtesan: Riley Rochester Investigates

by Wendy Soliman

  ‘I was fond of Adelaide, right enough, but she’s gone and nothing will bring her back.’ Tennyson sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. ‘Ain’t no place for sentiment in this business.’

  ‘So I am coming to realise.’

  Riley waved Tennyson into the small salon they had used earlier, he and Salter close on his heels. At this early hour, it was thankfully devoid of scantily clad females and the three men had it to themselves.

  ‘Tell us about your conviction,’ Riley said, taking his time to select a seat and arrange his tall frame upon it.

  ‘I didn’t think it would take you long to get around to that.’ Tennyson rolled his eyes and scratched vigorously at his whiskery chin. ‘I’ve done time for receiving iffy goods, so it stands to reason I must have killed a woman for no apparent reason. Case closed. I told Mrs Sinclair that you’d find out and take the easy way by blaming me. Ain’t worth your time to take too much trouble looking for the killer of a whore. Of course, this time you might have to, ’cause iffing you try to pin it on me, I might have to let the newspapers know who else was here that night.’

  ‘I would advise against threatening me,’ Riley said in an unruffled tone. ‘It only serves to make you look guilty.’

  ‘Which I ain’t. Adelaide was a moody piece of work, but she was popular. Our best earner, and I get paid a percentage of each night’s takings. I might not be educated like you, but even I ain’t daft enough to cut off me nose to spite me face.’

  ‘So answer the inspector’s question.’ Salter, who had remained standing, walked up close to the larger Tennyson and poked a finger aggressively at his chest. Tennyson glanced down at the finger in question and growled a warning, looking as though he was considering snapping it in two. Common sense prevailed and he moved out of range of Salter’s marauding digit.

  ‘That’s all in the past. I got in with the wrong lot. By the time I got out of prison, a cousin of mine was working here. She told me Mrs Sinclair needed someone reliable to keep order and recommended me. She knows about me past and don’t hold it against me.’ He glowered at Salter. ‘Unlike you lot.’

  ‘Do you still associate with the people who persuaded you to receive goods of questionable provenance?’ Riley asked.

  ‘Eh? Come again?’

  ‘Do you still mix with the old lags who dropped you in it?’ Salter succinctly translated.

  ‘Oh, why didn’t you say so? Nah, I dropped ’em when I got this number.’

  ‘Just for the sake of argument, if one of them had an axe to grind with Adelaide and wanted to see her in private, you would be the man who could make that happen. An unlocked door somewhere…’ Riley allowed his words to trail off as he observed a kaleidoscope of emotions pass across Tennyson’s face. For the most part he was angry, Riley sensed, and looked as though he was having trouble reining in his temper.

  ‘Why?’ he asked, spreading his meaty hands. ‘Why would I take that chance and risk what I’ve got here?’

  ‘Perhaps you’ve committed other crimes we know nothing about and were being threatened with exposure if you didn’t let a former colleague have a few minutes alone with Adelaide,’ Riley suggested speculatively. ‘You weren’t to know that he planned to kill her. Besides, isn’t there supposed to be honour amongst thieves?’

  ‘Well, it didn’t happen that way. I can’t prove it didn’t but, more to the point, you can’t prove that it did.’

  ‘Then I must accept your word for your innocence,’ Riley said. ‘But, be aware, if you are lying to us we will find out eventually and it will be the worse for you.’ He shifted position in his chair and fixed Tennyson with a frosty look. ‘Now, here’s another possibility to consider. Someone, some determined person, could have sneaked in through the kitchen door unnoticed, could they not?’

  Tennyson gave a reluctant nod. ‘It’s possible, I suppose. Risky, but possible.’

  ‘The killer got in somehow,’ Salter said. ‘And if you didn’t let him in, then unless one of the girls did we can’t think of any other way for him to have gained access, other than him being here all along.’

  ‘The girls didn’t unlock any doors,’ Tennyson said with assurance. ‘I watch everything like a hawk during the evenings. Mostly I’m watching the punters to make sure they don’t try to have something they ain’t paid for.’ He grunted. ‘You’d be surprised the tricks they come up with. Anyway, if one of the girls went somewhere she had no place being, she would have had to get past me to open the side door, and I would have noticed.’

  Riley nodded, satisfied that Tennyson was being truthful. He couldn’t possibly be at his post the entire time, but it would have been very difficult for one of the girls to know when he would leave it, unless she’d created a deliberate diversion. She would also have to be temporarily without a client at the time, simply so that she could unlock the door. Adelaide wasn’t popular amongst her fellow courtesans, and possessive jealousies ran deep in their line of work. Even so, Riley couldn’t see how it could have happened that way. There were simply too many risks.

  ‘Do the girls ever receive correspondence?’ Riley asked.

  Salter looked more surprised by the question than Tennyson did. ‘Very occasionally. Most of them have given up all connections to their previous lives. If they haven’t, their families don’t know they work here. But now and then a letter arrives for one of them.’

  ‘Did Adelaide ever receive any correspondence?’

  ‘Tennyson thought for a moment. ‘Once or twice, but not recently.’

  ‘Did you happen to notice where her letters came from? Was there return addresses, the name of the sender, something like that? We didn’t find any letters in her room.’

  Tennyson shook his head before Riley finished asking the question. ‘I mind me own business,’ he said.

  Riley thought it more probable that he found reading a challenge but allowed the man his pride by not contesting his assertion. ‘Thank you, Tennyson, you may go. Please ask Mrs Sinclair to step in and see us.’

  Tennyson grunted and left them.

  ‘Why did you ask about Adelaide receiving letters? You imagine, I suppose, that if someone knew she was here,’ Salter added, not waiting for a response, ‘then that same person might also know something about her death.’

  ‘We haven’t been able to find anyone who knew where she was, other than the uncle. If he’s to be believed they met in the street by chance just the once, and he had no idea that she lived and worked here. But it seems someone was aware of her whereabouts if she received the occasional letter.’ Riley was not yet willing to explain that Celeste, if she knew Adelaide when she was living in Chichester, must have kept in touch with her somehow. The fact that the letters had stopped implied that they had done so when Celeste moved back to London and that future communications had taken place in person.

  ‘Don’t suppose we’ll ever find that person,’ Salter said gloomily.

  ‘Gentlemen.’ Riley stood when Mrs Sinclair entered the room. ‘Any progress with your investigation that you are able to share with me?’ she asked as she took a seat.

  ‘You will be pleased to know that we have yet to unearth a motive for murder from amongst the men here on the night it occurred,’ Riley replied, resuming his own seat. ‘But our investigation is still in its early stages.’

  ‘Of course.’ She folded her hands in her lap and fixed Riley with a direct look. ‘How can I be of further assistance?’

  ‘Is a man by the name of Clement a visitor to this establishment?’

  ‘Clement.’ Mrs Sinclair took a moment to think. ‘Yes, he has been here on occasion, but he also supplies us with our wines.’

  ‘Does he indeed?’ Riley digested this information. ‘Did Adelaide take any interest in the vintages, or discuss them with Clement.’

  ‘She did seem to know quite a bit about the subject as a matter of fact, and advised me on occasion about which labels to try. Whether or not she
discussed with them Clement, I couldn’t say. I have no recollection of her being around when deliveries were made, and Adelaide didn’t entertain Clement as a client.’

  ‘Who did?’ Salter asked.

  ‘I think Mirabelle attended to his requirements,’ Mrs Sinclair said, closing her eyes to aid her memory. Not that Riley thought it needed much help. Mrs Sinclair seemed to be sharp as a tack with regard to the details of her business empire. ‘I can have her brought down if you like and you can ask her yourself.’

  ‘No need. It was merely idle curiosity.’ It was a great deal more than that, but Riley didn’t want to make too much of his interest in Clement, or his possible connection to Adelaide, until he understood what that connection might be. It was better, he knew, to ask his questions from a position of strength. And better still to pose questions that he already knew the answer to. ‘Was Clement here on the night of the murder?’

  ‘No,’ Mrs Sinclair said without hesitation. ‘He was not. In fact we have not seen him here as a customer for some months. Do you suspect him of killing Adelaide? I don’t see how he could have done, but he is clearly a man of interest to you.’

  ‘Someone killed her,’ Salter pointed out with his customary straightforward logic. ‘And if the crime wasn’t committed by someone who was here then it follows the perpetrator must be someone who was not supposed to be.’

  ‘Well yes, so it would seem,’ Mrs Sinclair agreed, looking a little bewildered.

  ‘Clement would have seen Adelaide on the nights when he was here when the ladies mingled with the customers before they went their separate ways, I would imagine.’

  Mrs Sinclair inclined her head. ‘Presumably so, inspector. She was difficult to overlook.’

  ‘Especially when she and Mirabelle put on a show.’

  ‘They didn’t do that every night, but it’s possible that he might have seen them together.’

  ‘But, as far as you can recollect, he never specifically requested Adelaide’s services?’

  Mrs Sinclair lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug. ‘If he had, his needs would have been accommodated.’

  ‘Adelaide couldn’t veto any such request?’ Salter asked.

  A hint of a smile touched Mrs Sinclair’s cold lips. ‘This is a brothel, sergeant. A high-class one, I like to think, but a brothel none the less. Adelaide was my star courtesan, but even she was not permitted to pick and choose. If a man asked for her and was willing to pay for her services, then he could have her and she would ensure that his needs were met. In all the time she worked here, I never once received any complaints in that regard, from her clients or from her about them. The other girls routinely complain about being man-handled, and the brutality or quirkiness of some of their clients’ requirements, but Adelaide never joined in. Her attitude seemed to be that the customers got what they wanted, or deserved.’

  ‘Even though they were not permitted to actually fuck her?’

  The elevation of one brow was the only reaction that Mrs Sinclair allowed herself at Salter’s choice of expression. ‘Despite that. Her clients could indulge that particular requirement almost anywhere elsewhere. Adelaide’s services were more select, tailored to individual needs, if you like.’

  ‘I don’t,’ Salter said, shuddering, ‘but they obviously did.’

  ‘It takes all sorts, sergeant.’

  ‘Given Adelaide’s ability to please, you won’t be surprised to learn then that she was still a virgin,’ Riley remarked.

  ‘Not as surprised as you obviously were, and still are, inspector. I never discussed the matter with Adelaide, but I was aware how much she disliked being touched, and how skilled she was at giving her clients relief in other ways.’ She chuckled. ‘Good for her, is what I say.’

  ‘That particular snippet of information has not been made public and I would prefer for it to remain that way.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have lasted long in this business if I wasn’t able to keep a secret. I shall not repeat anything that you have told me, inspector. You have my assurance in that regard.’

  ‘Thank you, and in return you may reopen this evening.’

  ‘That’s a relief. The girls are becoming restless. If they are not working they’re not earning, and with nothing better to do they are reduced to squabbling amongst themselves.’

  ‘Who will take over Adelaide’s position, just as a matter of interest?’ Salter asked.

  ‘Young Ruby is keen and, given that she is so young, it might work.’

  ‘Not Mirabelle?’

  ‘She already has her favourites. It wouldn’t do to disappoint them.’

  ‘How does Mirabelle feel about Ruby upstaging her?’ Riley asked.

  ‘If you imagine she killed Adelaide in order to steal her position as favourite in this house then I’m afraid you’re barking up the wrong tree. Mirabelle didn’t like Adelaide, but she is not skilled at flagellation—and it is a skill, despite what you might think. Not just anyone can do it and give the men the gratification they seek. Fortunately Ruby had undergone some training from Adelaide and, like her mentor, has a natural aptitude. It will all work out, I expect.’

  ‘One last thing, Mrs Sinclair,’ Riley said, standing when she did. ‘If Clement shows his face here within the next few days, I should be grateful if you would get word to me discreetly.’

  ‘Should I be worried about him renewing his interest in the girls in their professional capacity? Clearly you suspect him of something and I have a duty of care. Besides, I can’t afford to lose any more of my girls. It’s bad for business.’

  ‘And there was me thinking you were worried about their welfare,’ Salter muttered with a disgruntled twist to his lips.

  ‘If I thought he was dangerous he would be under arrest,’ Riley assured her, sending Salter a castigating look. ‘I am simply interested in…well, in his interest in this establishment. I cannot tell you why at this stage, but if he says anything about Adelaide that you think I should know about when he supplies your cellar, or asks about our investigation, I would appreciate being told.’

  ‘Very well, inspector. Thank you for being so candid. Tennyson,’ she called through the now open doorway. ‘The gentlemen are leaving. Please show them out.’

  ‘What did you make of Tennyson, sir?’ Salter asked as the two men walked briskly in the direction of Clement’s wine shop in Dover Street.

  ‘He’s not our man and nor is he in cahoots with the person who is.’ A light drizzle had started to fall. Riley pulled his hat lower over his eyes, thought of calling a cab but, upon glancing at the stalled traffic, decided it would be quicker to continue on foot. ‘He has a plum position there with Mrs Sinclair and doesn’t want to risk losing it. Besides, I get the impression that he can take his pick of the girls whenever the fancy takes him. A perk of the job, so to speak, that ensures his loyalty.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s what I thought too. I’d much rather it was the aunt, or one of those brothers. Don’t like any of ’em.’

  Riley smiled. ‘If we gaoled all the people we disliked, the prisons would burst at the seams.’

  ‘Perhaps, but I don’t see why Tennyson should be the only one to get perks from his employment.’

  ‘This case is getting to you, isn’t it, Jack?’

  ‘I’m trying not to let it.’ Salter lifted his hat and scratched vigorously at his forehead, mindless of the persistent drizzle. ‘It’s just the thought of so many people taking advantage of them poor gals that gets to me.’

  ‘I realise that. But at least if we find out who killed Adelaide her life will have meant something.’

  Salter chuckled. ‘Especially if her real identity accidentally finds its way into the newspapers. You know how these things happen,’ he added innocently. ‘That sanctimonious old bag of bones won’t be able to hold her head up ever again after that.’

  Aware that his sergeant was referring to Ruth Huxton and that he held her partially responsible for Adelaide’s
plight, Riley could only nod his agreement.

  The rain grew heavier so Riley and Salter took advantage of a hansom that had just dropped off a fare and completed their journey in relative comfort.

  ‘I shall be interested to see this establishment of Clement’s,’ Riley said, thinking aloud. ‘Wine is still very much the preserve of the better classes, what with it being imported and heavy duties being imposed upon those imports.’

  ‘Whereas the rest of us have to make do with home brewed ale and bath-tub gin,’ Salter said with a wry smile.

  ‘Precisely.’ Riley glanced at the dreary street as the cab made slow progress. Miserable-looking people scurried about, anxious to transact their business and retreat somewhere warm and dry. ‘I cannot help wondering about Clement. As I say, wine is still very much a rich man’s poison, Huxton’s has a stranglehold on supplies in the capital and yet they don’t have a retail outlet. Clement, on the other hand, has set up a wine merchant’s in a smart part of town.’

  ‘Well, he wouldn’t get much custom in my neck of the woods,’ Salter pointed out.

  ‘Even so, it makes you wonder why Huxton and his brother haven’t tried to tempt the more discerning palate by opening a shop of their own.’

  ‘Adelaide’s father was the power behind the throne but seems to have lost focus since the death of his wife and disappearance of his daughter. The uncle now more or less runs things. Those sons don’t have the wits to take over the purchasing and the uncle probably lacks the vision to expand and move with the times. What ain’t broke don’t need fixing.’

  Riley inclined his head to acknowledge Salter’s astute assessment of the situation. ‘Very likely,’ he said.

  The cab came to a halt outside a small shop sandwiched between an ironmonger and a cobbler’s. A few bottles of wine were tastefully displayed in the mullioned window and there were several barrels behind the counter that had been tapped, presumably so that potential customers could sample the wares. Through the door, Riley saw a young man wearing a green apron and sleeve protectors standing guard over a shop that was devoid of customers. Riley very much doubted whether he was Clement.