Death of a Milliner: Riley Rochester Investigates Book 9 (Riley ~Rochester Investigates) Page 11

  ‘Where did she live?’

  Hatchard blinked. ‘Above her shop, of course,’ he said, looking furtive, and Riley sensed that he was lying. Whatever she’d been doing aside from making hats, Hatchard knew about it, but was unlikely to admit that he’d been involved.

  ‘Why did you try to abduct a young woman outside Madame’s Boise’s establishment the other day?’ Riley asked in an abrupt change of subject that caused Hatchard’s body to jerk forward and all the colour to drain from his face.

  ‘I didn’t. I don’t know what…Oh!’

  The flat of Salter’s hand landing on the tabletop was as loud as a gunshot in the confined space of the interview room, causing Hatchard to recoil and almost fall from his chair.

  ‘Don’t mess us about, sonny.’ Salter pushed his face up close to Hatchard’s, his expression thunderous, taking out all his pent up anger over his daughter’s situation on this sorry excuse for a man who had somehow been involved in Mrs Faulkner’s illegal activities. Salter would have recognised his evasiveness and was no doubt champing at the bit to loosen his tongue by a more direct means than asking pointed questions that drew unsatisfactory answers. ‘We know it were you. You scared the young woman half out of her wits, but she still managed to give us a good description of your ugly mug. Now, I’ll only ask you nicely once more before I lock you in the cells and give you an opportunity to have what the Chief Inspector here would call a good ruminate. The blokes we have down there, I should warn you, don’t take too kindly to men who prey on innocent girls, so…’

  ‘All right, all right. I’ll tell you.’ Faulkner, still shying away from Salter, held up both hands, pushing the palms forward in a conciliatory gesture. ‘I didn’t intend to do her any harm. It was a favour for Jessie.’

  ‘But you got the wrong girl?’ Riley suggested.

  ‘Yeah. She told me who she wanted to see, where she would be and when, and what she looked like.’

  ‘Who was the girl you were supposed to apprehend?’ Riley asked, motioning Salter away from the man with a wave of one hand. Salter growled and reluctantly withdrew; but not very far. He still stood directly behind Hatchard like an avenging angel, increasing Hatchard’s obvious apprehension. Riley didn’t blame him. Salter in a foul temper was terrifying enough. When confronting a man who had threatened one of his children, he was the devil incarnate.

  ‘A girl called…’ He glanced nervously over his shoulder at Salter. ‘A girl who bore your name.’

  Salter was on him again in the blink of an eye, hauling him from his chair by the scruff of his neck and holding him with his feet dangling off the floor.

  ‘Put him down, Salter,’ Riley said calmly. ‘I’ll let you at him again later if we don’t get answers that satisfy me.’

  Salter dropped him back into his chair so hard that Riley was surprised its legs didn’t snap. Hatchard, red in the face and breathing hard, adjusted his clothing and his dignity as best he could.

  ‘Jessie didn’t mean the girl any harm; quite the reverse. She’d been in the best mood I’d seen her in for months—years even—when she took the girl on as an apprentice. She said she had never seen anyone so young with so much instinct for the profession; not even herself at that age, or Meg Butler who now calls herself Madame Boise. Jessie reckoned that by the time Maureen had served out her indentures she would be ready to take on the position as her principal designer. They would have made their name and a fortune in central London, eclipsing Madame even, and Jessie would finally have her revenge.’

  Riley glanced at Salter and could see pride warring with anger in his expression.

  ‘But then Madame stole Maureen away from her.’ Hatchard adjusted his position and sat sideways on his chair, one leg crossed over the other. ‘I have never seen her half so angry in my entire life. No one could get near her for days, not even me. Anyway, when she eventually calmed down, she decided to go on the offensive. If she could just talk to Maureen, explain what she had in mind for her. She’d left her employ too fast for Jessie to reason with her, and…’ He swallowed and glanced over his shoulder at Salter. ‘Her father was fighting her corner and Jessie reckoned she was no match for him…for you, Sergeant. I can see why now.’

  Salter grunted.

  ‘Jessie said that Madame would never give Maureen free rein, or any acknowledgement for her achievements. She would keep all the praise for herself. She wanted to try and make Maureen understand that and make her see that holding a senior position the moment she qualified and putting her own name to her creations would establish her as a force to be reckoned with. The problem was, she couldn’t get to talk to her. Madame kept her too well protected, aware of what she had in her. Jessie wrote to her a couple of times but doesn’t think she got the letters. So she decided to get her alone and have a word, explain her plans and make her realise that she had the money to make them happen. She was convinced that Maureen would see reason.’

  Salter grunted for a second time but refrained from throttling the man when Riley held up a restraining hand.

  ‘Where did she get the money to renew herself in such a flamboyant manner?’ Riley asked.

  Hatchard looked away and shook his head. ‘She didn’t tell me. I assumed she had been prudent and salted away her profits over the years. She certainly didn’t pour them back into her business.’

  ‘Sure you don’t know more than that?’ Salter growled. ‘If you don’t want to tell us, we can arrest you for attempted abduction and I dare say a night or two in our cells will refresh your memory—especially if I tell some of my colleagues and the bad ’uns down there who want to get on my good side that it was my daughter you was after kidnapping.’

  Hatchard looked petrified and struggled to regain a modicum of composure. He was a weak man but not without charm, and he probably appealed to the ladies he dealt with in the course of his working days, calling upon haberdashers, modistes and milliners to sell his accessories. Riley suspected that he had appealed to Mrs Faulkner because he was malleable. Something in their shared history during the days when Hatchard’s sister had cared for the Faulkner children had brought them together.

  ‘Were you in love with her?’ Riley asked, simply to see how he would respond.

  ‘Good heavens no! Jessie wasn’t the loveable type and she didn’t encourage intimacy. She was pretty enough in her younger days and attracted her share of male attention. But then Faulkner got to her, and after the way he treated her she wasn’t prepared to depend upon any man ever again. She said it often enough and I certainly never saw her with anyone over all the years I’ve known her since then.’ He paused. ‘Shame to think of her gone, but nothing lasts forever. Do you know who killed her?’

  ‘She died in Madame Boise’s shop,’ Riley told him. ‘Early yesterday morning. Any idea what she might have been doing there?’

  Hatchard looked astounded. ‘None whatsoever. I can only assume that she went in the hope of catching Maureen alone at that early hour. Madame didn’t always remain on the premises overnight.’

  ‘Someone let her in—and it wasn’t Maureen, or Madame.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Chief Inspector, but I can’t help you there. I stayed overnight in Folkstone. My area has widened over the years along with the expansion of the outlets that I am required to supply and sometimes it’s easier to stay in one place rather than to travel back and forth. I can give you the address of the boarding house that I put up at.’

  Salter made a note of the details, scowling at Hatchard the entire time he scribbled in his notebook.

  ‘Are you acquainted with Mrs Faulkner’s children as adults?’

  He shook his head. ‘Jessie saw Bernard occasionally—fairly regularly I think, as a matter of fact—but Alfred sided with his father. Jessie was convinced that he poisoned his mind against her. That was cruel, unnecessary and another cause for complaint. She raised the boys as best she could as well as building up her business, and yet Alfred felt wronged by her.’ Hatchard chuckled. ‘Jessie wasn�
��t one to forget a slight and certainly knew how to bear a grudge. I’ll wager that Alfred won’t see a penny by way of inheritance.’

  Riley studied the man over his steepled fingers. He had been forthcoming in some respects, yet not nearly forthcoming enough. Even so, there seemed little point in prolonging this interview. As things stood, he had no way of forcing more information from him, short of throwing him in the cells for the night, which Salter was clearly itching to do. Miss Monkton’s abduction had not actually been successful, she hadn’t been harmed and Riley was reluctant to ruin the man’s prospects over something comparatively trivial if he was not responsible for Mrs Faulkner’s death. Proving that he was involved in it, or knew who was, necessitated allowing him his freedom.

  Guilty men tended to act rashly.

  ‘You may go.’ Riley paused. ‘For now. But we will be speaking with you again when we have progressed our enquiries further. Please ensure that my sergeant has your current address and that you remain where you’re supposed to be.’ Riley fixed him with a hard look. ‘Don’t make me regret being lenient or it will be the worse for you. I trust we understand one another.’

  ‘Thank you, Chief Inspector.’ Hatchard almost knocked his chair over in his haste to stand.

  Salter glowered at Hatchard for a prolonged moment before summoning a constable to show him out.

  ‘Shame we couldn’t have kept him,’ Salter said as they returned to Riley’s office. ‘But still an’ all, I’m assuming you ain’t done with him yet.’

  ‘Not nearly, Jack. Not nearly.’ He reached for his hat and coat. ‘That man knows something about the source of Mrs Faulkner’s income, I suspect, but he won’t tell us anything unless we can put more pressure on. We shall have to watch him, ask a few questions, and see what we discover. You can be sure he would have endured being incarcerated over the Miss Monkton affair rather than incriminating himself with respect to something which I suspect is far more damning.’

  ‘You spoil all my fun,’ Salter complained.

  ‘Have patience, Jack.’ Riley smiled. ‘I’m sure you’ll get to lock him up eventually, but not yet.’ He glanced over his shoulder at his sergeant. ‘Shall we go and collect your daughter?’ he asked.

  ‘I ain’t sure how I feel about our Maureen being so much in demand that people are dying over her,’ Salter said, scowling as they made their way to Mayfair.

  ‘You should be proud of her, Jack. None of this is her fault and I hope you will make that clear to her. She will need a lot of reassurance. Unlike most naturally talented people of my acquaintance, your daughter isn’t brimming with self-confidence.’

  ‘Aye, I know. My children were brought up to believe that pride is a sin.’

  ‘And she is a nicer person because of it.’ Riley slapped his sergeant’s shoulder as the cab deposited them outside Martha’s abode.

  ‘Well, she ain’t exactly been slumming it, has she?’ Salter said, glancing up at the elegant façade of Martha’s town house.

  Martha greeted them in the hallway after they had been admitted by her butler.

  ‘Good evening, Sergeant.’

  ‘Good evening, Lady Gaston. I hope my daughter hasn’t been any trouble.’

  ‘None whatsoever. Evening, Riley.’ She stood on her toes to kiss Riley’s cheek. ‘In fact, she and Sophia have been designing hats all day and enjoying themselves enormously.’

  Salter rolled his eyes. ‘That doesn’t surprise me. My daughter don’t think about nothing else.’

  ‘We ladies find the subject endlessly fascinating as well, so you can be sure that Maureen will never want for customers.’

  Riley sensed Salter, who was on his best behaviour, struggling not to roll his eyes. ‘How reassuring.’

  ‘Come along. They’re in the small salon.’ Martha led the way. ‘Have you caught the killer, Riley?’

  ‘Not yet, but we have definitely exonerated Maureen, so she can go home.’

  ‘Ah well, at least that’s something.’

  ‘Pa!’ Maureen looked up from her sketchpad when they entered the room, her expression wary. ‘What’s happened? What are you doing here?’

  ‘You’re in the clear, squirt,’ he told her with an affectionate tug at one of her curls. ‘So I can take you home to your mother and you needn’t trouble Lady Gaston no more.’

  ‘That’s a shame, Uncle Riley,’ Sophia said, with a mischievous grin. ‘Not that Maureen has been exonerated, obviously. No one could seriously have believed that she would harm a fly. That was the silliest notion. But we were having a lovely time and I now know precisely the hat that I need to match my new walking gown. The dip of the brim was all wrong before. Maureen saw that immediately.’

  ‘Thank goodness she was here,’ Riley said, wiping imaginary perspiration from his brow and grinning at his irrepressible niece.

  ‘Stop teasing me, Uncle Riley,’ she protested. ‘Hats are a serious business.’

  ‘Don’t I know it.’ Riley shook his head and gave his niece’s shoulders a gentle squeeze. ‘But Mrs Salter is worried about her daughter, so we must let her go, I’m afraid.’

  Riley realised that his comment had been insensitive when Sophia’s expression briefly closed down. Damn! He couldn’t recall the last occasion upon which Celia had taken the least interest in her vibrant daughter’s welfare, or missed her company. Happily, Sophia quickly recovered her spirits and smiled at Maureen.

  ‘It has been the best possible fun,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you so very much for making me welcome, Lady Gaston,’ Maureen said, dipping a curtsey.

  ‘It’s been a pleasure, my dear.’ Martha smiled at her. ‘We have enjoyed your company. You must come again.’

  ‘It’s a day for fathers,’ Sophia said. ‘Mine has just been.’

  Riley was glad that at least one of Sophia’s parents had recalled that she was still alive.

  ‘He was hoping to catch you, Riley. I think you will find him waiting for you at Sloane Street,’ Martha said in a quiet aside. ‘Sorry, it wasn’t my suggestion, and I have no idea what he wants to see you about.’

  Riley sighed. Henry was hard work at the best of times. It would be a trying end to an equally trying day and he could most definitely do without it.

  He parted from Salter and Maureen on the pavement, leaving them to catch the omnibus and made his way home, not in the best frame of mind. Stout opened the door to him and told him what he already knew; that the marquess was awaiting his pleasure.

  ‘Ah, Riley, there you are at last.’ Henry, larger than ever, stood in front of Riley’s fire with a glass of brandy in his hand, looking as though he was the host, and Riley a tardy guest in his own home. ‘What hours they make you work.’

  ‘What do you want, Henry?’ Riley asked, throwing off his coat and accepting with a nod of thanks the glass of whisky that Stout held out to him. ‘It’s been a long day and I’m tired.’

  ‘There’s a fine way to greet your brother.’ Henry rocked back on his heels. ‘This house is in a useful location; right on the edge of things. You did the right thing in keeping it. I know Mother wanted you to use Rochester House whenever your duties keep you in London, but I can perfectly understand your need for a little space.’ He laughed jovially at his own clumsy attempt at wit. ‘One can have too much of a good thing.’

  ‘I’d like to go back to Bromley tonight, Stout,’ Riley said, ‘if you can prepare the carriage. We shall need to return to London early tomorrow but I would prefer to be with Lady Riley this evening.’

  ‘I’ll bet you do, you dog!’ Henry chortled.

  Stout acknowledged his orders and took himself off to carry them out.

  ‘Quite the family man,’ Henry said, an edge to his voice, after Stout had left them and Riley deliberately didn’t attempt to fill the awkward silence.

  ‘Do you see something wrong in that?’ Riley asked, arching a brow.

  ‘Nothing whatsoever. At least not in your case.’

  Riley again didn’t
respond, waiting for Henry to get to the point.

  ‘I wonder if I might borrow this house for a night or two when you’re not in need of it.’

  ‘Why?’ Riley pretended not to know, or to take offence at his brother’s willingness to use his dwelling as a glorified brothel. ‘You have Rochester House just round the corner.’

  ‘Don’t be so obtuse, Riley. I can hardly introduce our mother to my paramour.’

  ‘Ah, the delightful potter.’

  ‘You’ve heard about her.’ Henry wasn’t overburdened with intelligence, and seemed delighted by rather than concerned about Riley’s knowledge. ‘She is quite a gal! She’s the one, Riley. It’s happened for me at last. I feel for her what you feel for your Amelia. One simply knows.’

  ‘But one seems to forget that one already has a wife,’ Riley replied calmly.

  ‘Pah! Why must you put a damper on everything?’

  ‘Either give her up, Henry, or move her to London. You aren’t being fair to Celia, playing on your own doorstep, and you will certainly not be playing here in this house.’

  ‘Ah, Daniel’s been at you I presume, telling you how wickedly unfeeling I am.’ Henry puffed out his chest. ‘Well, it won’t serve.’ Riley thought for one amused moment that he might stamp his foot like a recalcitrant child. ‘Celia gave up all right to my discretion when she dallied with that rogue…’

  Riley waved a placating hand. ‘It doesn’t work that way and we both know it. Celia was grieving for the loss of your son at the time—’

  ‘And I wasn’t? Can you have any idea how it feels not to have an heir? What sort of man do you think that makes me?’

  ‘I realise that.’ Riley felt a moment’s sympathy for his obtuse brother. ‘I wish it could be otherwise.’

  ‘Well, it could be if…’

  ‘If what?’ Riley narrowed his eyes at Henry, his sympathy evaporating.

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ Henry replied hastily.

  ‘You and Celia both grieved for the loss of your son, as did we all, but you chose to do it in another woman’s arms. Celia was left alone.’