Chapter Two
Riley noticed a disgruntled look pass between several of the girls when Mrs Sinclair spoke, confirming his initial impression that Adelaide’s popularity had caused jealousy and resentment within their ranks.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Now, Mrs Sinclair, perhaps there is somewhere you and I can speak in private.’
‘Yes, if you would like to come with me.’
‘Or me,’ said a stunningly beautiful woman with skin the colour of caramel, a waterfall of thick black hair and mischievous green catlike eyes. She accompanied her words with a confident smile and pulled her shoulders back to accentuate full breasts barely concealed beneath a thin layer of satin. Her colleagues smirked and rolled their eyes.
Riley ignored the remark, but Salter turned to her. ‘You and the rest of your friends can form an orderly queue for a turn with me and the constables,’ he said, eliciting a sarcastic ‘Oooooh’ of mock anticipation from the collected women. Riley admired Salter’s approach. Dispel the tension, get them onside and they’d be bound to offer up more information. ‘Just stay where you are for now, girls,’ Salter continued. ‘Someone will be along to take your details in a while. In the meantime, Constable Harper will keep you company.’
‘We’ll start givin’ ’im our particulars, shall we?’ another women said, batting her lashes extravagantly at the hapless Harper. Riley almost smiled at the look of dismay that crossed Harper’s face, well aware that the women would behave mercilessly once they got their claws into such an innocent. It would be good for him. Harper would have to toughen up if he intended to pursue a career in law enforcement.
‘That’s an excellent idea. Thank you.’ Riley turned towards Harper. ‘Just take names for now, Harper.’
Harper swallowed and nodded, a condemned man braving his fate.
‘That wasn’t kind of you, sir,’ Salter said in an undertone as he and Riley followed Mrs Sinclair from the room. ‘Harper is a religious man.’
‘So am I, Salter, after a fashion, but if he can’t put his personal feelings aside and perform his duties in a professional manner then he’ll be of no help to me.’ Riley hung back so that Mrs Sinclair couldn’t hear their conversation and fixed his sergeant with a probing look, sensing that Salter also disapproved of the women’s line of work. ‘That goes for everyone else involved with this case, including you. It doesn’t matter how Adelaide lived, or whether we approve of the choices she made, she still didn’t deserve to be brutally murdered and we will investigate her death just as vigorously as we would any other. Are we clear?’
‘Crystal, sir,’ Salter replied curtly.
‘Carter and Soames have arrived, sir,’ Peterson stepped forward, breaking the uneasy tension between Riley and his sergeant. ‘They have gone upstairs to commence their search. Oh, and the body’s been removed.’
‘Thank you, Peterson,’ Riley said. ‘Stay alert and don’t let anyone in who has no business being here.’
‘You can depend on me, sir.’
‘It’s this way.’ Mrs Sinclair led them across the entrance hall into a small room at the back of the ground floor, an office of sorts that served as Mrs Sinclair’s private domain. Unlike the rest of the house, the decorations were utilitarian—practical rather than elaborate. There was a desk with neat piles of papers adorning its surface and a small cluster of mismatched chairs around an empty grate. The small window looked out onto a side alley. The house’s narrow frontage was definitely deceptive. Its rooms, with the exception of the entrance hall, were not wide but they were long, allowing for the number of chambers on the first floor—which Riley assumed were sufficiently commodious to accommodate the needs of even the most athletic of clients.
‘Be seated, gentlemen.’ Mrs Sinclair led by example, taking the chair closest to the fireplace. She drew a woollen shawl around her shoulders, making no apology for the austerity of the room. ‘This is a sad business,’ she said.
But Riley suspected that her main consideration was for the reputation of her establishment and the effect the death might have upon repeat custom.
‘Can you tell us Adelaide’s real name?’ Riley asked.
‘I can, but before I do so, may I ask how far-reaching your investigation is likely to be?’
Riley understood her concerns and decided to lay his cards on the table. ‘I am as anxious as you are to bring the person responsible for this crime to justice,’ he told her. ‘Rest assured that I have no intention of charging you for living off immoral earnings.’
‘But we could do,’ Salter growled, ‘if’n we don’t think you’re cooperating.’
‘It hadn’t occurred to me that you would consider doing such a thing, especially since it would be impossible for you to prove.’ Her lips pinched together and her expression turned shrewish, calculating. She no longer looked so attractive. ‘Not to say exceedingly embarrassing for the careers and reputations of some of the gentlemen who come here to enjoy my soirees.’
‘Your soirees are the talk of London,’ Riley replied, prepared to accept that Mrs Sinclair’s first thought was for her own survival but still surprised by the veiled threat. She could destroy the reputations of some of London’s leading figures and wanted to be sure that Riley knew it. ‘Now then, I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that the irreplaceable Adelaide’s body was until moments ago lying in the chamber above our heads.’
Finally Riley elicited a genuine response from Mrs Sinclair in the form of a slight shudder.
‘Indeed you do not, inspector.’
She got up, opened a drawer in her desk and flipped through a file of papers. ‘Adelaide’s name is…was Mary Huxton. Her father is a wine merchant and lives in Hertfordshire.’
Riley hid his surprise. He had heard of Huxton Wine Merchants.
Salter, who clearly had not, raised a brow. ‘She was from the middle classes?’
‘Most of my girls are, sergeant. The gentlemen that come here seek more than sexual gratification. They require a home from home, if you will.’ This information earned another expressive eye-roll from Salter. ‘Conversation and interaction with all the girls, as well as some of the other gentlemen. In other words, they want to relax in a manner that I am certain their home lives precludes.’ Mrs Sinclair smiled at Riley’s dubious expression. ‘You gentlemen have your clubs to escape to, but the majority of men who come here would not be eligible for membership, even if they could afford the exorbitant fees. Those places are nothing if not elitist. Besides, some men prefer mixed company and the assurance of discretion. That is what concerns me about this business. Not the possibility of being prosecuted.’ A hint of a smile touched her lips. ‘Somehow I doubt whether the case would reach court, even if you decided upon that course of action.’
‘You have clients in positions to ensure that it would not?’ Riley asked.
Mrs Sinclair gave a small shrug.
‘Do you have an address for her family?’ Riley asked. ‘They will have to be informed.’
‘Sorry, but no.’
‘Very well. Now that we understand one another,’ Riley said, ‘tell me more about Mary, or shall we continue to use her professional name for the purpose of clarity? How old was Adelaide?’
‘Twenty.’
Riley shook his head at the futility of a life cut so needlessly short, quelling recollections of a similar case—one that had arisen when he had been just fifteen and still at Eton. It had involved the death of an actress who enjoyed the protection of his father, the influential Marquess of Chichester. He had been the primary suspect and Riley had been disgusted by the manner in which he used his authority to intimidate the investigating detective. Recollections of that unhappy time had motivated him to take up the career that his family so disapproved of, doing what he could to dispense justice without fear or favour.
‘How long had Adelaide lived here?’ he asked. ‘I assume all the girls live in.’
‘Yes they do.’
‘How many?’ Salter asked, pencil poised. ‘I counted five downstairs.’
‘That is the sum total. Six is my maximum.’
‘I assume your soirees take place in the room visible from the gallery,’ Riley said. ‘Those who are exhibitionists see no reason to leave it. Some prefer the semi-seclusion of the alcoves and others require privacy in the upstairs rooms.’
‘Exactly so.’
‘The girls are kept busy,’ Salter remarked.
‘They are very well recompensed for their efforts. You won’t find any of them complaining.’
‘You were about to tell us about Adelaide,’ Riley reminded her.
‘She was referred to me by a childhood acquaintance.’
‘Someone who works for you?’ Riley asked.
‘She no longer does. Adelaide’s was a common enough story. One I hear all too often, sadly. She was fifteen when she finished up here.’ Salter tutted. ‘Thirteen is the age of consent, sergeant, as I’m sure you are aware, and girls considerably younger than that are passed off as being of age so their parents can sell them to unscrupulous brothel-keepers.’ She sighed. ‘A young virgin will earn five pounds for her parents, who often have half a dozen other children to feed and no money to buy food with.’ Riley nodded, well aware that desperation often forced parents to take such unthinkable action. He couldn’t excuse it but could understand it. ‘I have nothing to do with such situations but it would be naïve to pretend that they don’t exist.’
‘You were telling us about Adelaide,’ Riley reminded her curtly. He had no desire to hear Mrs Sinclair justify her position. She provided a service that would always be in demand, and Riley wasn’t here to judge her, even though he suspected that Salter already had, and didn’t like what he was hearing. He wanted to tell his sergeant that those who objected to the Mrs Sinclairs of this world set themselves the task of holding back a tidal wave. In other words, they would never succeed. Mrs Sinclair’s conscience didn’t trouble her because the ladies she employed had willingly entered a trade that saw more brothels than schools flourishing in London, and probably always would.
‘Her uncle was taking too much interest in her,’ Mrs Sinclair said. ‘Her mother, from what little Adelaide told me, refused to believe it. Her aunt, who lived with them, blamed Adelaide for leading him on. Her position became untenable, so she came to London. Her acquaintance was working here at the time, recognised her difficulty and encouraged her to meet me. The moment I set eyes on her, I knew she could earn a small fortune, as long she knew what she was getting herself involved in.’ Mrs Sinclair looked almost prim. ‘I train my girls in the art of seduction, I make sure they understand how to converse intelligently and in return the girls give the clients what they require. I don’t allow drunkenness or opiates. My girls have regular checks by a doctor to ensure they remain clean, and they earn a very generous wage. If they are sensible with their money, they will be able to retire at the age of thirty and will be set for life.’ She paused. ‘Take it from one who knows.’
‘You were in their position once?’ Riley asked non-judgementally.
‘I was—and very occasionally still am. Some of the gentlemen who come here I have known for a long time. They helped me to become established and spread the word amongst friends who share their predilections. I cater for their needs in person. I myself was trained in a house similar to this one. I saw how much my madam made and decided to go one better. I have emulated some of the more successful aspects of her business and added some of my own. This establishment is high class, expensive and caters for the specialist needs of my customers.’
‘Your clients enjoy flagellation?’
‘Some do. Others prefer cross-dressing, subjection, straightforward sexual intercourse or, as you suggested, Lord Riley, they enjoy being watched. Others require a willing partner with whom they can play out their fantasies. Others still are lonely and just want a lovely woman to talk to.’ Mrs Sinclair ticked off the various aspects of her business empire briskly on her fingers. ‘We don’t judge, and we cater for all types, provided they don’t turn violent against the girls. Well, no more violent than has been agreed to beforehand.’
‘And taken into account in your charges,’ Riley added.
‘Quite so,’ Mrs Sinclair replied in an unruffled tone.
‘But someone clearly did turn violent against Adelaide,’ Riley pointed out.
Another shudder from Mrs Sinclair. ‘Indeed.’
‘Adelaide was popular?’ Salter asked.
‘She was in great demand. You have no idea how many men enjoy pain, and Adelaide was very experienced when it came to dishing it out. She knew exactly how far to take matters.’
‘Was she ever required to be on the receiving end?’ Riley asked.
‘Never. Adelaide wouldn’t countenance such treatment.’
‘Did her family ever try to find her?’ Salter asked, frowning. He was a family man with a twelve year old daughter so it wasn’t hard for Riley to surmise the direction his thoughts had taken. The next time he and his daughter didn’t see eye to eye he would worry about her wandering alone through London and being taken in by a convincing person of Mrs Sinclair’s ilk. This was definitely going to be a difficult case for Salter to look at objectively. Riley, on the other hand, was willing to concede that the woman supplied a service to a niche market and had her standards, after a fashion.
‘Not as far as I am aware, sergeant. She settled here very quickly and took to the work like a natural. She never spoke of her family to me again.’
‘But she wasn’t popular with your other women?’ Riley suggested.
‘She had her faults, as we all do.’
‘What faults?’ Salter asked, looking as though he could think of a dozen off the top of his head. Riley made a mental note to have another talk with Salter and warn him to keep his personal views to himself. Mrs Sinclair knew how to interpret a man’s expressions. It would have formed part of her training. Her girls would be just as adept in that regard and they wouldn’t get much cooperation if Riley and Salter were seen to be passing judgement.
‘One of Adelaide’s worst failings was not caring what anyone thought of her. She was beautiful, wilful and flaunted her success in front of the others, sometimes enticing their regulars away from them simply because she could, which resulted in disputes. I had to speak to her about it on several occasions, but she knew her own worth and took little notice of anything I said to her.’
‘You didn’t consider dismissing her if she was causing disharmony amongst the others?’ Salter asked.
‘Heavens, no! In this business, sergeant, it is every woman for herself. We don’t form sisterly bonds, if that’s what you suppose.’ Mrs Sinclair seemed amused by the possibility. ‘I was aware that Adelaide would be snapped up by another house if she became dissatisfied here and if that happened I would have had a hard time replacing her. Besides, she had regular clients who worshipped the ground she walked on, and if she left they would have followed. I couldn’t take that risk and so I’m afraid I rather let Adelaide have her way.’
‘You were protecting your asset,’ Salter said scathingly.
‘Of course, sergeant,’ she responded in an unruffled tone. ‘Think what you like of me, but I am first and foremost a businesswoman.’
‘If Adelaide was so popular,’ Riley mused, ‘I’m surprised one of her devotees didn’t attempt to set her up as his exclusive mistress.’
‘You imagine there were jealousies amongst her clients that resulted in her being killed?’
Riley nodded. ‘The possibility crossed my mind.’
‘You are thinking like a rich man, Lord Riley. My clients are well-to-do but they are not in your class.’
Riley conceded the point with a wry smile, aware that Salter was looking at him with undisguised amusement. It was, he realised, just about the first sign of amusement his usually pragmatic, unshockable sergeant had shown since entering this house.
‘You have one male employee,’ Riley said. ‘What are his duties?’
‘Tennyson is responsible for welcoming our guests.’
‘Can anyone walk in off the streets?’ Salter asked. ‘Sorry if that’s a stupid question but we ain’t all accustomed to the way things are done in these places.’
‘And you don’t approve.’ Mrs Sinclair flashed a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Clearly you love your wife, sergeant, and don’t feel the need to stray. You are very fortunate.’
‘Here, how did you know I was—’
‘I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I didn’t. Anyway, to answer your question, we are quite selective about whom we allow through the doors.’
‘You have a membership list?’ Riley asked. ‘It’s a club of sorts, I presume.’
‘Something along those lines. New clients can only be introduced by existing ones and must obey my house rules. We remain more select that way. Anyway, Tennyson checks them in, makes sure they are known to us and have no outstanding debts to settle before they are allowed through the doors. Some forget to pay us in their excitement, you see, but they always come back and set the matter straight.’
‘I shall have to see Tennyson’s list of names,’ Riley said, expecting an argument and getting it.
‘I have been frank with you, inspector, because I want Adelaide’s killer brought to justice. To that end I will supply you with a list of the people who were here last night but I cannot see why you would need my entire client list. If word leaks out that I have given you access to it, my business would be ruined.’
‘You don’t get to tell us—’
Riley held up a hand to stem Salter’s angry tirade. ‘Very well, for now we will make do with a list of last night’s guests. If it proves necessary to extend our enquiries, I will talk to you about the matter again.’
Mrs Sinclair inclined her head. ‘That seems reasonable. I know you are a gentleman and will keep your word.’
‘I am a policeman first, Mrs Sinclair, and if I discover that you have misled me in any way then you will see a very different side of me. Now then, what other duties does Tennyson perform?’
‘Once our visitors are here, he keeps order. If any of the gentlemen get too boisterous, which sometimes happens, he either reprimands them or persuades them to leave the premises. But it seldom comes to that.’
‘Someone became boisterous with Adelaide,’ Riley said in a mild tone, ‘but she didn’t summon Tennyson. I noticed a bell in the room. Presumably they all have them and the girls use them if they are in trouble, but Adelaide did not. Can you explain that?’
‘I can’t explain any of this, and that’s the truth.’ Mrs Sinclair spread her hands. ‘As far as I was aware, the last of our gentlemen left at around two in the morning, Tennyson locked up and the girls went to their rooms.’
‘They have individual rooms?’ Salter asked, pencil poised.
‘Adelaide did, as does Mirabelle, my next most senior girl. The one who joked with you downstairs earlier.’ Riley nodded, unsure if she had actually been joking. ‘The other four share two rooms.’
‘Explaining why Adelaide wasn’t missed, if she didn’t have to share with the others.’ Riley shifted his position, failing to find a comfortable one in the chair he occupied. The rain hammering against the window intensified, bringing with it a gust of wind that rattled the glass. ‘When was she last seen?’
‘We were trying to remember that before you arrived, Lord Riley.’ Mrs Sinclair furrowed her brow. ‘We were very busy last night. We throw a party once a month on a Thursday evening and it is always well attended. Upwards of forty gentlemen passed through our doors. I do know that Adelaide had entertained her last client because I exchanged a few words with him before he left. Adelaide herself brought him back downstairs.’
‘But you didn’t see Adelaide after that?’ Salter asked.
‘No, but that’s not unusual. Once she finished work she was in the habit of going straight to her room. The other girls would usually gather downstairs and complain about their clients’ demands, joke about them and generally compare notes, but Adelaide seldom joined them.’
‘Then how did she finish up in her working room with her throat cut and, more to the point, who did the cutting?’ Riley asked. ‘Presumably Tennyson checked to ensure all the clients had left before he locked the door. It’s not hard to imagine one or more of them becoming obsessed with Adelaide, especially if she knew how to satisfy their needs so proficiently. Perhaps one of them wanted her for himself and offered to marry her because he was unable to afford to set her up as a mistress.’
Mrs Sinclair nodded. ‘That situation arises more often than you might imagine. But Adelaide wouldn’t have been tempted. Frankly, she looked upon her clients with a degree of scorn. She wasn’t terribly fond of men in general—’
‘She preferred her own sex?’ Riley asked.
‘Not as far as I know. Most of us in this business have been scarred by the demands placed upon us by men when we were too young either to understand them or to fight back. Men who were for the most part related to us and supposed to protect us. Is it any wonder that we develop a cynical attitude? We find it hard to form relationships, so we settle for gaining revenge by perfecting our skills as courtesans and exploiting them?’
Riley nodded. ‘You are sure that no one lingered after the party ended?’ he asked. ‘There are plenty of suitable hiding places.’
‘Quite sure. It was a filthy night, and all the gentlemen arrived wearing coats and hats. Tennyson handed these garments back to their owners before they departed and none were left behind. Besides, even if a desperate man had sneaked back in and hidden himself away, inspector, how would he have found Adelaide in her room, persuaded her to dress in her working attire and voluntarily accompany him downstairs, all without anyone hearing a peep? I can assure you that Adelaide was not the passive type and would have taken exception to being coerced into doing something she wasn’t being paid for.’
‘Unless she had reached an agreement with the gentleman that you knew nothing about.’
Mrs Sinclair conceded the possibility with a sideways tilt of her head. ‘If she did then she would have been taking an almighty risk,’ she said, her expression as hard as flint. ‘My one firm rule is that any girl making private arrangements with a client will find herself immediately without employment. No exceptions, not even for Adelaide. And just so that you are aware, my terms of employment are more generous than most. I seek to inspire loyalty. The girls are content here and wouldn’t want to leave, I can assure you of that. Ask them yourself if you don’t believe me.’
‘We will,’ Salter muttered.
‘Very well.’ Riley sighed, cursing the fact that the murder had taken place on the night of a party. It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. Presumably the man responsible thought that the police wouldn’t make too much effort to track down the killer of a whore. Unfortunately for him, Riley took this murder just as seriously as if Adelaide had been employed in a respectable trade. It affected his fierce sense of right and wrong just as much as the killing of his father’s actress had all those years ago. Now he was confronted with another life cut tragically short, and he would not leave a stone unturned in his effort to find the perpetrator. ‘Do you live here yourself?’ he asked Mrs Sinclair.
‘Yes, I have two rooms and a bathroom to myself on the top floor.’
‘Tennyson and the other staff. Do they live in?’ Salter asked.
‘Yes. Tennyson has a room off the kitchen. My maid Lily and Beryl the cook share the only other room in the basement. I have two girls come in and help in the kitchen, but they go home once the food is prepared. Only Lily shows herself upstairs.’
‘I shall need the names of all the gentlemen in attendance here last night,’ Riley said.
‘All of them?’ Finally Riley had said something that caused Mrs Sinclair to lose her composure. ‘I know I agreed to hand it over but, upon reflection, it seems to me that only those who lingered until the end will be of interest to you.’
‘Even so, they will all have to be spoken to, especially those whom Adelaide entertained. They might have seen or heard something unusual.’
Mrs Sinclair gave a harsh laugh. ‘There is nothing that you or anyone else would consider usual about the proceedings in this house, inspector.’
‘I must insist, Mrs Sinclair. Rest assured that we understand the meaning of discretion and will make sure we speak to the gentlemen away from their families.’
Mrs Sinclair’s expression lost a little of its rigidity. ‘As I already told you, there were forty men here last night,’ she said.
‘How many of them did Adelaide entertain?’
‘Five or six individually. She dallied, flirted if you like, with more of them in the main salon.’ Riley and Salter exchanged a glance. ‘There’s no need to look so shocked. Half of them just want their backsides paddled and then given a helping hand to express themselves, if you follow my meaning.’
‘All too clearly,’ Salter said, looking repulsed.
Mrs Sinclair got up and went to her desk. She unlocked a drawer with a key that was attached to the small bunch she carried at her waist and pulled out a ledger. She beckoned Salter over and Riley followed behind.
‘These are last night’s clients,’ she said, pointing to a neatly written page. ‘The initial of the girl who entertained each one is in the column beside his name. I am happy for you to copy those names but we have already agreed that you will not take my ledger away.’ She made ticks against all but a dozen on the list. ‘Those that I have marked left well before the end of the soiree. Tennyson would have seen them out. The door to the street is locked, so anyone wishing to return would have had have to ring the bell to be readmitted.’ She paused. ‘No one did, so I think it safe to leave those gentlemen out of your enquiry.’
‘Could they not have come in through the kitchens?’
‘They would have been seen.’
‘Adelaide might have let her killer in herself after you all retired,’ Riley remarked.
‘It is possible, but I don’t suppose we shall ever know for sure.’
‘We will ask him when we find him,’ Riley assured her. ‘Sergeant,’ he added, pointing to the ledger and then to Salter’s notebook. ‘Finding all these people will prove to be a challenge. Presumably they don’t provide their home addresses.’
Mrs Sinclair shrugged. ‘I doubt they all give their real names, at least not to me. But the girls will know a lot more about their individual clients. They tend to talk to them, tell them their troubles, much as they would confess to a priest.’ The hint of a smile touched her lips. ‘My girls are equally discreet and only make them perform a penance if it’s what the client hanker for.’
‘But since it’s Adelaide’s clients what interest us, and given that she’s dead, that ain’t a lot of help,’ Salter pointed out as he scratched away with his pencil.
Mrs Sinclair looked up and met Riley’s gaze. ‘You might find one particular name of interest,’ she said, pointing to a line in the ledger. ‘And I dare say he will know the identities of a lot of the other men here last night.’
Riley and Salter followed her finger and then gaped at one another.
‘Chief Inspector Danforth was here last night?’ Riley asked in an incredulous tone.
‘He is a regular customer,’ Mrs Sinclair responded calmly.
Which explained Danforth’s reasons for keeping himself invisible that morning, Riley thought, astounded by the man’s arrogance. He not only risked his career by frequenting this establishment, but did so using his real name. It beggared belief. Although, since it was Danforth, perhaps it did not. ‘Was he one of Adelaide’s clients?’ he asked.
‘Oh yes. He wouldn’t settle for anyone else.’