Death of a Courtesan: Riley Rochester Investigates Page 11

  ‘That’s what you get for laughing at my superior,’ he said, attempting to lighten the mood.

  He held her hand as she slowly lowered herself back into her seat, her legs clearly incapable of supporting her. Her eyes were hazy, her lips swollen, and it was obvious to Riley that she had been as reluctant to bring their passionate embrace to an end as he was. Even so, her next words almost floored him.

  ‘Are you asking me to be your mistress, Riley? If so, I accept the position.’

  Chapter Seven

  Riley strode home through the steadily falling rain and swirling fog, cursing himself for handling the situation with Amelia so ineptly. He had been shocked by her suggestion and had panicked for a moment, but telling her not to be absurd had been downright ungentlemanly. He still recalled her devastated expression when he released her as though his arms were on fire and turned away, taking a moment to regain his composure.

  What the devil was wrong with him? He should just have laughed off her suggestion, apologised for his lapse and changed the subject. But he could see now how confused she must have been by his impulsive action. Despite the attraction that sparked between them whenever they were in the same room, he had always been careful to keep their relationship platonic. And yet he was the one who had kissed her, so what else was she supposed to think he hoped to achieve by it? She had made it clear that she didn’t want marriage but equally clear that she enjoyed what he had so recklessly instigated.

  She was a widow, experienced in the ways of the world, so her suggestion ought not to have shocked him quite so profoundly. It would not have done so if it had come from anyone other than his Amelia. He had set her on a pedestal in his imagination because, unlike other widows of his acquaintance, her behaviour had always been beyond reproach. But he realised now that he was away from her and his head was slowly clearing that she had only followed his lead. He was the one to blame. He’d been a damned fool to give into temptation, disturbing the status quo and effectively ruining their friendship. Astounded by her offer to become his mistress, his response had been nothing short of insulting and he wondered if things could ever go back to being the same way between them.

  Did he want them to, or was it time to face up to his own growing desires?

  He would see her again the following evening, having promised to collect her and escort her to his sister’s soiree. He was grateful to Cabbage for issuing the invitation in person, otherwise he was sure that she would have made an excuse not to attend. Cabbage had persuaded her that the two of them should perform together on the harp, so Amelia would have to keep the engagement or risk disappointing Cabbage. Riley smiled at the thought of his niece bubbling with excitement at the prospect of her musical debut. Amelia would not disappoint her, and Riley would find a way to put things right between them before then—somehow. She was all that he had ever wanted in a woman—beautiful, opinionated, spirited, brave, and more than a match for his mother.

  Having her for a mistress would not be enough for him. It was demeaning even to think of her in such a role. This case must be getting to him. Memories of the depths some women fell to in order to satisfy men’s lust were fresh in his mind. And the men involved couldn’t be absolved from blame. His thoughts need wander no further than his father’s obsession with his actress if he doubted it. Women of Amelia’s status who thought they were entering into a discreet and exclusive arrangement often found themselves abandoned when their allure faded and they finished up in similar situations to Adelaide. The thought of Amelia reaching any sort of accommodation with another man filled him with a murderous rage. But there was absolutely no reason why she shouldn’t do so. Women had their needs too, even though they were not supposed to admit to them.

  Damn it, he thought, skirting a deep puddle, he couldn’t take the risk of her turning elsewhere. She was his and always would be. But he couldn’t propose, which he was now determined to do, until he discovered why she was so disinclined to remarry. Something unpleasant had occurred between her and Cosgrove that would always be with her, coming between them until the subject was aired. She would damned well tell him what it was, he decided, setting his jaw in a rigid line, and he would somehow make things right again. It was the very least he could do for her.

  Thus resolved, Riley reached home, but slept badly, disturbed by thoughts of his ungracious conduct. He was at his desk early the following morning, when the Detective Department was still almost deserted and he had the place to himself. Mercifully, the rain had finally stopped but the storm still raging inside Riley’s head was as violent as ever. He ignored his continued unease about Amelia and turned his attention to the papers on his desk, trying to concentrate upon the case.

  Salter breezed into the office half an hour after Riley but still earlier than his usual time.

  ‘You’re up with the lark, sir,’ he said by way of greeting.

  ‘Come in and shut the door, Jack. I have a few thoughts to share with you.’ Riley leaned his elbows on his desk and took a moment to gather his thoughts. ‘Stout tells me that Adelaide’s fee for an hour of her time would have been three guineas.’

  ‘Blimey!’ Salter scratched his head. ‘I won’t ask how he knows, but it does explain why she was so exclusive. Not many could afford to pay that much on a regular basis.’

  Riley went on to explain his various theories about Grant’s possible jealousy and the discovery of Mrs Arnold’s competing establishment.

  ‘We’ll have to have a word with her then, I suppose.’

  ‘We will indeed, but I can’t help wondering why Mrs Sinclair didn’t tell us about her rival herself.’

  ‘Professional pride, I expect. She thinks of Mrs Arnold’s establishment as being beneath her notice, despite the fact that they supply the same services and are in open competition with one another.’

  ‘Stout came back with some interesting information last night. He spent the evening in a Covent Garden tavern where Adelaide’s killing was the major subject of conversation amongst the regulars. One of them was in his cups, loudly proclaiming that Adelaide got what she deserved. Made quite a spectacle of himself apparently. Man by the name of Clement. Works at Billingsgate market.’

  ‘Doubt if he could afford Adelaide’s services on a fishmonger’s pay so I wonder how he knew Adelaide, if he did, or whether he was simply railing against her profession in general. Presumably Mrs Sinclair will be able to tell us if he was a regular.’

  ‘I would prefer to talk to him first. I doubt whether he killed her, or he would have had the sense to keep his mouth shut, but he obviously felt that her death was a cause for celebration. I’d like to know why.’

  ‘What’s the order of business today then, sir? We have a lot of suspects to interview.’

  ‘Not that many. I don’t believe for a moment that any of the clients she entertained on the night of her death came back to kill her, although we have to go through the motions. We’ll talk to Wallace, the Home Office clerk, because I doubt whether anyone else will be able to get anywhere near him. But he will talk to me, either discreetly or publicly here at the Yard. His choice. Carter and Soames can take Farmer the Ironmonger and Rawlings the solicitor’s clerk. We’ll do the Reverend Boyland,’ Riley added with a smile, ‘if only because I want to hear what excuses he comes up with for predilections that go against his calling as a man of God.’

  Salter chuckled. ‘You and me both, sir.’

  ‘By the time we’ve spoken to those two, Huxton and his brother will be waiting for us at the hospital.’

  ‘I still think the scarred brother is the most likely candidate,’ Salter said as the two men headed for the main office to give instructions to their subordinates.

  ‘Possibly.’ Riley donned his hat and paused to reflect. ‘I feel uncomfortable about Miss Huxton’s reaction. Obviously, she didn’t enter a brothel at the dead of night and murder her niece, but she considered the girl to be a stain on the family’s good name, even if she didn�
��t know what had become of her. She doesn’t lament her passing. In fact, she’s spitefully pleased to have that blot removed on a permanent basis.’

  ‘Just because she didn’t do it herself…’

  ‘Quite. I’d like to know a lot more about that lady’s history,’ Riley said, thinking of Amelia’s comments the night before. ‘What happened to make her so sour?’

  ‘Some people are just born that way,’ Salter said, stepping onto the pavement and whistling to a passing cab which swerved to collect them, earning a round of colourful curses from the drivers of vehicles it cut in front of.

  The hansom deposited them outside the Home Office a short time later. Riley gave his card to the porter. Not his official Scotland Yard identification, but a thick white embossed card simply bearing the insignia, Lord Riley Rochester, beneath the family’s coat of arms. Wallace would know who he was and why he was there. Sure enough, Riley and Salter were only kept waiting for a minute or two before Wallace himself came to collect them. He had his coat and hat on.

  ‘I was expecting you,’ he said without preamble. ‘We can talk outside,’ he added, leading the way to the door. ‘Walls have ears.’

  ‘What do you have to tell us?’ Riley asked as he and Salter walked along on either side of Wallace. He was a tall, exceptionally thin man with auburn hair and whiskers and couldn’t have been more than thirty. He wasn’t wearing gloves and there was no ring on his wedding finger.

  ‘You know where I was the night before last, I imagine, accounting for your presence here this morning. I thought about coming to see you. Anyway, thank you for behaving with discretion. You need not have done that, and I am much obliged to you.’

  ‘I am not in the business of embarrassing people, unless they try to lie to me,’ Riley responded.

  ‘I am unmarried and can behave as I please, Lord Riley. Even so, if knowledge of my preferences became common knowledge I would become a laughing stock and most likely lose everything I’ve worked to achieve. My subordinates would no longer respect me and my superiors would lose faith in my judgement.’

  ‘Then why take the risk?’ Salter asked.

  ‘I have tried to give it up, believe me, but the impulse is simply too strong and I always go back eventually. Especially since meeting Adelaide. She is…was…masterful at what she did.’ He sighed. ‘But now she’s gone and I find myself dreading the thought of exposure, perhaps that will suffice to rid me of the habit.’ He shrugged, not looking terribly optimistic. ‘One can but hope.’

  ‘What time did you leave Maiden Lane the night before last?’ Riley asked.

  ‘About one in the morning. I was one of the last to spend time with Adelaide, although there was another man waiting to utilise her services.’ He gave a mirthless smile. ‘A man of the cloth, which is not as unusual as you might imagine in such establishments. What that says about the state of our society is anyone’s guess. People in glass houses, and all that.’

  ‘He didn’t try to disguise his occupation?’ Salter asked, looking shocked. ‘The minister, that is.’

  ‘He didn’t advertise it, sergeant, but all of us regulars have a fair idea of one another’s occupations. None of us shouted about it, especially not your chief inspector,’ he added with a significant glance at Riley.

  ‘I am aware of his presence there,’ Riley replied crisply. ‘And I can assure you that he is receiving no preferential treatment in this investigation.’

  ‘He’s no more guilty than I am.’ Wallace sighed. ‘Without Adelaide, we are all at a disadvantage.’

  ‘There are plenty more fish in the sea,’ Salter said.

  ‘None of Adelaide’s calibre. She was unique and she knew it.’ He sighed. ‘What a damned mess. She will be greatly missed. Anyway, to answer your question, sergeant, somehow we all knew what one another did for a living. The odd word here or there, if one cared to listen, leant valuable clues. It didn’t seem to matter much if we let our guard down in the place where we went to relax and be ourselves for a few hours. There is honour amongst deviants, and none of us could risk exposing the other, so to speak, without putting ourselves at risk of retaliation.’

  ‘But you did not use your own name, unlike many of the others,’ Riley pointed out.

  Wallace shrugged. ‘You still found me.’

  ‘During the early part of the evening, when you were being entertained in the salon, did any of the other men there say anything to make you suspect their motives?’ Riley asked. ‘Anything out of the ordinary.’

  Wallace laughed. ‘We were all there to endure pain in the hope of gaining the ultimate pleasure from it. There was nothing that you would think of as ordinary about those gatherings. Some who dislike pain enjoy wearing women’s clothing, or acting out fantasies. We were none of us ourselves, and yet we were in an odd sort of way, if that makes any sense.’

  ‘None whatsoever,’ Salter muttered.

  ‘Did Adelaide seem concerned about anything?’ Riley asked. ‘Was she distracted?’

  ‘Not that I noticed, Lord Riley, but then I was concentrating upon doing as I was told, rather than concerning myself about her mood. Not that I would have dared to question her about it, even if I had noticed anything amiss. That isn’t the way our sessions worked. I went there to absolve myself of my responsibilities for a while, not take on someone else’s. I was fond of Adelaide, but at the end of the day she was just a high-class whore, well paid to provide a service that’s hard to come by if one expects perfection. I harboured no other feelings for her, was not jealous of her other clients and looked upon her as a means to an end. She was good, but there will be others out there waiting to take her place. Finding them will be deuced inconvenient, so I certainly didn’t kill Adelaide.’

  ‘One last question,’ Riley said. ‘How did your sessions end?’

  ‘What the inspector wants to know,’ Salter said in a rough voice, ‘is did you fuck her?’

  ‘That was not permitted. I tried to insist once, but she said that if I wanted to be that intimate I would have to find another dominatrix. She wasn’t paid enough to have all and sundry poking her, as she put it. Anyway, she called my bluff and we both knew I wouldn’t go elsewhere.’ He swallowed and looked truly distressed. ‘Ask any of her customers. They will all tell you the same thing about her. Not only did she stretch our boundaries but she did so in a detached manner that…I don’t know how to describe it. She simply made you want to please her. It seemed vitally important to take whatever she dished out because she was convinced that you could, and would have been affronted if you’d asked her to stop. And that made it all the more challenging…and pleasurable.’

  ‘Seems to me she had you right where she wanted you,’ Salter said in a disgruntled tone. ‘How hard can it be to whip someone’s arse?’

  ‘Oh, it’s an art, sergeant, and one that precious few can master efficiently. You will have to take my word for that.’

  ‘Well I certainly won’t be looking to find out for myself anytime soon,’ Salter said.

  Riley thanked him and warned him that they might need to speak to him again.

  ‘I can’t think why, Lord Riley. I’ve told you everything I know, but if you do need to see me, I should be grateful if you would call at my rooms where there is less likelihood of a connection being made between me and your current investigation.’ He gave them his address and Salter made a note of it in his book. ‘I hope you find whoever did this and you can be assured of my full cooperation if you have need of my help.’

  Riley shook his hand and they went their separate ways.

  ‘You believe him?’ Salter asked as he hailed another cab.

  ‘Yes. He’s either the best liar I have ever encountered or was being refreshingly honest.’ Riley chuckled. ‘It’s so seldom that a witness is honest that we tend not to realise it when they actually are. Anyway, he had no reason to kill the woman who gave him whatever it was he got from those sessions, and certainly wouldn’t risk his c
areer even if he did have his differences with her.’ They entered the cab that swerved in front of a drayman’s cart to pick them up. ‘Let’s see what the clergyman has to say for himself.’

  They found the Reverend Boyland on his knees in front of the altar in his small Methodist chapel in Victoria. He turned as the sound of their footsteps rang out on the tiled floor. Riley was surprised to see tears pouring down his face.

  ‘You are from Scotland Yard.’ It wasn’t a question, and Riley merely nodded. ‘I have been expecting you. Please come this way. We can talk in the vestry.’

  Boyland was a small man with thin sandy hair and bland, forgettable features. He motioned them into chairs in the cramped room, removed some hymnbooks from the remaining seat and eased himself into it. He winced in the same manner as Danforth had done when he sat down. Adelaide clearly gave value for money, Riley thought with a degree of amusement. He introduced himself and Salter and wasted no time on pleasantries.

  ‘You were the last person to be entertained by Adelaide at Mrs Sinclair’s establishment the night before last,’ he said without preamble.

  Boyland inhaled sharply. ‘Her death is my punishment.’ He ran a hand through what little hair he possessed, looking anguished. ‘I always knew the day of reckoning would come.’

  ‘I’d say her death is her own punishment, not yours,’ Salter said with little sympathy.

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. It’s a tragedy. Such a young life needlessly sacrificed. I was just now praying for her immortal soul.’

  ‘You might want to give more consideration to your own,’ Salter said in a belligerent tone, pointing a finger at Boyland’s puny chest for emphasis. ‘You were the last person to spend time with her, which makes you our prime suspect.’

  ‘No, no, I did not kill her! I couldn’t harm a fly. I am a man of God.’

  ‘One with unnatural desires,’ Riley said mildly.

  ‘To my eternal shame.’ The man hung his head, looking truly anguished. But Riley got the impression that he was more concerned about his own future than bringing Adelaide’s killer to justice. ‘I shall have to give up my ministry. Word of my weakness will get out and the presbyter will force my resignation. Better to go before that happens. I am not fit to give advice to others anyway. Not when I am so conflicted myself.’