Chapter Five
‘Lord Durand is in residence in his London abode, my lord,’ Stout informed Riley the following morning as he served his breakfast. ‘He arrived by train late the night before last but left Lady Laura in Yorkshire. He is here to take part in an important debate in the House of Lords.’
‘How late did he arrive, Stout? Do we have a copy of Bradshaw that will tell us what time the last train from York got in?’
‘We have, my lord, and it arrived at King’s Cross at just after ten. I managed to ascertain that Lord Durand’s carriage met him from the station and took him directly to Durand House. He did not leave it again until yesterday morning.’
‘As far as anyone knows,’ Riley replied pensively. ‘If he wanted to go out again once his servants had retired, I dare say no one would be any the wiser—and if they were, they would know better than to speak out of turn.’
‘Your make loyalty in a servant sound like a vice.’
Riley shot Stout a considering look. A man of few words and unswerving loyalty himself, Stout seldom expressed his opinion or attempted humour. ‘In my line of work it can be,’ Riley said. ‘I shall have to pay Durand a visit in my official capacity sooner rather than later and no doubt ruffle his feathers in the process. He will tell me that he didn’t kill Woodrow, of course, and I doubt whether I shall be in a position to prove otherwise if I don’t believe him.’
‘You’ve solved more hopeless-seeming cases, my lord. Anyway, this note was hand-delivered whilst you were attending to your ablutions.’
‘Who delivered it?’
‘I couldn’t say. It was put through the letterbox whilst I was preparing your breakfast, but as you can see, it has not been stamped.’
‘I do see,’ Riley replied as he examined the letter and slit the seal with the paperknife Stout handed to him. ‘It is a lady’s hand but not one that’s familiar to me.’ He glanced at the signature. ‘Mrs Kempton, what the devil…’
Mrs Kempton, an attractive heiress whose father’s connections afforded him limited acceptance within the fiercely protective upper echelons of society, had been besieged by fortune hunters as soon as she came out. They turned a collective blind eye to the fact that her father actually worked for a living. A dealer in gold bullion and rare coins—an occupation through which he had accrued considerable wealth—made his only child, his daughter and named heir, a highly desirable prize on the marriage mart. She could have taken her pick from her myriad suitors—Riley knew of an impecunious marquess’s heir who had harboured expectations—and yet she had disappointed them all by choosing to marry Kempton, her father’s junior associate, less than two years previously. Such an unwise choice, swiftly followed by her father’s death, meant that society’s doors, for the most part, had remained closed to the couple. There were only so many allowances that could be made, it seemed, before lines were drawn.
Riley read Mrs Kempton’s note and brightened considerably when he digested its contents.
‘Well, well,’ he said, folding it and placing it in his pocket. ‘She has heard of Woodrow’s demise—’
‘All of London is talking of little else, my lord.’
‘Mrs Kempton has something of a delicate nature to discuss with me about the dearly departed. She depends upon my discretion and will talk only to me. I am to call upon her at her Park Lane address at eleven this morning, when I will find her there alone.’
‘Do you think you should see her alone, my lord? If word were to reach her husband, I hear rumours that he is the possessive type.’
‘I rather think I must take that risk.’
‘Then at least permit me to drive you there. I can wait outside but—’
‘Don’t worry, Stout. I get the feeling that Mrs Kempton wants to get something off her conscience and has asked me to call at a specific time because her husband will not be there. We have no other substantial leads, other than the fact that Durand was in London when we thought him to be in Yorkshire. But he has a legitimate reason for being here, so that doesn’t get me any further forward. He is a senior and active member of the upper house, which is scheduled to debate the new Education Act before Parliament rises for the Christmas recess. As an academic himself, he has fought for educational rights for all children and wouldn’t want to miss the debate, even if it means leaving his daughter alone in Yorkshire.’ He put his napkin aside and stood. ‘I dare say I shall survive my meeting with Mrs Kempton with my reputation intact.’
‘The lady may not realise that what she has to tell you cannot remain confidential, my lord, not if it implicates anyone in her circle.’
‘We shall see.’ Riley, who had already considered that point, glanced out the window and groaned when he saw sleet falling heavily and low, dark clouds threatening to unload more of the same. ‘Hail me a cab, Stout, there’s a good fellow,’ he said, pulling on his warmest coat and plonking his hat on his head. ‘Oh, by the way, Mrs Cosgrove and I are dining with Lord and Lady Torbay this evening and I will require you to drive us.’
‘Very good, my lord.’
Stout availed himself of an umbrella and stepped into the street to hail the required cab. Riley thanked him and arrived at Scotland Yard on the heels of Salter, who looked cold and decidedly damp.
‘Good morning, Jack,’ he said cheerfully.
‘Nothing good about it, sir,’ Salter grumbled. ‘Had to wait an age for an omnibus and then there was no room inside and I had to travel on the knife-board. The damned thing travelled at a snail’s pace. Would have been quicker to walk, what with it stopping every two minutes to pick up more passengers even though there weren’t no room for them. Mind you, I was so wet by then that it didn’t make much odds.’
Riley sympathised. Travelling on the roof of a bus in such weather, unprotected from the elements, would be no fun. The omnibuses had no official stopping places and might or might not deign to pull up at the precise point at which a passenger wished to alight. But if the driver noticed a pedestrian who even looked like a potential passenger he simply veered across the traffic and the conductor tried to persuade the man aboard, there being fierce competition between the operating companies for the public’s custom.
Riley put aside thoughts of the capital’s haphazard transport system and listened as his sergeant gave a succinct report of progress to date.
‘Barton’s constables have spoken to almost everyone who resides in Half Moon Street, sir. Most were safely tucked up in their beds well before midnight, but they did find a couple of people who returned home after the witching hour. One thinks he saw a gentleman standing in the shadows close to Woodrow’s house but he didn’t see his face and couldn’t describe him, so it’s not a lot of help. At any rate, it ain’t reliable enough to confirm our suspicions that Woodrow’s killer had lain in wait for him.’
‘It was a longshot, Jack, but means we cannot rule that possibility out. How did you get on with Lady Aston’s coachman?’
‘Better fortune there, sir. He saw all the carriages off himself, and is adamant that Woodrow was not a passenger in any of them. He remembers him leaving on foot because he offered to hail a cab for him, but Woodrow told him not to bother. It was a short walk and he wanted to clear his head.’
‘Do we know what time that was?’
‘A little after one in the morning.’
‘Well then, it’s safe to assume that he was killed sometime within the next hour, given that he was still wearing evening clothes. Not that knowing the time of death helps us much, but it’s progress of sorts.’
‘Carter and Soames received glowing reports from the employers of both Langston and Crawford,’ Salter went on to say. ‘Both men have given exemplary service and have never been in any sort of trouble. I don’t think either of them did it, sir.’
‘No, Jack, nor do I, so we can now cross them off our list. Where are Carter and Soames?’
‘They have some interviews to conclude on the Baxter case, sir. They will be here later once those are done.’
‘Then I’d like you to go to the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane and talk to the manager about Maud Ogden. If you go later this morning there is no danger of your running into her. I need to know if Woodrow called backstage to see her. If he was a frequent visitor, the manager will remember. And find out anything else you can about her that might help our enquiry. I don’t think she’s involved, but we need to be sure.’ Riley had overlooked a suspect in his previous case because he seemed so unlikely to have committed the crime. It transpired that he had, and almost got away with it because Riley jumped to the wrong conclusions. He would not make the same mistake again.
‘And where will you be, sir?’
‘Ah, I have an appointment with a lady.’
Salter flexed a bushy brow. ‘Really. Does Mrs Cosgrove know?’
Riley shook his head and produced Mrs Kempton’s letter from his pocket as he explained who the lady was. Salter read the note and grinned. ‘Progress at last,’ he said. ‘Do you imagine she was intimately involved with Woodrow.’
‘If she was, I doubt whether that is why she wants to see me. She has a very possessive husband’s feelings to consider, so whatever she has to tell me must be significant.’
‘And very personal. Otherwise she would receive you when her husband is at home.’
‘Quite.’
‘What shall we do in the meantime?’
‘It’s time to visit Maynard in his lair, I’m afraid, Jack.’
Salter pulled a doomed face. He hated anything to do with post mortems, and frequently complained to Riley about his inability to get rid of the smell of death once he’d visited the mortuary. ‘I ain’t even got dry yet,’ he protested.
‘That’s the spirit!’ Riley said, slapping his sergeant’s shoulder.
An obliging constable hailed a cab for the detectives, saving Salter from a further soaking. It made slow progress through the clogged streets, but eventually deposited Riley and Salter at King’s College Hospital. Maynard’s domain was a gloomy basement in which several of the great man’s students bustled about in an effort to impress. Maynard saw Riley and raised a hand in greeting, oblivious to the blood-stained apron that he wore over his white coat. Riley watched Salter’s face turn a shade paler.
‘Gentlemen, just in time,’ Maynard said. ‘We’ve finished working on the unfortunate Mr Woodrow.’
‘What can you tell us?’ Riley asked. ‘Specifically, did you find any shards of glass in the wound that incapacitated him.’
‘I’m afraid not, Lord Riley.’
‘Whatever he was struck with, the blow was delivered with considerable force.’
Maynard nodded. ‘It was.’
‘Could the base of a lead crystal glass have done the damage?’
‘Ah, now I understand the reason for your original question.’ Maynard rubbed his chin. ‘Possibly. Probably, in fact, given that Woodrow had been drinking all night, which would have dulled his reactions. And on the assumption that he knew his assailant and didn’t feel threatened by him, which we must assume he did not, since he has no defensive wounds. He turned his back on the man and it cost him his life. That wound didn’t kill him, but it would have rendered him insensible. He was then strangled with a thin cord of some sort. Woodrow was a healthy man, and would likely have lived to a ripe old age had his life not been cut short in such a manner.’
Riley nodded. ‘I will arrange for his brother to make a formal identification. Or rather, Salter will.’
Salter nodded. ‘I’ll do that after I’ve been to the theatre.’
‘Taking some time off, Sergeant? Good for you. I dare say Lord Riley demands his pound of flesh.’
‘Not such luck, Doctor. One of Woodrow’s fellow tenants is an opera singer.’
‘Ah yes, the fragrant Miss Ogden. Her voice more than makes up for her somewhat prosaic name, don’t you agree? I heard her Tosca once. A memorable occasion. I wouldn’t like to think that she’s involved.’
‘I doubt that she is,’ Riley replied, ‘but one never knows. Woodrow was quite the lady’s man.’
He shook the pathologist’s hand in farewell, disappointed not to have learned anything more significant. He and Salter escaped from the gloom and rancid smells of the basement into the equally gloomy outdoors.
‘Cor blimey,’ Salter said, breathing deeply as they reached the street. ‘Give me this cold and a good soaking over that whiff any day of the week.’
Riley smiled at Salter’s down-to-earth mode of expression. He stood under the cover of the entrance portico to the hospital until a cab swerved to collect them in response to Salter’s whistle. He gave the driver the address of the theatre.
‘I will let you off there and continue on to Park Lane,’ he told Salter once the two of them were abroad. ‘We will convene at Scotland Yard once we have completed our tasks.’
‘Will you go and see Lord Durand today?’ Salter asked.
‘Most likely, although it depends upon what Mrs Kempton has to tell me.’
Riley deposited Salter at the theatre and alighted from the hansom a short time later outside the Kemptons’ imposing Park Lane mansion. It had originally been Mrs Kempton’s family home, which she had inherited upon the death of her father. Its splendours made Riley wonder about her choice of husband. Unlike Lady Laura, the former Miss Burton had not been especially shy and had seemed to enjoy the attention she received when she came out. But then again, perhaps she understood why she caused such a stir and it was a case of better the devil you know. Or perhaps it had even been a love match.
The sleet had stopped, at least for the time being. Riley skirted deep puddles and a scrawny dog sniffing for scraps as he made his way to the front steps, climbed them and rang the bell. The door was opened—not, as he had anticipated, by a butler, but by a lady’s maid.
‘Lord Riley,’ she said, clearly having been told to expect him. ‘My mistress is expecting you.’ She took Riley’s hat and coat and led the way into a small room to the rear of the ground floor. ‘Lord Riley, madam,’ she said, closing the door once Riley had stepped into the room.
‘Mrs Kempton,’ Riley said as a tall, attractive lady with dark hair, darker red-rimmed eyes and a starkly pale complexion rose to greet him.
‘Thank you for coming, and for complying with my stipulations,’ she said, indicating the chair beside hers. ‘Please excuse me if I do not offer you refreshment, but this interview cannot last for long and you would not have time to drink tea even if it was served. I have sent my butler and footmen out on invented errands in order that I could receive you without word of your being here getting back to my husband. He tends towards the over-protective, you see, and I would prefer it if he did not learn what I am about to tell you.’
‘I understand,’ Riley replied. ‘And since time is short, perhaps we can get straight to the heart of the matter. You indicated in your note that you have information regarding Roderick Woodrow.’
She looked momentarily distressed and closed her fingers around the lace-edged handkerchief she held. ‘It’s true then. He really is dead.’
‘Very much so, I regret to say. You knew him well?’
She looked to be on the point of tears—more tears he suspected, given her blurred eyes—but held them back. ‘Too well. He wanted to marry me, and I him.’
Riley permitted his surprise to show. ‘I was not aware.’
‘We were so desperately in love. Of course, Rod loved money too and didn’t try to pretend otherwise, but such was his allure and my fascination for him that I simply didn’t care. He never pretended to be anything that he was not, you see, which is…was, frightfully refreshing. Oh, I knew he would never remain faithful even if we did marry. It was not within his capabilities to be constant for long, I don’t think, but a little of him as a permanent presence in my life would have been better than nothing at all.’ She threw back her head, still fighting tears, and smiled. ‘When he walked into a room, it was as though he brought sunshine into it with him, but I could tell I was not the only lady who felt that strong, gravitational pull towards him. He charmed, smiled and flirted, distributing his favours with an even hand. He is absolutely incapable of taking life seriously. Or was, when I mixed in the same circles as him. Now, in spite of all this,’ she said, waving a hand around the elegant room, ‘the invitations have dried up somewhat.’
Riley nodded. ‘I understand.’
‘But I did not ask you here to discuss the decline in my social status. We were discussing Rod. Despite his universal popularity, when one was alone with him…’ Her smile widened. ‘Ah, on the rare occasions when that was possible one was assured of his complete and total attention. It would have been enough for me, but my father forbade me on threat of disinheritance from going through with the match. Strong as my feelings were for Rod, I simply couldn’t go against Papa’s wishes. Besides, Rod’s interest in me would have waned if I was disinherited. I was not cut out to be a pauper any more than Rod would have been suited to a life of routine toil.’ She threw up her hands. ‘Six months after telling Rod that it couldn’t ever be, Papa was killed in an accident. If I had only waited…But, of course, by then I was married to Mr Kempton.’
‘Thank you for being so candid, but I fail to see what…’
Mrs Kempton waved a hand, bringing Riley’s words to a halt. It was clear there was more to come. ‘Not to put too fine a point on it, Lord Riley, I married Mr Kempton as a matter of expediency.’ She swallowed. ‘I had just discovered my condition, you see, and was terrified that Papa would realise. So, I took Kempton because I knew he would ask no questions. He expressed a desire for an immediate wedding and passed Rod’s child off as his.’ She closed her eyes and threw back her head once again. ‘I dare say you think I did wrong, but I didn’t want to disappoint Papa and I knew he wouldn’t permit me to marry Rod, even if he knew he was the father of my child.’
‘No man would want his daughter to marry a serial adulterer.’
‘I am not an immoral person, Lord Riley, I wouldn’t want you to think that I am, but Rod had a persuasive way about him. His enjoyment of life and the manner in which he lived for the moment was infectious. Anyway, I’m afraid I was besotted and allowed myself to be seduced. It didn’t seem wrong at the time, but now I must live with the consequences.’
‘I am not here to judge you, Mrs Kempton, but cannot help wondering why I am here at all.’
‘Well obviously, Rod knew the truth.’
Riley’s interest intensified. ‘He knew that the child was his?’
‘He wasn’t aware that I was in a delicate condition when we separated. I didn’t know myself at the time. But obviously, he can count. Anyway, he asked me and I confessed because I wanted him to know. Goodness knows why, but I found it impossible to lie to Rod. Anyway, after that, I paid him to keep quiet.’
‘You paid him?’ Riley sat forward, glad to be getting to the heart of the matter at last.
‘My husband pretends that our daughter is his, even though he must know that her premature arrival makes that impossible,’ she said, talking over Riley’s interruption. ‘He has never asked me outright, but he probably knows that I would not have married him unless it was absolutely necessary and…well, I’m sure he realises that I have used him for my own reasons.’
‘Woodrow blackmailed you?’ Riley asked, sitting forward.
‘Heavens no, that word was never used. He would never have been so crass. He simply smiled at me in that intimately compelling manner of his and mentioned that funds were in short supply. I knew what he wanted, of course, what he had always wanted from me, and was happy to give it to him.’
‘How much and how often?’
‘Quarterly, fifty guineas.’
Riley raised a brow. ‘A small fortune.’
‘Not to me, Lord Riley, and a large part of my inheritance remains under my control to do with as I wish. Rod knew that. We had discussed it. Frankly, it was worth it for me to have an excuse to see him alone once a quarter to hand it over. And no, before you ask, we did not renew our relations, not once I was married. Rod would have been keen to do so,’ Mrs Kempton smiled. ‘He was the most dreadful womaniser, but I couldn’t agree to such a thing. I don’t love my husband, but he is my husband and I have no intention of breaking my vows.’ She lifted one shoulder. ‘A twisted sort of logic, I know, but there you have it.’
‘Your husband doesn’t know that you paid Rod?’ She shook her head. ‘Are you absolutely sure?’
‘Entirely certain. I have not made this shameful admission to you in the hope that you will arrest him. Far from it.’ She paused, her hands folded neatly in her lap. ‘I made it because I am convinced I am not the only person who supported Rod’s lifestyle.’
‘You think others paid him too?’
‘I am sure of it, if only from the odd word or two that he said on the subject whenever we met. I am convinced that if he knew anything about any other ladies that they would prefer not to have in the public domain then they would have paid for his silence as willingly as I did. And he most likely did know things, too.’ She paused, searching for the right words. ‘It’s hard to explain, but Rod had this way about him that invited confidences, even though the rational side of one’s brain knew it would be a miscalculation to place one’s trust in such a…well, scoundrel, I suppose, for want of a better word. But, scoundrel or no, I defy you to find a single lady of his acquaintance who didn’t adore him, even if she also disapproved of his behaviour.’
‘Maybe so, but most ladies rely on their husbands for their cash, Mrs Kempton, and would not be able to explain away such a large quarterly expenditure.’
‘Men have secrets too, and their wives would likely reveal them to Rod if he turned on the charm. Such was the power that he wielded over us all. If you find his list of victims, Lord Riley, I’ll wager the killer’s name will be on it.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘But now, I really must ask you to leave. I hope I can depend upon you to keep my name out of things.’ Riley wondered if she was really that naïve or if he was being manipulated. ‘I want Rod’s killer brought to justice but I most emphatically do not want to involve myself in a scandal.’
‘I can make no promises, ma’am, but I have no wish to embarrass you unnecessarily. That is the best I can offer you.’
‘Then it must suffice,’ she replied, looking totally unconcerned about the consequences she supposedly wished to avoid. ‘My congratulations upon your forthcoming nuptials, by the way.’
Riley thanked her as she stood and rang the bell. He took his leave quickly, stepping out into the bitter cold with his head full of conflicting possibilities.
He returned to Scotland Yard feeling energised. At last he had a solid direction in which to take the investigation. He ruminated upon what he had learned until Salter returned and Riley shared his news with him.
‘Blimey,’ Salter said, scratching his head. ‘A womaniser and a blackmailer. No wonder someone done him in. Fifty guineas a quarter,’ he added. ‘A man could live like a king on that much. No wonder he had the best of everything.’
‘Mrs Kempton paid him willingly and is of the opinion that other ladies did so as well.’
‘Doubt whether the men were quite so willing though—always assuming men were his victims too.’ Riley nodded, the same thought having occurred to him. The idea of limitless additional suspects made his head spin, but also made it easier to understand why someone had lost patience with a supposedly loveable scoundrel. ‘Why do you suppose Mrs Kempton made such a potentially damaging admission, sir?’ Salter mused.
‘A very good question, Jack, and one that I have been pondering upon this past half-hour. She claims she wants justice for Woodrow, and there’s no doubt in my mind that she was completely besotted with him. Even so, the instinct for self-preservation normally takes precedent in such situations. She is nobody’s fool, so perhaps it’s vengeance that she seeks. She claims her husband knew nothing of the payments she made to Woodrow, but I find that hard to accept. He already knows that he’s been cuckolded. If he thought his wife was still secretly colluding with her first love when he, Kempton, had previously overlooked her loose behaviour and offered her the respectability of his name, then who knows what lengths jealousy would drive him to?’
‘You think she suspects her husband?’ Salter shook his head. ‘Don’t see it myself. She must know that if he’s charged he will stand trial and most likely hang, and all the sordid details will emerge. Her reputation will never recover.’
‘I doubt whether she cares about that. She has enough money to live however she likes, and that money would ensure collective amnesia among those vying to step into Kempton’s shoes. She’s lost her place in society by marrying so low, so she might be hoping to recover ground the second time around. She presents as a sensitive and poised young woman, but I sense a will of iron beneath that delicate façade; a woman raised in the lap of luxury accustomed to getting whatever she wants.’ Riley sighed. ‘I wonder if she is deliberately pointing us towards her husband. He is not a member of the aristocracy, and would make a suitable sacrificial lamb. She knows very well that we will have to speak to her husband, there’s no doubt about that. And we shall do so in good time, but for now we now have other priorities.’
‘Such as?’
‘Finding Woodrow’s list of victims, naturally.’
‘Always supposing he kept one.’
‘I am sure he will have done, if only to keep track of what was due to him, when and from whom. There is also the case of his ill-gotten gains. He was paid in cash by Mrs Kempton, and by everyone else I would think. The two hundred guineas he received annually from her would have covered his living expenses with plenty left over. Assuming she was not his only source of income, he must have stashed the rest somewhere.’
‘We’ve searched those rooms of his, sir. The constables were most thorough, and there ain’t nothing there to find.’
‘We shall look again this afternoon. We didn’t know what we were looking for before. Now we will tear the place apart if necessary. Floorboards, wainscoting, the lot. I’m certain we’ve missed something.’
‘Aye, right enough,’ Salter said with a resigned sigh.
Riley and Salter returned to Half Moon Street and took a bite to eat at the Half Moon before returning to Woodrow’s apartment. By the time they had done so, Peterson and Harper, loaned by the obliging Sergeant Barton, had joined them and Riley gave them their instructions.
‘Be methodical,’ he told them. ‘Tap on every part of the walls and floor, listen for a hollow sound and look for anything that doesn’t fit flush. Check for compartments in the furniture. This hiding place is ingenious and explains why Woodrow was so reluctant to entertain in his rooms. He didn’t want anyone else getting too familiar with his habits.’
‘Take those paintings off the walls to start with,’ Salter said. ‘Not sure we looked behind them before.’
Peterson nodded and set to.
‘Stay and supervise, Jack. I am going to pay a call on Lord Durand. I shall return to see what you have for me once I’ve spoken with him.’