Death of a Milliner: Riley Rochester Investigates Book 9 (Riley ~Rochester Investigates) Read online

  Riley exchanged a sharp look with Peterson. ‘What secrets were those, madam?’ Peterson asked in a polite tone. Riley smiled inwardly. Jack Salter would not have been so respectful, and would therefore have had a fighting chance of obtaining a more truthful answer.

  ‘That I cannot say.’ She waved a hand. ‘Nor do I know where Faulkner is nowadays.’

  ‘So, Madame, or should I say Miss Butler—’

  She inverted her chin. ‘I no longer use that name.’

  ‘Let’s recap. You were indentured to Mrs Faulkner and acknowledge that she taught you a great deal about the trade. You intended to set up in business together here in central London but Mrs Faulkner either lost her nerve or couldn’t raise the requisite funds. You however managed to find the considerable amount of money it would take to open an establishment in one of London’s premium shopping streets on your own, and have become an overnight success. You have never met Mr Faulkner, but you believe he had funds and that Mrs Faulkner held something over him.’

  ‘That is about the size of it,’ she replied with a dismissive flap of one hand, showing the devious side of her character that Barton had immediately picked up on and taken exception to. A woman who traded on her looks and wiles didn’t know how to react when challenged. Men, Riley suspected, were ordinarily putty in her hands, and she had assumed that Riley would fall into that category. Already she knew differently, and he wondered if the manner in which he’d already made it obvious that he didn’t entirely believe her account would make her act rashly. She may not have killed her former mentor, but she certainly knew more than she was saying.

  ‘Let us move on to the subject of Maureen Salter.’

  ‘What of her?’ Her tone turned defensive. ‘She is exceedingly talented, which is a rarity in an apprentice. I see in her something of myself at the same age and I intend to encourage the creativity that was stifled in my case by Mrs Faulkner’s limited vision.’

  ‘You are aware that it was Maureen who discovered the body?’

  Madame jerked upright. ‘I didn’t know that. The poor girl.’ For the first time, Madame seemed genuinely moved. ‘That must have come as a terrible shock.’

  ‘Oh, it’s much more than that, Madame Boise. It also makes her a prime suspect. Your stealing her away from Mrs Faulkner might have been legal but there are questions about the morality, to say nothing of adding fuel to a fire that was already burning brightly.’

  Madame waved the suggestion aside. ‘Your sergeant’s daughter should not be held back by the conflict between Mrs Faulkner and myself. That hardly seems reasonable.’

  Riley allowed the veiled reference to Salter to pass unchallenged. ‘You have clearly not considered that she might have been the spark that fanned the flames of the unresolved dispute between you.’

  ‘There was nothing unresolved about it.’

  ‘Perhaps not from your perspective.’ Riley allowed a significant pause. ‘We are both aware that Mrs Faulkner was furious when Maureen left her—and for you of all people. Her nemesis. She probably looked upon it as an act of deliberate spite on your part—’

  ‘That’s ridiculous. I don’t have a spiteful bone in my body and I barely spare Jessie a passing thought nowadays.’

  ‘If Mrs Faulkner was even half as vindictive as you imply,’ Riley continued, speaking over the interruption, ‘then she might have tried to snatch her back by force.’

  ‘It’s hardly likely.’ Madame lifted one slender shoulder in a negligent shrug. ‘Maureen wouldn’t have gone anyway. She is very happy at my establishment.’

  ‘Even so, you must see how it looks from my point of view. So far, the only explanation I have for Mrs Faulkner’s death in your premises is the dispute between the two of you. A dispute that was worsened immeasurably by your poaching of her best talent—who just happened to be found at the side of her body earlier today. Perhaps Mrs Faulkner spread rumours about your past that reached the ears of your more elite clientele.’

  Madame Boise opened her mouth, probably to say that she harboured no dark secrets, but then closed it again without speaking. Riley had only made the suggestion on a whim, but wondered now if it had struck a chord. Amelia and Celia, Riley’s sister-in-law, the Marchioness of Chichester, were two of Madame’s clients and she must wonder if such rumours had reached Riley’s ears from that source. She certainly looked more concerned by that possibility than at knowing a murder had been committed on her premises.

  Interesting, Riley thought. ‘There again,’ he continued, ‘perhaps Mrs Faulkner constantly embarrassing you in public, much as I saw her do at Alexandra Palace, became tiresome and you decided to put an end to it, not expecting Maureen to become involved.’

  ‘Nonsense! I wasn’t even there.’

  ‘Which brings me neatly to my next question. Where were you last night, Miss Butler?’

  Riley’s deliberate use of her given name, a reminder of her lowly origins, was designed to irritate and discompose. It clearly found its mark, given the manner in which anger flashed through her eyes and her jaw stiffened.

  ‘I remained at the shop until gone midnight, working alongside the girls to finish an important order. Then my driver, Patrick Girton, drove me to a hotel.’

  ‘A hotel?’ Riley flexed a brow. ‘You have a room in your Bond Street premises and a house in Finsbury Park. What need did you have for a hotel?’ Riley could think of a dozen, but wanted to see what explanation she settled upon.

  ‘I was exhausted. Finsbury Park was too far and I wanted to be alone.’

  Riley didn’t contest the lie, but he would wager that she didn’t spend the night by herself.

  ‘What hotel did you stay at, madam?’ Peterson asked.

  ‘Brown’s. You can check, they know me there.’

  ‘Returning to the question of Mrs Faulkner. You claim that you are not acquainted with her husband.’

  ‘It’s no claim, Lord Riley. It is the truth.’

  ‘Have you met her sons? They must have been young boys when you were apprenticed to Mrs Faulkner.’

  ‘That was fifteen years ago—so yes, they were young. They came to the shop occasionally to sweep and fetch and carry but I had nothing to do with them. We apprentices felt the sharp side of Jessie’s tongue if we allowed anything to distract us. She had a house in Clapham at the time and a nursemaid to look after the boys when they were babies. I know the nurse was dismissed as soon as the boys went to school and I believe the house is now gone. She couldn’t afford to keep it on.’ Riley disliked the look of satisfaction that flitted across her face.

  ‘Do you remember their names?’

  ‘Alfred and Bernard, I believe.’

  ‘Do you know a Mr Hatchard?’

  ‘The only person I know of that name is a man who works for one of my suppliers. I don’t have much to do with him. My assistant, Miss Cornish, deals with the tradespeople.’

  ‘Very well. That will be all for now. I shall remove my officers from your premises and you can open again from tomorrow, if you so wish. But Maureen will not be returning to her duties until this matter has been resolved.’

  ‘You have not arrested her, I hope?’ Madame looked mildly alarmed. ‘She is incapable of hurting anyone and had no reason to harm Jessie—not even in self-defence.’

  ‘Why might she have needed to defend herself?’ Peterson asked.

  Riley nodded his approval, thinking Peterson’s question pertinent.

  ‘Well you said yourself, Lord Riley, that Jessie might have taken it into her head to try and snatch Maureen away. I dismissed the possibility at the time but having had time to reflect, I must concede that she has been especially virulent since I took Maureen on. Lots of spiteful letters and making unpleasant remarks to people we have in common. Not even a semblance of professional reserve anymore.’

  ‘How did she get into your premises in order to commit this offence?’ Riley asked.

  ‘I have absolutely no idea. I believe there was some mention of a door being
forced.’

  ‘We are satisfied that she didn’t gain access by that means. Someone let her in, presumably by invitation.’

  ‘Well, it couldn’t have been me since I wasn’t there.’

  ‘I see.’ Riley’s tone made it very clear that he saw more than Madame would like him to. ‘Have the goodness to wait a moment or two whilst I speak with your driver, then you may go.’

  Without another word, Riley stood and walked through the door that Peterson opened for him.

  ‘She wasn’t being completely honest with us, was she, sir?’

  ‘No, Peterson, she was not. But precisely what she is attempting to hide I have yet to discover. One thing’s for sure though. You will find that she was registered at that hotel when you check with their receptionist. Whether she was there to enjoy an assignation or to give herself the freedom to entice Mrs Faulkner to her shop, murder her and be done with her annoying competitor once and for all is something that remains to be established.’

  ‘Madame is successful. Why would Mrs Faulkner concern her?’

  ‘That, Peterson, is a very good question and one, I suspect, that lies at the heart of this case. Anyway, let’s see what her driver has to say for himself.’

  Chapter Five

  Patrick Girton, Madame Boise’s driver, wasn’t what Riley had expected. Probably about the same age as Madame, he was tall, broad-shouldered and smartly dressed, with thinning blond hair and striking hazel eyes. He looked directly at Riley, his expression open and friendly.

  ‘Sorry to have kept you waiting,’ Riley said, seating himself.

  ‘Not a problem. Terrible business. Mrs Faulkner didn’t get along with Madame. Well, I expect you’ve been told that already, but no one actually wanted her dead, as far as I’m aware.’

  ‘That’s a rather bold assertion,’ Riley remarked mildly. ‘It makes me suppose that someone had threatened her with death.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know if they had.’ Riley fixed the man with a look of bland disbelief; a look that had caused more than one hapless occupant of this room to give up trying to deceive. Girton appeared to be less easily intimidated and looked calmly back at Riley, his gaze unwavering. ‘I sense your scepticism, Chief Inspector, but I have no reason to lie to you.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be the first person to put your own interests ahead of the truth. You owe your livelihood to Madame so it stands to reason that you are loyal.’

  He shrugged. ‘All I know from what Meg constantly said—’

  ‘Meg? Miss Butler?’

  ‘Aye, right enough.’

  ‘You address her informally?’

  ‘Oh good Lord yes,’ he chuckled. ‘I’ve known her since we were kids together, playing in the dirt in the backstreets of Clapham.’

  Riley raised an eyebrow. Madame had failed to mention the fact that she had been raised in Clapham. ‘Interesting.’

  ‘I doubt she’d have told you that herself.’ Girton had arranged his body in a relaxed pose, one leg crossed over his opposite knee, his arm draped along the back of the uncomfortable wooden chair. He could have been in his local tavern, sharing a tankard of ale and chewing the fat with an old friend. It was a difficult attitude to pull off, Riley knew. Scotland Yard’s grim interrogation rooms were intimidating—deliberately so, designed to increase the anxiety of the guilty. ‘She don’t like being reminded of her humble origins. To be fair, she always did have ambition. I say we played in the streets; I did, but she was always with a pad and pencil, drawing hats, always hats.’

  ‘Ambitious indeed,’ Riley remarked, keen to keep the man talking.

  ‘That’s what’ll get us out of here, Pat,’ she used to say. ‘My talent and your brawn.’ He glanced down at his meaty arms. ‘She was right about that. She was a pretty lass and attracted the attention of young lads from an early age, but she didn’t want anything to do with any of them. She had loftier ambitions and had no intention of being landed with a husband and kids. They’d hamper her determination to make something of herself, she reckoned. Anyway, I respected her attempts to better herself and kind of made myself her protector, I suppose.’

  ‘She didn’t have brothers to look out for her?’ Riley asked.

  Girton shook his head. ‘Three older sisters, all of whom finished up in service. She was determined not to follow ’em, especially when the eldest got herself in trouble. Her master forced himself on her, so she said, but Meg reckoned she encouraged him and got what she deserved.’

  ‘Harsh,’ Riley remarked.

  ‘Perhaps, but Meg’s always been a straight talker. Anyway, we were neighbours, lived in the same house on different floors and she took me under her wing. Always knew what she wanted, right from a young age, did our Meg. She used to look at the grand ladies who came to our area as members of committees trying to better the lot of the poor and criticised their headwear. She’d tell me afterwards what would have suited them better and draw pictures to show me. Not that I would have known a crown from a brim, a dip from a roll, but I played along because it was so important to her. Her little face would come alive with suppressed ambition. I knew she had the drive to get us both out of that place even then, and I was right.’

  ‘What service do you provide for her?’

  ‘Whatever’s needed really.’ Girton rolled his shoulders, uncrossed his legs, turned sideways on his chair and re-crossed them the opposite way. ‘I drive her wherever she needs to go, deliver finished hats sometimes, haul the heavy stuff around in the shop. I do whatever needs doing at Finsbury Park and I’m generally hers to command.’

  ‘And you have always been a little in love with her.’

  Girton shrugged massive shoulders and didn’t deny it.

  ‘Tell me what you know about the victim,’ Riley invited.

  Riley expected him to prevaricate, but once again the young man surprised him. ‘Meg used to press her nose to the woman’s window every time we walked past it as kids, criticising and pointing out to me what she would have done better. Mrs Faulkner noticed her interest, and apprenticed Meg at thirteen—the youngest she ever took on. She told me it was just a stopgap. Once she had learned all there was to know, she was destined for better things.’

  ‘Did those plans include Mrs Faulkner?’

  Girton shrugged. ‘That I couldn’t say. All I know is that they had a massive fight when Meg turned eighteen and told Mrs Faulkner that she was leaving to set up on her own. She came and found me working on the docks and told me it was time to put our plan into action.’ Girton rolled his head lazily from side to side. ‘Well, I didn’t know that we even had a plan, but Meg’s ambition hadn’t waned.’

  ‘So you gave up paid occupation,’ Riley said, scratching his head, ‘and went with her, even though she had no specific plans and presumably not much to live on.’

  ‘Course I did.’ Girton looked at Riley as though he was missing an obvious point. ‘It was Meg that was asking me.’

  ‘She didn’t take the shop in Bond Street at the age of eighteen, one assumes.’

  ‘Nah, she started small. She rented a space in a warehouse in Whitechapel and sold her creations from a market stall.’ He chuckled. ‘She doesn’t tell many people that, but I don’t think humble beginnings are anything to be ashamed of. Anyway, all the time she had her eye on the higher prize.’

  ‘Why didn’t she take a position with an established milliner?’ Peterson asked. ‘If she was so talented.’

  ‘She didn’t want anyone else taking the glory for her designs. She reckoned she’d never get noticed that way. Anyway, we did the market for a couple of years, she saved every penny and added it to what she’d already put aside when she was working for Mrs Faulkner, then opened her own place in Whitechapel. She gained a reputation but reckoned the clientele there was no more discerning than in Clapham. Bond Street was always her aim, and she got there two years ago through her own efforts.’

  Riley thought that was likely true, as far as it went, but still didn’t think she would hav
e earned enough in Whitechapel to make the leap. Even so, Girton was unlikely to know where the money had come from, or to tell Riley even if he did. If necessary, he would press the point at a later time.

  ‘How did Mrs Faulkner come to be in your employer’s shop at that hour of the day?’ Riley asked in an abrupt change of subject.

  ‘You’d be better advised to ask what she was doing there at all,’ Girton replied without hesitation. ‘She had been in once or twice before, in the early days, and it always finished up in a bit of a slanging match. Meg had barred her from returning, and Mrs Faulkner had kept her distance. Of course, once Maureen Salter left her indentures with Mrs Faulkner and joined Meg there was hell to pay.’

  ‘Mrs Faulkner came to Bond Street to remonstrate?’

  ‘If you mean she came and kicked up a stink, then you’d be right. Not that there was anything she could actually do. She was just letting off steam. I told Meg it would all blow over.’ He sniffed. ‘I just didn’t realise that the situation would have come to quite such a final…well, end. Not that Meg had anything to do with the murder,’ he added hastily, appearing ruffled for the first time.

  ‘Where were you last night and this morning?’

  ‘I hung about the shop when the girls were finishing up their big order last night. When it was finally done, I loaded the boxes into the carriage for delivery this morning. Then I drove Meg to Brown’s and left her there.’

  ‘Left her there?’ Riley fixed him with a penetrating look. ‘Are you absolutely sure about that?’

  ‘Oh aye. I know what you’re thinking but unfortunately you’d be wrong. Meg likes and depends upon me but there’s never been anything more than that between us. She looks upon me as a brother.’

  ‘Why didn’t she stay in her room over the shop?’ Peterson asked.

  ‘Dunno. You’ll have to ask her that. But I know she sometimes stays the night at Brown’s. I reckon she does it because she can afford to. It reminds her how far she’s come. Anyway, I drove back to Finsbury Park. I live in the mews above the stables at the back of the house. I delivered the hats first thing this morning and collected Meg from the hotel at ten, as agreed. We drove to the shop, and that’s the first we knew that anything was amiss.’