Chapter Eight
Riley felt revived and refreshed the following morning in a manner that had escaped him during his single years. The soothing effects of a loving, sympathetic and attentive wife were clearly not to be underestimated, he decided, as he set off at a jaunty pace to resume his investigations.
His first port of call was the grandly named Register of Qualified Governesses, which turned out to be housed in a small side alley off Park Lane. Riley was seen immediately by the proprietress, a Miss Nostram. She seemed concerned at receiving a visit from a Scotland Yard detective.
‘My goodness.’ She clutched a hand to her breast and looked genuinely shocked when Riley told her why he was there. ‘Well I never did hear such a thing. What is the world coming to? In Dulwich of all places.’ She took a moment to recover her composure. ‘Poor Miss Mottram. She was a charming, competent and well-qualified young woman. I would not have recommended her for a position with Lord Vermont if that had not been the case, I do assure you. I am given to understand that she gave exemplary service, which makes this terrible crime all the more tragic. I assume she was set upon by a ne’er-do-well.’
‘What reason did she offer for coming up to London?’ Riley asked, avoiding giving an answer to the lady’s question. ‘One assumes there are plenty of opportunities for governesses in her native Devon.’
‘I did not ask her, inspector. I could tell at once that she would be a credit to her profession. She had a presence, a way about her that inspired confidence. One can always tell. I interview dozens of aspiring governesses during the course of any one month but few of them enter the profession through choice. Miss Mottram did not look upon it as a last resort and so I wasn’t about to discourage her desire to relocate to London.’ Miss Nostram paused. ‘She did mention an interest in art and the theatre, I recall that much. Such passions are more easily indulged closer to the capital.’
‘Did she supply references?’
‘Naturally. I would not consider offering the services of anyone, no matter how impressive they were at interview, without them.’
‘May I see?’
Miss Nostram stood and consulted a tall cabinet, from which she selected a slim file. ‘I have no reason to keep this confidential now,’ she said, handing it to him. ‘Everything I know about Miss Mottram is contained within this file.’
Riley flipped through it and discovered that two people had given her references. The first was a clergyman from Exeter. The second a schoolmaster whose name was familiar to Riley.
Peter Renshaw.
Riley sat back and pondered upon the fact that Renshaw had lied to them. He did not make Miss Mottram’s acquaintance for the first time at Dulwich College Founders’ Day celebrations. They had known one another before then in Devon, where Renshaw had worked in a private boys’ school. He claimed in the reference that Miss Mottram had briefly educated his sister and inspired her thirst for knowledge, but Riley was unsure if he believed a word of it. It also made him question who followed whom to Dulwich? Riley would wager that Renshaw followed Miss Mottram, accounting for the fact that he now taught games, whereas in Devon he installed mathematics into the dull heads of privileged young men.
He had taken a step down the career ladder. Why?
Riley thanked Miss Nostram for her time and continued on his way to Brooks’s Club in St. James, where he received confirmation of Daniel Vermont’s presence on the night in question. That didn’t surprise him. Daniel would know that the doormen at gentlemen’s clubs possessed good memories and were keen observers. What did interest Riley was the surprising revelation that his father had been there, too, in close conversation with his son for a considerable time. Neither man had thought to mention the fact. Riley wondered if it was significant.
He went on to Bond Street and found Stout awaiting him outside Manson’s gallery.
‘You may want to speak with Manson, my lord. He knows of Miss Mottram’s work and had agreed to offer a couple of them for sale.’
‘Well done, Stout!’
Stout inclined his head. ‘Can I be of further assistance, my lord?’
‘I’ll take it from here. Go back to Chelsea and tried to stop Lady Riley from exerting herself if you possibly can.’
Stout gave the suggestion of a smile. ‘I will do my very best.’ Stout cleared his throat. ‘And since you have raised the subject of her ladyship’s delicate condition, may I offer you my heartfelt congratulations.’
‘You may, but please keep the matter confidential.’ Riley wasn’t surprised that the astute Stout had picked up on the signs and recognised them for what they were. ‘We are not yet ready to share our news with the rest of the world.’
‘I understand completely, my lord, and you may depend upon my discretion.’
‘Good man!’
Riley entered the gallery. It was devoid of browsers at such an early hour. An elegantly-attired man, short in stature and of indeterminate age, came forward to greet Riley. He assessed his expensive attire with a practised sweep of his eyes and his attitude turned obsequious.
‘How may I be of assistance, sir? Have you seen something that catches your eye?’ He waved a hand around the airy gallery, the walls of which were covered with paintings in a wide range of styles.
Riley identified himself and asked about Miss Mottram. ‘You are the gallery owner, I take it.’
‘Manson, at your service, inspector. As to Miss Mottram, I am very sorry to hear of her death. Most distressing. I was not personally acquainted with her but was shown some of her work, thought it promising and agreed to take two pieces on a trial basis. They are over here.’
Manson led Riley to the dimmest corner of the showroom and pointed to two seascapes, presumably inspired by Miss Mottram’s native Devon. They were well-executed and looked vaguely familiar to Riley. He had seen similar work somewhere quite recently. He couldn’t think where. One of the paintings sported a red sticker.
‘Sold already?’
‘Yes. That surprised me, I will confess.’
‘Who is the purchaser?’
‘That’s confidential…’ Manson took one look at the set of Riley’s features and capitulated. ‘Of course, under the circumstances…One moment if you please.’ He returned to his desk and consulted a ledger, even though Riley suspected that he didn’t need to. ‘The painting was sold to Lord Vermont for fifty guineas, but he specifically asked for his identity to remain a secret until he was ready to make his support of the young artist common knowledge.’
Riley let out a low whistle. ‘Is it usual for a new artist to attract such a high price?’
‘That is the amount that I asked for the work.’
‘But not what you expected to get for it, I’ll wager. Presumably most clients haggle.’
‘Indeed, but Lord Vermont was in a hurry.’
‘I assume you mean Mr Daniel Vermont.’
‘Oh no. Lord Vermont was the purchaser. I knew him by sight before he patronised this establishment.’
And he cannot afford to pay that much for a painting, Riley thought, so why had he? If he liked Miss Mottram’s work, she would likely have given him a canvas for considerably less.
‘He is a regular client?’
‘Sadly no. This was the first occasion upon which I was honoured with his custom. I hope it will not be the last.’
‘You have agents scouting for new talent, I’m told, and one such introduced Miss Mottram’s work. May I have his name?’
‘By all means. It was the agent in whom I place the most trust. He has been proved right, to our mutual benefit, on numerous occasions. His name is Albert Wainwright.’ He scribbled down an address. ‘And this is where you will find him, if he is in London. He sometimes travels to the provinces if he’s heard on the grapevine of a talent worth looking into.’
Satisfied that Manson knew nothing more that would help the investigation and convinced that he had every reason to want Miss Mottram to remain alive, Riley expressed his thanks and left him to attend to a well-dressed young couple who had just entered the gallery.
He made his way back to Scotland Yard and found Salter awaiting him. He looked as though he had not slept well.
‘Morning, Jack.’
‘Morning, sir. You were right about Reggie. He went straight round to the wife, bleating about being falsely accused, even though he ain’t been accused of anything.’ Salter glowered. ‘Yet.’
‘I thought that might happen. How did Mrs Salter take the news?’
‘Badly.’ Salter followed Riley into his office and closed the door. ‘She sprang to Reggie’s defence, of course, just like always. She’s convinced he ain’t capable of murder. Don’t worry. He was gone before I got home, so I didn’t see him.’ He sniffed. ‘Anyway, I saw Mrs Higgins, Peter Renshaw’s landlady and she was a fat lot of use. Says she retires early, and seeing as she’s as deaf as a post she wouldn’t be much help to us even if she sat up all night. Sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’ Riley paused. ‘That would be useful, a deaf and non-inquisitive landlady, I mean, if a single chap wanted to entertain in his room.’
‘You have a devious mind, sir.’
‘That’s what they pay me for, Jack.’
Riley told his sergeant about Renshaw having given Miss Mottram a reference. That intelligence caused an immediate improvement in Salter’s dour mood.
‘Did he indeed!’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Highly suspicious. I assume he followed her from Devon to Dulwich. He forgot to mention that rather interesting fact as well.’
‘Renshaw’s memory is proving rather selective, Jack. Hopefully Mottram will be able to cast some light on the matter. However, there is additional news.’ Riley explained about Lord Vermont spending a small fortune on one of Miss Mottram’s paintings.
‘I don’t get any of this.’ Salter absorbed the information and shook his head in bewilderment. ‘Why would he do that?’
‘More to the point, why would he have spent the evening Miss Mottram was killed in heated debate with his son at Brooks’s club and forget to mention the fact? Do we know if he travelled back to Dulwich on the same train as Miss Mottram?’
‘Yes, sir. He didn’t. The station master recalls Miss Mottram arriving on the last train from London. Said she always had a cheerful word for him, unlike some people who treated him like he wasn’t there. He looked forward to seeing her.’
‘So did just about every other male in Dulwich, including both Vermont men, which doesn’t make our life any easier.’
‘You think they were at their fancy club, arguing over her favours?’ Salter shook his head. ‘Can’t see it myself. The younger man seemed to have a liking for her, but Lord Vermont seems unaffected by her death and unperturbed by our questions.’
‘True, but he’s an aristocrat. He’s accustomed to keeping his feelings to himself and not having his word questioned.’
‘Speaking from experience, are we, sir?’
Riley dealt his sergeant a scathing look. ‘Ask Barton for the loan of Peterson, if he’s available, and pop round to this address with him.’ He handed Salter the piece of paper with the agent’s address on it. ‘Bring him back here. I’d like to talk to him.’ He glanced at the clock. ‘I’ll stay here. Hopefully Carter and Soames will return with Mottram any time now. We can’t do much more until we’ve had a conversation with the girl’s father.’
‘How did it go with Danforth last night, dare I ask?’
Riley scowled. ‘I put my cards on the table and we understand one another better now. He’ll be watching us like a hawk, hoping we fail, but I doubt he’ll do anything to deliberately queer our pitch.’
‘Let’s hope not.’ Salter stood, ready to take his leave. ‘What then?’
‘Depending upon what Mottram has to say for himself, I dare say we’ll be spending our afternoon in Dulwich. Both Vermont men will be there, as will Renshaw.’
‘And Reggie.’
Riley inhaled. ‘He’s on his way here now. I asked Barton to have him brought in.’
‘Which is why you’re sending me off on an errand that Barton’s uniformed constables could just as easily have handled.’
‘Don’t get uppity, sergeant,’ Riley responded. ‘I’m trying to protect your family’s interests, to say nothing of your career. We both know that if we don’t quiz him about that knife then Danforth will use the omission to have us both removed from the case.’
‘Sorry, sir.’ Salter scratched his head. ‘It’s just this entire business. It’s getting to me.’
‘I understand, but if Archer is the guilty party, it’s vital that you keep your distance from that aspect of the case. Now, be off with you before your path crosses your nephew’s.’
Salter nodded and left without saying another word.
Not ten minutes later, Barton put his head round the door and told Riley that Archer had arrived. Riley thanked him, borrowed Evans, a detective constable who ordinarily worked for another inspector but appeared temporarily at a loose end, and the two of them joined Archer in a drab interview room.
‘Where’s Uncle Jack?’ Archer asked, half rising from his chair when Riley walked through the door.
‘Conducting other investigations,’ Riley replied, seating himself opposite Archer, leaning back in his chair and taking the measure of the man. Handsome in the Bohemian manner he associated with artistic types, with wild hair and intense eyes, Riley imagined that his unconventional style would appeal to females of all ages, accounting for the tendency of some wealthy socialites to adopt budding artists as their proteges. ‘We need to talk further about Miss Mottram.’
Evans leaned against the wall, notebook poised.
‘I’ve already told you everything I know,’ Archer said.
Riley seriously doubted it. ‘You told me that you and the lady had plans, but not of a romantic nature. What did you mean by that?’ Riley frowned. ‘Every single male I have spoken with who had any connection with her seemed to be…well, smitten, and yet you tell me you were immune to her charms. I’m having a hard time reconciling that fact. You are a young man, presumably with a healthy interest in the opposite sex…’
‘There was a spark, an awareness, that sprang up between us whenever we were in the same room. I’ll grant you that, and I did used to flirt with her.’ He flashed a brief grin. ‘Ask Uncle Jack. He’ll tell you I’m an inveterate flirt. Can’t seem to help myself.’ He spread his hands and slumped his shoulders. ‘But it don’t mean nothing.’
‘Very well, I accept that you were not in love with the young lady in the accepted sense. But what of her feelings for you?’
‘No idea. We never talked about such things. But if you’re thinking I bumped her off because she wanted more than I was prepared to offer her, then you’re quite wrong.’ Archer winced. ‘This ain’t a drama, inspector, in which a young man kills a woman who’s become inconvenient.’
Riley arched a brow. ‘Miss Mottram cramped your style?’
‘That isn’t what I said.’ Archer’s expression turned sullen. He folded his arms and puffed out a breath that lifted a lock of hair from his eyes. Riley could see now why Salter had such a low opinion of him; his sullenness served to increase Riley’s own suspicions. ‘You’re twisting my words, inspector. Anyway, I had compelling reasons to keep her alive. Her death, apart from being tragic, is bloody inconvenient.’
‘Tell me about your plans.’
Archer slid lower in his chair and emitted a prolonged sigh. ‘She was on the verge of becoming a successful artist. A Bond Street gallery had taken two of her works. One of them had already sold for the asking price,’ he added, a note of pride in his voice. ‘She disliked being a governess. If she made a breakthrough in the art world, she would have the freedom she’d always craved.’
The provenance of those paintings had been niggling at the back of Riley’s mind since leaving the gallery. There was something about them…Looking at the pride in Archer’s expression brought the pieces tumbling into place.
‘She didn’t paint those pictures,’ he said slowly. ‘You did.’
‘What!’ Archer sat fully erect again, his expression wary, his bluster unconvincing. ‘Don’t be ridiculous…’
Riley knew he’d got it right. ‘I looked at your work in your studio yesterday. The style is distinctive and I recognised the same touch in Miss Mottram’s supposed work. Young male artists are ten a penny, and even those as talented as you are struggle to achieve recognition. But talented female artists are another matter, and a pretty young woman like Miss Mottram who had presence and self-confidence could easily charm a gullible agent into taking on a few of her works. Once word of her talent spread…’ Riley leaned forward. ‘That was the plan you concocted with her. Perhaps it was her idea. You were the artist, she was the pawn. That is how you planned to get ahead. There was money to be made for you both, but she would have to stick with you.’
‘So what if it was?’ Archer’s defiantly sullen expression reappeared. ‘We didn’t break any laws. It’s not as though we were copying the masters and passing them off as the real thing. Those paintings were originals.’
‘Just not Mottram originals.’
Archer shrugged. ‘To get ahead in this world, you have to use whatever advantages you’ve got, inspector. I don’t expect you to understand that. You come from the privileged classes and have had everything handed to you on a plate. I’ve heard my uncle sing your praises more than enough times.’ His upper lip curled into an ugly sneer. ‘Us lesser mortals have to get by any which way we can.’
Riley let him rant, understanding now why Miss Mottram did all her painting at Archer’s studio at night when there were not many people around to notice the finished canvases bearing her name bore little resemblance to her actual efforts. Frustratingly, he was no nearer to knowing why Vermont had spent so much on one of them when, by his own admission, the family’s coffers were not exactly bursting at the seams.
‘What went wrong?’ Riley asked when Archer ran out of invectives.
‘What do you mean?’
Riley sat back and dealt the artist a probing look. ‘What I say.’
‘Apart from Mel being brutally murdered, you mean?’ Sarcasm oozed off the young man. ‘Absolutely nothing.’
‘Did you father her child?’
‘What!’ Archer leapt from his seat, outraged. Evans’ heavy hand on his shoulder pushed him firmly back down into it. ‘A child? She didn’t have a child. What the devil are you implying about her morals?’
Riley was sufficiently experienced to be able to tell bluster from genuine shock, and was almost convinced that Archer’s reaction was instinctive rather than contrived.
‘In that case, it will come as a shock for you to learn that she was with child when she died.’
Archer crumpled in his seat. ‘I don’t believe you,’ he muttered. ‘She wasn’t like that.’
‘You and she were not intimate?’ Riley spoke in a softly goading tone. ‘All those evenings alone in your studio. That spark you referred to earlier. It didn’t ignite? Your passions didn’t get the better of you?’
‘No they damned well didn’t, and I resent the implication.’
‘Well then, it stands to reason that she liked someone enough not to care about the future of the scheme you and she had contrived. A child would take her attention away from the exposure you hoped she would garner for what was, after all, your work. Excuses are made for the behaviour of artistic types, but if she had a child out of wedlock, few would be willing to overlook her lack of moral fibre.’ Riley leaned forward, invading the man’s space. ‘You weren’t as immune to her attractions as you led me to suppose. You somehow found out about her relationship with another man, and about her condition.’
‘No! That’s ridiculous. I—’
‘You either followed her to London, or spied on her when she was intimately involved with her secret lover and became inflamed with jealousy. I can imagine how angry that made you feel, and your uncle has told me all about your quick temper. You were prepared to make her famous, had plans for the two of you to become rich on the back of your talent and her ability to attract the attention of art collectors. You came up with the scheme, took all the risks, and she repaid you by sharing another man’s bed.’
‘Rubbish!’ But Archer now seemed more worried than affronted. Worried because Riley had just confirmed suspicions Archer had tried to ignore about Miss Mottram’s affections being engaged elsewhere, or scared because he was about to be exposed as a violent murderer?
‘You had it out with her the night before last when she returned from London. You wanted to know where she’d been and with whom. She laughed at you and told you it was none of your business. You lost your temper, found you had that knife in your pocket—’
‘Knife?’ Archer sat forward, brows raised high. ‘What knife?’
‘This one.’ Riley produced the murder weapon. Dried blood still adhered to the blade and the handle.
‘Is that…’ He swallowed. ‘Is that the knife that was used to kill her?’
‘You tell me? It’s an artist’s knife, is it not? It seems natural to me that you’d have such an implement about your person. You’d been on the common earlier with your tourists, sketching. You still had your knife in your pocket. You were in the tavern, noticed Miss Mottram after she left the train. She would have had to walk past the tavern, so naturally you offered to escort her the rest of the way home. I’m not suggesting that you met her with the intention of killing her, but you asked her where she had been, she refused to tell you, matters got out of hand and, on the spur of the moment you grabbed the knife in your pocket. I can quite see how it happened by accident. Then you realised what you had done, panicked and ran away…’
Riley’s word trailed off when he realised he’d lost Archer’s attention. Instead of listening to Riley, he gazed fixedly at the knife and a look of relief flashed through his eyes.
‘That’s not mine.’
Of course he would say that. ‘What makes you so sure?’
‘Look.’ He picked it up and pointed to the ebony handle. ‘This is expensive. Someone’s personal property. None of us struggling artists would waste money on something of this quality when lesser knifes work just as well.’
‘But you know someone who does.’
Riley stared at the younger man until he finally spoke. ‘Rachel Bowden,’ he said sullenly. ‘She had a wealthy father who gave her a set of knifes just like that one not long before his death. She is very proud of them and complained recently that one of them was missing, all but accusing the others of stealing it.’
‘Tell me about her.’
Archer shrugged. ‘Like I say, she’s wealthy but enjoys slumming it in our neck of the woods, for now at least. She has limited talent, and I struggle to help her improve her technique. That’s why Mel and I launched our scheme to get ahead through less conventional means. I am tired of nurturing mediocrity.’
‘Your uncle told me that you seldom stick to anything,’ Riley said, in a deliberate attempt to goad him.
Archer shook his head. ‘I could never do anything to impress my uncle, and I long ago gave up trying. He fails to understand the artistic temperament.’
‘Miss Bowdon is in love with you.’ Jake posed the question as a statement of fact.
‘It happens.’ He shrugged. ‘I do not return her feelings but can’t afford to alienate her either.’
‘Leaving her with the impression that there’s hope for her.’
Another shrug, but no words accompanied it this time.
‘How did she get along with Miss Mottram?’
‘She resented our closeness, mine and Mel’s, I think but…’ He touched his face and looked abashed. ‘She is spoiled and indulged but she’s incapable of harming anyone. I know how it looks, what with it being her knife and everything but I very much doubt if she would resort to murder, especially as I never gave her reason to suppose there could be anything between us.’
Nicely deflected, Riley thought. ‘Are you aware that it was Lord Vermont who paid fifty guineas for Miss Mottram’s…sorry, for your seascape?’
Archer looked genuinely surprised. ‘Good God, did he?’
‘Can you think of any reason why he would have done so?’
‘No obvious explanation springs to mind, but there again, if Mel told him her paintings had gone into that gallery…well, as I say, she could be very persuasive.’
‘Or he could have been the father of her child?’ Riley suggested mildly. ‘Purchasing her painting was Miss Mottram’s price for keeping his name out of things.’
‘She wouldn’t stoop so low!’ Archer cried hotly. ‘She had far more class than that.’
‘Class? She was unmarried and pregnant.’
‘It doesn’t follow that the attentions of the man who forced himself upon her were welcome.’
‘Indeed it does not, but it certainly makes you wonder what she did with her time in London on her afternoons off. Are you absolutely sure you didn’t follow her once or twice, and know more about her friends than you’re letting on?’
‘Completely sure.’
Riley sighed and stood, satisfied that he had got everything from Archer that he was likely to, at least for the time being. Undecided still as to his guilt, he had Evans, who wasn’t a member of his team, to confirm if necessary that he’d given him a tough grilling. That ought to keep Danforth off his back, at least for now.
‘Very well, you are free to go. If you are as interested in getting to the truth as you have led me to believe though, you will keep everything we have discussed here today to yourself. It’s vital that certain aspects don’t come to light prematurely. If they do, it could seriously hinder our ability to catch the guilty party. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Crystal.’
‘If you do say anything to anyone in confidence, I shall find out and know what conclusions to draw.’
‘We both want the same thing, inspector.’
‘My superiors are keen for me to arrest you and charge you with murder, given that you had means, motive and opportunity—’
Archer’s mouth fell open. ‘But that’s ridiculous!’
‘I agree, which is why I am not following that course of action.’ He allowed a significant pause. ‘At least not yet. But I would again emphasise that if any of the confidential details we have discussed this morning leak out, I shall know they have come from you and such disclosures will forfeit your right to the benefit of the doubt.’
‘I won’t say anything, inspector. Despite what you think of me, I am as keen as you are to find the person who did this terrible thing.’
‘Very well. Constable, show Mr Archer to the door, if you please.’