Death of a Scoundrel Read online

  ‘And Rod Woodrow threatened to make that information public,’ Riley said with a grimace. ‘He blackmailed you.’

  ‘Oh no, Lord Riley, nothing nearly so vulgar. Well actually yes, although the word blackmail was never mentioned. It was all very delicately arranged, and Rod and I remained on the best of terms. He was a dear boy, but hopelessly impractical. I did not mind helping him out. He asked me one day if I had kept in contact with the child, my husband’s child, and if I knew what had become of her. I told him I had not, which was true.’

  ‘Do you know why he raised the subject with you?’ Riley asked. ‘It seems…well, a little uncouth?’

  ‘He knew it was I who had insisted she be removed from this house, even though the poor girl’s condition was not entirely her own fault. Anyway, I told Rod I had absolutely no idea if she had remained at Woodrow House, but I assumed that if he knew the sordid details…bear in mind he was very young himself when all this happened…then she must have left his family’s employ, otherwise why ask about her? I was tempted to suggest that he ask his father, but really didn’t want to think about the subject at all. The welfare of the woman and her child was no concern of mine once they left here. I was simply relieved to be rid of the problem and hoped my husband had learned to…well, to keep his less palatable activities well away from his home.’

  ‘Understandable,’ Riley said.

  ‘Anyway, Rod didn’t refer to the girl again but did casually mention in that charming manner of his that he’d been obliged to leave Woodrow House and that a single man living alone in London with a position to maintain found it expensive. I knew then, of course, why he had raised the subject of the housekeeper and her child—’

  ‘That must have made you angry,’ Salter said.

  ‘Actually no. I suppose it should have done, but Rod had a way about him that made it almost impossible to object to anything he said or did. I told him I could help him out to the tune of thirty guineas a quarter but no more than that without my son asking questions.’

  ‘Your son doesn’t know?’ Riley asked.

  ‘No, Lord Riley, he does not, and I would much prefer for it to remain that way. Not that it matters much, I suppose, now that Rod is dead,’ she said with a small sigh, ‘but Duncan looked up to his father and I would not want to shatter his illusions.’

  Riley wasn’t about to make promises that he might not later be in a position to honour, so gave no assurances about keeping Duncan Eldridge in ignorance. ‘Others paid Woodrow too, you know,’ he remarked.

  ‘I am not in the least surprised to hear it.’ She chuckled. ‘Rod could have sold sand to the Egyptians. He was always so charmingly attentive when we met privately so that I could pay him his quarterly dues. I looked forward to the occasions, pathetic though that probably sounds to you. The vulgar subject of cash was never raised, of course. I simply gave him tea and left an envelope beside his chair. When he left it was gone.’

  ‘Are you personally aware of anyone else?’

  ‘That is hardly something Rod would have shared. I rewarded his discretion. If he let me down I would have ceased paying him.’

  ‘Do you know of anyone with the initials DC?’ Salter asked.

  ‘Mrs Dorothy Carrington springs to mind,’ Lady Eldridge said, having paused to consider the question. ‘But she is on an extended overseas tour. She left England over a year ago.’

  ‘Was she acquainted with Woodrow?’ Riley asked.

  ‘Everyone in our circle knew him.’ She chuckled. ‘He was hard to miss.’

  Having exhausted Lady Eldridge’s supply of information upon the subject of Woodrow, Riley thanked her and the two detectives took their leave.

  ‘Did you believe her, sir?’ Salter asked. ‘I mean, her husband took a mistress who bore him a child. Hardly earth-shattering news. Your lot routinely get up to that sort of thing.’

  ‘But it’s frowned upon to play games with a member of one’s household, sergeant, a woman who risks losing her position if she turns the master down. Eldridge impregnated her but refused to stand by his responsibilities and look after her and the child.’ Riley shook his head. ‘Make no mistake, Jack, that sort of dishonourable behaviour would most definitely be frowned upon.’

  Salter grunted. ‘I see,’ he said, turning up his collar as a bitter wind blew icy rain into their faces. ‘Do you really think she didn’t mind paying him?’

  ‘She is not the first of his victims to give us that impression,’ Riley replied. ‘He wasn’t too greedy, the ladies he fleeced could afford it and seemed intoxicated by him. No, I don’t think she minded at all.’

  They increased their pace, waited for a gap in the traffic and crossed the road, narrowly avoiding being mown down by a private carriage being driven at a reckless pace. Salter wielded Mrs Cowley’s door knocker and once again they were not kept waiting for long before being admitted to the presence of a small, painfully thin woman with the pinched expression of unfulfilled expectations. Riley knew that her husband, twenty years her senior, had been an invalid for a considerable time. Unlike Lady Eldridge’s home, Mrs Cowley’s establishment was the first word in elegance, having had a considerable sum lavished on its interior and furnishings. Yet Mrs Cowley had been prevented by her husband’s illness from showing it off, accounting for her disappointment, no doubt. She had once harboured aspirations to become a leading hostess, but instead she had become an irrelevance, with no children upon whom she could devote her attention and transfer her ambitions.

  ‘Lord Riley.’ She stood as they entered the room, a nervous and reluctant smile briefly touching her lips. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure.’

  ‘I fear it is not a social call, ma’am.’ Riley introduced Salter and the two men took possession of the chairs that Mrs Cowley directed them towards.

  ‘I see.’ Mrs Cowley moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue as her gaze darted about the room. She said nothing more. No offer of refreshment was forthcoming, and she seemed lost in thought.

  ‘You gave Rod Woodrow a reference when he took a tenancy in Half Moon Street,’ Riley said, coming straight to the point. ‘May I ask why?’

  ‘He was a dear friend.’

  She continued to stare straight ahead and did not elaborate. Riley could see now that her eyes were puffy. She too had shed tears over Woodrow’s demise. Riley, who was perfectly comfortable with…well, uncomfortable silences, allowed this one to stretch between them, confident that Mrs Cowley would eventually feel compelled to break it and offer a further explanation. She did not disappoint.

  ‘Rod took an interest in my problems and understood them in a way few others ever seemed to. Because I have all of this,’ she said, waving her hand around the elegant room, ‘I could not possibly be dissatisfied. Yet money does not buy happiness, I can assure you of that much. My husband has been unwell for almost all our married life. I have no children and few friends, since society would not look kindly upon a woman who gallivants around town leaving her ailing husband to his own devices.’

  ‘How then did you meet Rod Woodrow?’ Salter asked.

  ‘My husband had and still has some influence in political circles. When he was enjoying one of his rare healthy spells, the Woodrows invited us to dine so that William could discuss his political ambitions with Godfrey and ask for his sponsorship. Rod was there. He could see that I was bored rigid and took the trouble to engage me in more agreeable conversation. We have remained friends ever since…or had.’ She dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. ‘This is a very sad time for me, Lord Riley. Frankly, I don’t know how I shall manage without him.’

  ‘You paid him regular amounts.’ Riley spoke with authority, as though he knew it for a fact. Mrs Cowley confirmed his suspicions by gasping.

  ‘How did you…’ Ugly red blotches appeared on her pale face. ‘He promised me that our business arrangement would remain our secret.’

  ‘Unfortunately, ma’am, this is a murder investigation. Nothing remains confidential. I know
how much you paid him. What I don’t know is why.’

  ‘I chose to support a charming young man who wanted to forge his own path,’ she replied, not meeting Riley’s gaze.

  ‘Excuse me if I don’t believe you.’

  ‘I beg your pardon!’ She puffed out her thin chest, but her outraged expression failed to conceal an underlying fear.

  ‘You are not the only lady who contributed to Rod’s living expenses,’ Riley said, his voice firming, ‘although he probably led you to believe that there was something special about you.’

  ‘I…well—’ Her mouth opened and closed but no coherent words escaped it.

  ‘Rod knew something to your detriment and you paid for his silence. If you are not willing to tell me what it is then I shall have to ask your husband.’

  Her cheeks now flamed scarlet with indignation. ‘You wouldn’t dare disturb an ailing man!’

  ‘I suggest you do not put that assertion to the test,’ Riley replied, steel in his tone. ‘Besides, if you cared for Rod even half as much as you have led me to believe, then you will want to help me find out who killed him.’

  ‘Of course I want to know who killed him, but my reasons for supporting him had nothing to do with the cause of his death.’

  ‘How can you possibly know that?’

  ‘Very well, since you insist.’ In a state of considerable agitation, she laced her fingers together in her lap. ‘Rod listened to me. He could see that I was unhappy and gradually persuaded me to confide in him. Rod was a very easy man to talk to, and impossible to shock. When I told him how desperately I wanted a child but that Godfrey’s efforts to provide me with one had come to nothing, he offered…well, I don’t suppose I need to spell it out to you.’ She dropped her head into her hands and wept briefly. ‘Put like that it all sounds so sordid, but it was actually the most beautiful, the most natural thing in the world. Not that a child came of it, unfortunately, but that wasn’t for want of trying on Rod’s part.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Riley said softly. ‘I realise that was not easy for you and I cannot see any reason for word of it to be included in any written reports.’

  ‘I am much obliged to you, Lord Riley.’ Mrs Cowley recovered her composure, after a fashion. ‘That is a great relief and I hope you find whoever did this to poor Rod. He was a rascal—but he had a conscience.’

  ‘A rascal with a conscience who lived off wealthy women,’ Salter grumbled as the two detectives made their way back to Scotland Yard.

  ‘Well, Jack, as I said before, none of the ladies who paid him seemed to resent doing so. We have just had that confirmed for a third time. Our Roderick was a clever chap. If he’d had to threaten any of them to stump up quarter after quarter they would eventually have grown weary of his demands and told their spouses, or someone else, in order to put a stop to the blackmail. Rod made sure he only scrounged from willing victims and appeared to give value for money in return, at least to their way of thinking.’

  ‘How could he…’ Salter growled something unintelligible. ‘How could he calmly bed someone else’s wife for money?’

  ‘There are ladies in Covent Garden who do that sort of thing with married men all the time.’

  ‘Yeah, but they can pretend…well, you know. A man has to rise to the occasion.’

  Riley chuckled. ‘Rod clearly had no problems in that regard.’

  ‘You don’t think anyone connected to Cowley found out and did him in? I mean, Cowley couldn’t impregnate his wife so some impudent cove took it upon himself to undertake that duty for him. Not that he succeeded, but if he had, her husband’s pride would never have recovered from the humiliation.’

  ‘I don’t think Cowley knew—or cared, for that matter. He certainly couldn’t have done the deed himself and doesn’t have any male relatives capable of undertaking it on his behalf. No, I think we can safely put the Cowleys firmly at the bottom of the suspect list. But we might have to have a word with Lady Eldridge’s son if no other leads present themselves.’

  Their conversation took them back to Scotland Yard, where Sergeant Barton told them that a young woman awaited them, claiming to have vital information about the Woodrow murder.

  ‘Does she have a name, Barton?’ Riley asked.

  ‘Alice Fanshaw.’

  Riley shook her head. ‘Doesn’t sound familiar.’

  ‘She ain’t one of your lot. More working class, I’d say, and in a right state, too.’

  ‘Have Carter and Soames returned with William Woodrow?’

  ‘Just now, then they went out again. Something about talking to cabbies. Woodrow made a right old fuss when he demanded to see you at once and was told you weren’t here. Anyway, Carter said to tell you that Woodrow left the Covingtons at midnight. Their coachman hailed him a cab but didn’t hear what destination he gave the jarvey.’

  ‘Damn! All right. Thank you, sergeant. Woodrow can wait a bit longer. Give me a couple of minutes, Barton, then bring Miss Fanshaw through to my office. I will see her first.’

  He and Salter divested themselves of their hats and coats and settled into Riley’s office as they awaited the girl’s arrival. Riley was obliged to inhale sharply when she walked through his door. Dressed respectably in cheap clothing and with huge tragic green eyes reddened through tears, she was still one of the most exquisitely beautiful young women he had ever laid eyes upon. Salter exchanged a puzzled look with Riley as he pulled out a chair for her and helped her into it.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Fanshaw,’ Riley said. ‘I am Inspector Rochester and this is Sergeant Salter. I hear you have something to tell me about Mr Woodrow’s death.’

  ‘Is he really dead?’ She screwed her hands into tight balls and gripped the fabric of her skirt. ‘Please tell me it ain’t so.’ Her voice was soft and unmodulated. ‘I can’t bear it.’

  ‘I am sorry to say it’s true,’ Riley replied, steeling himself for hysterics that didn’t materialise. ‘May I ask how you were acquainted with him?’

  ‘Acquainted? Upon my life, we was more than mere acquaintances, sir. We were engaged to be married.’ She removed the glove from her left hand and triumphantly flashed a small diamond ring beneath Riley’s nose. ‘He was me heart’s desire and I was his.’ She sobbed into her handkerchief. ‘There will never be another for me. My life is over.’

  Chapter Eight

  Riley waited for Miss Fanshaw to recover her composure, frowning as he took in Salter’s astonished expression. The naïve chit actually believed that Woodrow had intended to marry her, as evidenced by the ring he had given her. Riley could tell that it was a genuine diamond, albeit modest in size. Given the amount of cash that Woodrow had acquired through nefarious means, he could easily have afforded a trinket of that quality, doubtless accompanied by empty assurances, in order to impress a girl in her situation. His ultimate aim would have been her virtue.

  ‘Perhaps you could tell me about it, if it’s not too painful,’ Riley said gently when her sobs eventually subsided. ‘How did you and Mr Woodrow first meet.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve known him all me life. My Ma was their housekeeper.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’ Riley exchanged another assessing look with Salter.

  ‘I grew up below stairs in Woodrow House, and Rod always had a kind word for me. Then me Ma died. I took over her position and old Mr Woodrow was that kind to me. But when he got ill Mr Francis took control.’ Her expression turned sour. ‘He said I was too young to hold such a responsible position, even though old Mr Woodrow never complained about the service I provided. Mr Francis said I could stay on, but only if I… Well, I told him in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t that sort of girl.’ She squared her shoulders, looking indignant. ‘I might be a servant but I’m no whore.’

  ‘That much is patently evident to me, Alice,’ Riley replied soothingly. ‘You left the Woodrows’ employ rather than compromise your virtue. That was the right and proper thing to do. But what happened to you then?’

  ‘It was Rod what helped me. He w
as furious when he heard what Mr Francis had suggested. He denied it, of course—Mr Francis, that is. Said I’d made it up, but Rod knew I’m the honest sort, not given to telling untruths. Anyway, there was the most terrible argument. Rod agreed that I couldn’t possibly stay at Woodrow House, so he got me a position as an apprentice to a fashionable milliner in Bond Street. Them positions are highly sought after,’ she said on a note of pride. ‘Rod knew that was what I really wanted to do. Ever so persuasive, Rod could be. I never would have been taken on without his help, but I think I have proved myself worthy.’

  ‘I am sure you have,’ Riley said, smiling at her.

  ‘We became firm friends after that, Rod and me, and he came by every so often to make sure I was all right. Said he felt duty bound to take care of me. He walked out with me on my afternoon off and told me such funny stories about the people he mixed with. Made me laugh until my sides hurt, so he did. He said he loved being with me because he didn’t have to put on a pretence like he did all the rest of the time.’

  ‘How long ago did you leave Woodrow House, Alice?’ Riley asked.

  ‘Going on two years, sir. Rod had that terrible fight with his brothers and left at the same time.’

  ‘And did you visit his rooms in Half Moon Street?’ Salter asked.

  ‘Certainly not!’ She tilted her chin. ‘That’s not to say that I wouldn’t have, if’n he’d asked me to,’ she added with a guilty smile. ‘Rod had been that good to me. Just about the only man who’s done something for me without expecting anything in return.’ Riley nodded, well able to believe it. The girl was far from worldly and didn’t seem to have any idea just how attractive she actually was. Rod would have found her innocence appealing, and despite the way he conducted himself with his own sort, taking advantage of their neediness for his own profit, he had obviously felt protective of Alice. ‘Rod insisted that for once in his life he wanted to do things right. When I marry you, Alice,’ he said to me, ‘I want you to be pure.’