Death of a Milliner: Riley Rochester Investigates Book 9 (Riley ~Rochester Investigates) Page 23

  ‘Did you know that he was the son of the competitor whom Madame was at loggerheads with?’

  ‘Of course I did. That’s probably why he came to the shop when Madame wasn’t there. He knew she wouldn’t give him the time of day.’

  ‘What did he want?’ Salter asked when Miss Cornish’s words dried up.

  ‘He was selling accessories on the side.’ She shared a glance between Riley and Salter. ‘I don’t want to get him into trouble.’

  Riley almost laughed. Measured against matricide, selling a few foibles cheaply seemed like an irrelevance. ‘We know about his sideline. What is less clear to me is why he supposed a milliner with Madame’s high standards would countenance dealing with cheap goods.’

  ‘He tried to persuade you to slip a few substandard pieces in amongst the good stuff and share in the profits,’ Salter suggested.

  ‘I would never do that!’ she protested. ‘I felt I ought to show him the door but at the same time, I thought Madame might be interested in Mrs Faulkner’s son’s shenanigans. It would be something for her to hold against the woman the next time she bothered her. Of course, that was at a time when Madame and I were in complete accord.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ Riley asked.

  ‘It was before…’ She glanced over her shoulder at Salter, hesitated and then lifted her chin. ‘It was before Maureen came along and Madame started showering her with praise, promising her the earth. It wasn’t fair.’ Miss Cornish’s expression turned mulish. ‘I’d been loyal for years, working my fingers to the bone for precious little reward. Madame kept promising me more responsibility, but it never materialised. Then as soon as an admittedly promising first-year apprentice joined us she was all over her, and I might as well not have existed. Every day I had to listen to Madame singing Maureen’s praises, showing us her designs and asking why the rest of us couldn’t be as creative. It was humiliating.’

  Riley glanced at Salter, whose expression remained impassive. ‘Going back to Bernard,’ he said. ‘What did Madame say when you told her of his approach?’

  ‘I thought she would be furious but instead she got that calculating look on her face that I’ve seen more than once. She encouraged me to…well, to encourage his friendship. To string him along and try to find out what Mrs Faulkner’s intentions were. She wanted to know if Mrs Faulkner was the mastermind behind the shoddy accessories scheme and was furious when she was unable to prove it. Madame had heard vague rumours about Mrs Faulkner taking premises in Knightsbridge. She was always going on about moving up in the world, according to Madame, but nothing had ever come of it before. This time, Madame seemed to think there was some truth behind the rumours and wanted me to press Bernard for more information.’

  ‘That was an awfully long time to string him along,’ Riley said, frowning. ‘He must have realised that Madame wouldn’t take his cheap accessories.’

  ‘So why continue to associate with the likes of me?’ She lifted her chin, highly incensed. ‘Is that what you mean?’

  ‘I wonder if he’d turned the tables on you and was spying upon Madame on behalf of his mother,’ Riley replied calmly.

  ‘Ah, I see. Maybe.’ She shrugged. ‘Who knows? And more to the point, who cares?’

  ‘Leaving aside Bernard’s intentions for the moment, how did you come to be friends with Alfred?’

  Miss Cornish pursed her lips and tapped the fingers of one hand distractedly against the surface of the table in front of her. ‘Once Maureen came swanning into the shop like she owned the place, it didn’t take me long to realise I was no longer important to Madame, and I had to think about my own future.’ A cunning expression took over her features. ‘I knew from a few remarks Bernard had made that Mrs Faulkner really was in a position to open up in Knightsbridge and I wondered if she would give me a position as a designer. I thought she might, if only because she knew how vital I was to Madame.’ She screwed up her features. ‘All this happened before I realised Mrs Faulkner was using me to try and lure Maureen back.’

  ‘Surely it was in your best interests to encourage Maureen to leave,’ Riley said. ‘Then your situation would have been more secure.’

  ‘I tried to make her uncomfortable. I ain’t proud of it,’ she added defensively, ‘but you have to look out for your own interests in this world. I knew she wouldn’t go though, so my best bet would be to get in with Mrs Faulkner. I didn’t trust Bernard to fight my corner. I’d discovered that he’d had a few flings with other women and I was seeing less and less of him. But I also knew that he didn’t get along with his brother and was furious because he’d become friendly with their mother again, so I saw an opportunity.’

  ‘Blimey,’ Salter muttered beneath his breath.

  Riley silently agreed that the unfolding drama had all the hallmarks of a Greek tragedy. ‘So you made yourself known to Alfred. You told him you could feed him information about Madame that would put him in his mother’s good books, did you?’ he said.

  ‘I did, and I liked Alfred much more than I did Bernard. He treated me right proper.’

  ‘Did the brothers know that you were seeing them both?’

  ‘Heavens, no!’

  ‘But Alfred knew that Beryl had agreed to leave the shop door open for Mrs Faulkner so that she could speak with Maureen. His mother told him in confidence.’

  Miss Cornish gave a reluctant nod. ‘Yeah, he did.’

  ‘And what did he ask you to do with that information?’

  Miss Cornish looked wary. ‘I didn’t know no one would get killed. Upon my life, I didn’t.’

  ‘Just tell us,’ Riley said in a weary tone.

  ‘He said Bernard would be right interested, and that I should find a way to let him know the next time he tried to get me to stock his accessories. Alfred knew about that, but not about how friendly Bernard and I once were. He gets very jealous and possessive, does Alfred, especially where his brother is concerned.’

  ‘So you did as Alfred asked and told Bernard without asking why,’ Salter said in a bemused tone. ‘Why would you do that? What did you think would happen?’

  ‘Because,’ Miss Cornish replied, sitting a little straighter, ‘Alfred and I are in love and plan to be married.’ Riley shared a wry glance with Salter. Yet more manipulation of desperate females. ‘But like I say, I had no idea that Bernard planned to kill his ma, I swear it. I never would have got involved if I had known. I arrived as usual and almost fainted when I saw her lying there, and all that blood, and the shears in Maureen’s hand. I just thought that Maureen had fought with her and it had got out of control…’

  ‘Why would Bernard want to kill his mother?’ Riley asked.

  Miss Cornish lifted a shoulder. ‘Something about her will, I think. She was worth a lot of money and Bernard was her heir, until they argued. I think she might have threatened to disinherit him. That’s what Alfred said, anyway.’

  ‘If we are to believe that you didn’t kill the woman because she refused to take you on, or to get her out of Madame’s hair once and for all, then tell us who did it. Who did you see leaving the premises when you arrived?’

  ‘No one. All I saw was that body and all that blood.’ She shuddered. ‘It were awful. And the stench…I still see her and smell her every time I close my eyes.’

  ‘Very well.’ Riley stood. ‘Stay here for the time being. I shall need to speak with you again, most likely.’

  ‘I can’t…I have to work…’

  ‘Stay here, I said!’ Riley snapped. ‘You have caused more than enough trouble and have consistently lied to us during the course of this investigation. That in itself is sufficient reason for me to lock you up, should I feel so inclined. Be grateful that I’m in a lenient mood and am allowing you to remain in this room.’

  Miss Cornish whimpered and shrank in on herself. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t honest. I was afraid,’ she said. ‘But I’ve told you the truth now; I swear it.’

  ‘We shall see.’

  Salter opened the
door for Riley and beckoned a uniformed constable inside to watch over the young woman.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Riley returned to his office, closely followed by Salter.

  ‘Bernard must have done it, sir.’ Salter rubbed his hands together gleefully. ‘I’m glad it’s him. I don’t like him, and now we’ve got him caught up in a web of lies. It’s enough to convict him, so why do you look so glum?’

  ‘Because we still have no actual proof, and I won’t charge him until I’m absolutely sure. Just because he’s unlikeable, it doesn’t make him a murderer.’

  ‘Hmph,’ Salter grunted.

  ‘We need to find evidence in Alfred’s rooms that Mrs Faulkner intended to change her will.’ Riley let out a long sigh of exasperation. ‘As things stand, one brother can claim the other did the killing, since both of them knew their mother would be at the shop that morning. She appeared to toy with their affections, which must have been irksome.’

  ‘Alfred will say he had nothing to gain by seeing her dead.’

  ‘Other than revenge for what he felt was a neglected childhood in which he played second fiddle to his brother and thwarted his ambitions—always assuming he had any. I think Alfred is more intelligent than he lets on. Well, I suppose I would say that, if only to assuage my pride for having been taken in by his lies. Anyway, the life of a train driver fails to inspire him, of that I’m certain. He probably thinks he could have done much better for himself careerwise if his intelligence had been nurtured.’

  Salter sniffed. ‘I suppose people have been murdered for less.’

  ‘Are Carter and Soames back from searching Alfred’s rooms yet?’

  ‘Don’t think so. They’re either doing a thorough job or whetting their whistles in the local tavern.’ Salter’s expression darkened. ‘Woe betide them if I discover that it’s the latter.’

  Riley smiled. ‘I doubt whether they would dare, knowing that they have you to answer to if they return reeking of ale.’

  ‘Well, there is that.’

  ‘I don’t suppose Peterson is back from checking those alibis yet either.’

  ‘Don’t think so.’

  ‘Then let’s go and see what Bernard has to say for himself and nudge him out of his complacency.’

  ‘Destroying smug little bastards is what I’m best at, guv’nor.’

  ‘We’ll leave Alfred to cool his heels in the hope that Carter brings us something back to use against him in the meantime.’

  ‘Really, Chief Inspector, this is becoming tedious.’ Bernard sat sideways on his chair, one leg casually crossed over the other, looking calm and composed. Riley disliked the man and aimed to ensure that Salter prevented his complacency from enduring. ‘What do you want this time, other than to get me dismissed from my position for dereliction of duty?’

  ‘The truth would be a start,’ Riley replied mildly.

  ‘I have told you the truth,’ Bernard replied, yawning. ‘Several times.’

  Riley nodded towards Salter, who moved with the stealth of a cat towards the younger man and hauled him from his chair by the scruff of his neck. ‘Now, what does the good book say about being honest?’ he snarled.

  Bernard’s face turned bright red. Incapable of getting enough air into his lungs, he began to choke.

  ‘Put him down, Sergeant,’ Riley instructed in a bored tone. ‘I feel persuaded that our guest has seen the error of his ways.’ Riley slapped the flat of his hand against the table, causing Bernard to flinch. ‘We are aware that you knew of your mother’s engagement at Madame’s premises on the morning of her death.’

  ‘How the devil…’ His expression closed down when the truth belatedly occurred to him.

  ‘Not quite the ladies’ man that you thought you were, are you?’ Riley said offhandedly, ‘otherwise you’d understand the importance of not neglecting them.’

  ‘I am well aware of that. Had I not been, you can be sure that my mother would have reminded me. She never lost an opportunity to complain about her treatment at my father’s hands.’

  ‘Why do you suppose that Miss Cornish told you of the appointment?’

  ‘How would I know?’ He lifted his shoulders negligently, in control of himself again, even if he continued to send wary glances Salter’s way. ‘She was always prattling on about things that went on in Madame’s premises. As if I would be interested.’

  ‘Did you not pass that information on to your mother in the hope of regaining favour after defying her over your little sideline? Now she would be interested.’

  ‘I have considerably more sense than to come between squabbling females, and I have absolutely no reason to kill my mother. Why would I?’

  ‘Perhaps because she had resumed contact with your brother and was on the point of changing her will,’ Riley remarked, watching Bernard’s reaction carefully. Anger flitted through his eyes and he no longer seemed quite so self-assured.

  ‘You would be better advised to ask my brother about that. I myself have no contact with him.’

  ‘Oh, we will,’ Salter assured him. ‘He’s waiting in the next room as we speak.’

  Bernard blinked, clearly rattled, and tried to assume his disinterested posture. It didn’t fool either of the detectives, and Riley could tell that Salter was ready to use his physical powers of persuasion to get to the truth. It was tempting to let him.

  ‘You were counting on inheriting from one of your parents, and when you realised how wealthy your mother actually was, you realised that her good opinion would be more worth cultivating than your father’s,’ Riley said. ‘After all, she’d never been much of a mother to you, so you were entitled to some recompense. But you miscalculated or, more to the point, you became impatient. Your mother showed no immediate signs of treating you generously. In fact, she was focused exclusively upon opening a shop in a fashionable district with a view to eclipsing Madame Boise’s success. Greed and the aforementioned impatience made you involve yourself in the sale of your cheap accessories, and you couldn’t bring yourself to give up that profitable sideline, even when your mother got angry and insisted that you ceased immediately.’

  ‘Very entertaining, Chief Inspector. I applaud your vivid imagination, but you don’t have one iota of proof to support this fiction since none exists.’

  ‘Why are you and your brother not on good terms?’ Salter asked into the ensuing silence.

  Bernard flapped a hand. ‘What has that to do with anything?’

  Salter hovered over Bernard’s shoulder, his features twisted into an expression of disgust. ‘Don’t make the mistake of thinking we care about your wellbeing. We ask the questions here and you answer them. Understand?’ He gave the man’s shoulder a hard shove to reinforce his words.

  ‘We have nothing in common, other than uncaring parents,’ Bernard said, trying to pretend that he wasn’t intimidated by Salter. ‘You know what they say? You can choose your friends but not your family. Alfred struggles to survive in the adult world and continues to cling to our father’s coattails. It became embarrassing and I told him it was beyond time he stood on his own two feet.’

  ‘And yet you did the same thing by cultivating your mother’s good opinion,’ Riley pointed out mildly. ‘No doubt expecting financial help.’

  ‘On the contrary, I was the one helping her.’

  Riley shared a glance with Salter. ‘In what respect?’

  ‘I planned to use my skills to promote her new premises in Knightsbridge. I’m very good at that sort of thing. Frankly, my talents are wasted where I am.’

  Riley wondered if Mrs Faulkner had reached an agreement with her son in that regard or whether it was a figment of Bernard’s imagination. It would be impossible to discover the truth, and it seemed irrelevant anyway.

  ‘You wanted to go into business with your mother, yet you failed to give up the sale of shoddy goods when she asked you to, which caused a rift between you. Don’t bother trying to deny it,’ Riley said, holding up a hand to prevent Bernard from interru
pting him, ‘since we have heard it independently elsewhere.’

  ‘Where from?’ Bernard looked mildly concerned. ‘It isn’t true. No one else…’

  He abruptly closed his mouth before blurting out what he’d been about to say.

  ‘Where did you meet with your mother?’ Riley asked.

  ‘I already told you that. She came up to London of a Sunday. We walked in the park and I took her to tea afterwards. That’s when we laid our plans.’

  ‘She didn’t take you to her rooms here in London?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Bernard flapped a limp hand. ‘She didn’t keep rooms in London.’

  ‘Actually she did, and Alfred visited her there regularly the past few months. Her landlady has confirmed it.’

  ‘No!’ His expression turned dark and forbidding. ‘I don’t believe it. You’re making this up in the hope of invoking my jealousy, or causing me to speak incautiously. Really, Chief Inspector, I thought better of you than that.’

  ‘You should believe me, because unlike you we are not in the habit of lying. Your mother turned on you and Alfred became the favoured son, which must have infuriated you. She decided against making you her heir and told you so, taunting you with the power she wielded over a son who would do just about anything to improve his circumstances. I’m sure she was consciously playing you off against each other. She was about to change her will in favour of a brother whom you despise. You couldn’t have that so you did away with her before she could make those changes.’

  Bernard was breathing hard, his eyes flintlike. ‘Prove it, Chief Inspector,’ he said in a challenging tone, his brash self-assurance back in place.

  ‘I fully intend to. Lock him up, Sergeant.’

  ‘On what charge?’ Bernard demanded.

  ‘Conspiracy to commit murder will do for starters,’ Riley replied, sweeping from the room.

  He watched Bernard being carted off to the cells by one of Barton’s constables, his expression no longer quite so condescending.