Chapter Seven
Riley arrived at Scotland Yard early the following morning, ahead of his colleagues. He took advantage of the solitude to mull over all he had learned thus far about the habits of Rod Woodrow. He was unable to decide which of his suspects ought to take precedence, so he settled upon a three-pronged approach.
‘Morning, sir.’ Salter put his head round Riley’s door. ‘You been here all night? Should have thought your priorities would have changed by now.’
‘Morning, Jack. Want to get this case solved before the Christmas festivities are upon us.’ Riley tapped his pen absently on top of the papers he had been reading. ‘Send Carter and Soames to have a word with Covington’s coachman. I want to know what time William Woodrow arrived at their soiree on the night of his brother’s murder, what time he left, how and with whom. Once they’ve obtained that information they need to bring William in to answer a few questions. He won’t be happy about it and will throw his weight around. Make sure they insist.’
‘Right-ho. What are we going to do in the meantime?’
‘It’s beyond time that we visited Lady Eldridge and Mrs Cowley and persuaded them to admit that they too were being blackmailed by Rod Woodrow. They both live in the vicinity of the Brompton Road, which will make our life a fraction easier.’
‘What if they have husbands at home who demand to know our business?’
‘Lady Eldridge is a widow, although she does have a son who resides with her. He works in government and I’ve heard it said that his star is in the ascendency within the civil service, so he should be at work. Mrs Cowley’s husband is an invalid who seldom leaves his rooms, and they have no children.’
‘Both sound as though they would be easy prey for a man of Woodrow’s ilk,’ Salter said, sniffing. ‘Wealthy women with time on their hands, old enough to appreciate the attentions of a younger man.’
Riley conceded the point with a nod. ‘Durand is my other concern. Stout is doing a little probing in that regard, but unless one of his servants admits that his master went out late that night then…’ Riley spread his hands and gave a frustrated sigh.
‘It would be too dangerous for him to have walked to Half Moon Street alone at that time of night,’ Salter pointed out. ‘But if he was intent upon murder he wouldn’t have taken his carriage ’cause it would put his coachman in a position of being a witness to his movements. Far too dangerous for such a cautious man. Besides, someone would have remarked upon it waiting outside Woodrow’s house if he had, so if he was there he must have taken a Hansom.’
‘Good point, Jack. Have Carter and Soames talk to the jarveys who work the night shift. They wait for fares at Waterloo, which is the closest point to Durand’s home.’ Riley rubbed his hands together, glad that at least Salter was thinking with clarity. ‘That leaves us with Kempton. He runs his father-in-law’s business in gold bullion—now his own business—from premises in Hatton Garden.’
‘Do you intend to quiz him?’
‘Not sure yet.’ Riley leaned back in his chair. ‘There seems little point when I have nothing to throw at him. If he really doesn’t know about his wife’s generosity towards Woodrow, and if she didn’t have anything to do with his death, it’ll only make problems for her. But even so, we shall have to find out what he was up to at the time of the murder. Did you know that the price of gold bullion recently fell through the floor?’
‘Can’t say I did.’ He sent Riley a lurid grin. ‘Ain’t checked my portfolio recently, sir.’
Riley snorted. ‘The Married Woman’s Property Act made the markets jittery. I imagine they assume such creatures would be incapable of making wise investments if they insist upon managing their own affairs, and therefore pose a threat to the entire country’s economy. Anyway, I’d very much like to know how the fall affected Kempton’s business.’
‘I’m not with you, sir.’ Salter frowned. ‘What bearing would his business affairs have on Woodrow’s murder?’
‘If he got his feet wet he might have been required to appeal to his wife to bail him out and save her father’s lifetime’s work from going under. That would not have made her happy. She married him because she had no choice, but if he turns out to be an unreliable provider she might have been looking for a way out.’
‘Ah, so she wanted rid of him. Told him she would help him if he helped her. Invented some story about Woodrow threatening to tell the truth about the baby’s parentage, which would make Kempton look like a fool and most likely turn him murderous with rage. Once he’d done away with Woodrow, all she’d have had to do was point us in his direction, which is what she did.’ Salter scratched his head. ‘But why would she go to such extremes? She was in love with Woodrow.’
‘We only have her word for that. Perhaps seeing him actively pursuing Laura Durand inflamed her with jealousy. If she couldn’t have him, no one else would.’
‘All well and good in theory, sir, but how the devil are we supposed to prove something like that?’
‘First things first, Jack. I have a friend who dabbles in the bullion markets. I’ll run him to earth later and see if he’s heard any rumours about Kempton’s fortunes. That will give us something to work with.’
They talked in circles for a while, exchanging ideas and inventing increasingly unlikely scenarios, which helped to clarify Riley’s thinking. When they had exhausted all possible options, Salter went off to put the arrangements Riley had asked of him in hand before the two of them set off for Brompton Road. The biting cold and the intermittent sleet kept all but the hardy and most desperate indoors. Those who were out and about scurried to complete their business as quickly as possible. There were few of the usual costermongers, ballad singers, flower sellers or rag-and-bone men on the street. Riley spared a moment’s sympathy for the poor souls who had no choice but to brave the elements in clothing ill-equipped to stave off the cold. It was beyond time, in his opinion, that politicians stopped arguing amongst themselves and did something worthwhile to help the most desperate members of society.
Lady Eldridge’s town house wore an air of faded grandeur and was in urgent need of a little loving care. They were admitted to an equally shabby interior by a uniformed maid and asked to wait. A short time later then were shown into a comfortable morning room, where Lady Eldridge, a lady in her early fifties, rose from a chair in front of a roaring fire and greeted them graciously.
‘Lord Riley, what an unexpected pleasure.’
‘Lady Eldridge.’ Riley bowed over her hand and then introduced Salter.
‘Sergeant,’ she said politely, a small frown creasing her brow. ‘Please have a seat, gentlemen. Should I be concerned about a visit from two of Scotland Yard’s detectives?’
‘We have no immediate plans for your arrest,’ Riley replied, smiling, ‘but are in need of your assistance.’
‘Refreshments?’ The both declined. Lady Eldridge waved the hovering maid away. ‘Then what can I do for you?’
‘We are investigating the death—the violent murder—of Roderick Woodrow.’
‘Ah!’ She sighed. ‘Such a terrible tragedy. Do you have any idea who did it?’
‘We have several suspects.’ Riley adjusted his position in the chair he had foolishly chosen. Its uneven stuffing made it impossible for him to sit straight. If he remained in it for too long he would be in danger of developing a permanent tilt to the left. ‘Can you tell me why you gave him a reference when he took his lodgings in Half Moon Street?’
‘Because he asked me to,’ she replied without hesitation, ‘and I was happy to oblige.’
‘How well did you know him?’
She lifted one shoulder. ‘How well does anyone know one’s social peers?’
‘Which is really no answer at all,’ Riley said, his tone hardening. ‘We know you paid him thirty guineas each quarter. I cannot help wondering why you would do such a thing when, if you will excuse my bluntness, I suspect you cannot afford it.’ His glance encompassed the dated décor to emphasise his point.
‘Oh bother, I had hoped you would not find out about that. So embarrassing.’ She briefly looked away from Riley. Her throat worked as she laced her fingers together, only to pull them apart again before repeating the process. ‘He knew about some dealings that my late husband had with his own father that would have seriously jeopardise my son’s career if they became public knowledge.’
‘What dealings?’
‘I would prefer not to say.’
‘And I’m afraid I must insist that you do.’ Riley softened his tone. ‘I don’t for one moment suspect you of any involvement in Woodrow’s demise, but some suspicion lingers over members of his own family.’ Riley spread his hands. ‘I am sure you understand that I cannot make an arrest without proof, and if I can’t find that proof his murderer will escape the punishment he deserves.’
‘Well, since you put it like that.’ She folded her hands yet again, looking exceedingly distressed. ‘My husband enjoyed his peccadillos, Lord Riley, all of which I pretended not to know about, until his wandering eye fell upon our young housekeeper. I was not best pleased when he dallied beneath this roof and even more mortified when a child resulted. A daughter.’
‘Your husband’s by-blow,’ Salter said.
‘If you wish to put it that way. Obviously, it was impossible for the mother and child to remain in my employment. It is a relatively small house and I am not that broadminded. So Raymond persuaded Woodrow to appoint her to the vacancy he had for a housekeeper at Woodrow House and to take the child in too since the mother refused to part with her.’
‘And Rod Woodrow threatened to make that information public,’ Riley said with a grimace. ‘He blackmailed you.’
‘Oh no, Lord Riley, nothing nearly so vulgar. Well actually yes, although the word blackmail was never mentioned. It was all very delicately arranged, and Rod and I remained on the best of terms. He was a dear boy, but hopelessly impractical. I did not mind helping him out. He asked me one day if I had kept in contact with the child, my husband’s child, and if I knew what had become of her. I told him I had not, which was true.’
‘Do you know why he raised the subject with you?’ Riley asked. ‘It seems…well, a little uncouth?’
‘He knew it was I who had insisted she be removed from this house, even though the poor girl’s condition was not entirely her own fault. Anyway, I told Rod I had absolutely no idea if she had remained at Woodrow House, but I assumed that if he knew the sordid details…bear in mind he was very young himself when all this happened…then she must have left his family’s employ, otherwise why ask about her? I was tempted to suggest that he ask his father, but really didn’t want to think about the subject at all. The welfare of the woman and her child was no concern of mine once they left here. I was simply relieved to be rid of the problem and hoped my husband had learned to…well, to keep his less palatable activities well away from his home.’
‘Understandable,’ Riley said.
‘Anyway, Rod didn’t refer to the girl again but did casually mention in that charming manner of his that he’d been obliged to leave Woodrow House and that a single man living alone in London with a position to maintain found it expensive. I knew then, of course, why he had raised the subject of the housekeeper and her child—’
‘That must have made you angry,’ Salter said.
‘Actually no. I suppose it should have done, but Rod had a way about him that made it almost impossible to object to anything he said or did. I told him I could help him out to the tune of thirty guineas a quarter but no more than that without my son asking questions.’
‘Your son doesn’t know?’ Riley asked.
‘No, Lord Riley, he does not, and I would much prefer for it to remain that way. Not that it matters much, I suppose, now that Rod is dead,’ she said with a small sigh, ‘but Duncan looked up to his father and I would not want to shatter his illusions.’
Riley wasn’t about to make promises that he might not later be in a position to honour, so gave no assurances about keeping Duncan Eldridge in ignorance. ‘Others paid Woodrow too, you know,’ he remarked.
‘I am not in the least surprised to hear it.’ She chuckled. ‘Rod could have sold sand to the Egyptians. He was always so charmingly attentive when we met privately so that I could pay him his quarterly dues. I looked forward to the occasions, pathetic though that probably sounds to you. The vulgar subject of cash was never raised, of course. I simply gave him tea and left an envelope beside his chair. When he left it was gone.’
‘Are you personally aware of anyone else?’
‘That is hardly something Rod would have shared. I rewarded his discretion. If he let me down I would have ceased paying him.’
‘Do you know of anyone with the initials DC?’ Salter asked.
‘Mrs Dorothy Carrington springs to mind,’ Lady Eldridge said, having paused to consider the question. ‘But she is on an extended overseas tour. She left England over a year ago.’
‘Was she acquainted with Woodrow?’ Riley asked.
‘Everyone in our circle knew him.’ She chuckled. ‘He was hard to miss.’
Having exhausted Lady Eldridge’s supply of information upon the subject of Woodrow, Riley thanked her and the two detectives took their leave.
‘Did you believe her, sir?’ Salter asked. ‘I mean, her husband took a mistress who bore him a child. Hardly earth-shattering news. Your lot routinely get up to that sort of thing.’
‘But it’s frowned upon to play games with a member of one’s household, sergeant, a woman who risks losing her position if she turns the master down. Eldridge impregnated her but refused to stand by his responsibilities and look after her and the child.’ Riley shook his head. ‘Make no mistake, Jack, that sort of dishonourable behaviour would most definitely be frowned upon.’
Salter grunted. ‘I see,’ he said, turning up his collar as a bitter wind blew icy rain into their faces. ‘Do you really think she didn’t mind paying him?’
‘She is not the first of his victims to give us that impression,’ Riley replied. ‘He wasn’t too greedy, the ladies he fleeced could afford it and seemed intoxicated by him. No, I don’t think she minded at all.’
They increased their pace, waited for a gap in the traffic and crossed the road, narrowly avoiding being mown down by a private carriage being driven at a reckless pace. Salter wielded Mrs Cowley’s door knocker and once again they were not kept waiting for long before being admitted to the presence of a small, painfully thin woman with the pinched expression of unfulfilled expectations. Riley knew that her husband, twenty years her senior, had been an invalid for a considerable time. Unlike Lady Eldridge’s home, Mrs Cowley’s establishment was the first word in elegance, having had a considerable sum lavished on its interior and furnishings. Yet Mrs Cowley had been prevented by her husband’s illness from showing it off, accounting for her disappointment, no doubt. She had once harboured aspirations to become a leading hostess, but instead she had become an irrelevance, with no children upon whom she could devote her attention and transfer her ambitions.
‘Lord Riley.’ She stood as they entered the room, a nervous and reluctant smile briefly touching her lips. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure.’
‘I fear it is not a social call, ma’am.’ Riley introduced Salter and the two men took possession of the chairs that Mrs Cowley directed them towards.
‘I see.’ Mrs Cowley moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue as her gaze darted about the room. She said nothing more. No offer of refreshment was forthcoming, and she seemed lost in thought.
‘You gave Rod Woodrow a reference when he took a tenancy in Half Moon Street,’ Riley said, coming straight to the point. ‘May I ask why?’
‘He was a dear friend.’
She continued to stare straight ahead and did not elaborate. Riley could see now that her eyes were puffy. She too had shed tears over Woodrow’s demise. Riley, who was perfectly comfortable with…well, uncomfortable silences, allowed this one to stretch between them, confident that Mrs Cowley would eventually feel compelled to break it and offer a further explanation. She did not disappoint.
‘Rod took an interest in my problems and understood them in a way few others ever seemed to. Because I have all of this,’ she said, waving her hand around the elegant room, ‘I could not possibly be dissatisfied. Yet money does not buy happiness, I can assure you of that much. My husband has been unwell for almost all our married life. I have no children and few friends, since society would not look kindly upon a woman who gallivants around town leaving her ailing husband to his own devices.’
‘How then did you meet Rod Woodrow?’ Salter asked.
‘My husband had and still has some influence in political circles. When he was enjoying one of his rare healthy spells, the Woodrows invited us to dine so that William could discuss his political ambitions with Godfrey and ask for his sponsorship. Rod was there. He could see that I was bored rigid and took the trouble to engage me in more agreeable conversation. We have remained friends ever since…or had.’ She dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. ‘This is a very sad time for me, Lord Riley. Frankly, I don’t know how I shall manage without him.’
‘You paid him regular amounts.’ Riley spoke with authority, as though he knew it for a fact. Mrs Cowley confirmed his suspicions by gasping.
‘How did you…’ Ugly red blotches appeared on her pale face. ‘He promised me that our business arrangement would remain our secret.’
‘Unfortunately, ma’am, this is a murder investigation. Nothing remains confidential. I know how much you paid him. What I don’t know is why.’
‘I chose to support a charming young man who wanted to forge his own path,’ she replied, not meeting Riley’s gaze.
‘Excuse me if I don’t believe you.’
‘I beg your pardon!’ She puffed out her thin chest, but her outraged expression failed to conceal an underlying fear.
‘You are not the only lady who contributed to Rod’s living expenses,’ Riley said, his voice firming, ‘although he probably led you to believe that there was something special about you.’
‘I…well—’ Her mouth opened and closed but no coherent words escaped it.
‘Rod knew something to your detriment and you paid for his silence. If you are not willing to tell me what it is then I shall have to ask your husband.’
Her cheeks now flamed scarlet with indignation. ‘You wouldn’t dare disturb an ailing man!’
‘I suggest you do not put that assertion to the test,’ Riley replied, steel in his tone. ‘Besides, if you cared for Rod even half as much as you have led me to believe, then you will want to help me find out who killed him.’
‘Of course I want to know who killed him, but my reasons for supporting him had nothing to do with the cause of his death.’
‘How can you possibly know that?’
‘Very well, since you insist.’ In a state of considerable agitation, she laced her fingers together in her lap. ‘Rod listened to me. He could see that I was unhappy and gradually persuaded me to confide in him. Rod was a very easy man to talk to, and impossible to shock. When I told him how desperately I wanted a child but that Godfrey’s efforts to provide me with one had come to nothing, he offered…well, I don’t suppose I need to spell it out to you.’ She dropped her head into her hands and wept briefly. ‘Put like that it all sounds so sordid, but it was actually the most beautiful, the most natural thing in the world. Not that a child came of it, unfortunately, but that wasn’t for want of trying on Rod’s part.’
‘Thank you,’ Riley said softly. ‘I realise that was not easy for you and I cannot see any reason for word of it to be included in any written reports.’
‘I am much obliged to you, Lord Riley.’ Mrs Cowley recovered her composure, after a fashion. ‘That is a great relief and I hope you find whoever did this to poor Rod. He was a rascal—but he had a conscience.’
‘A rascal with a conscience who lived off wealthy women,’ Salter grumbled as the two detectives made their way back to Scotland Yard.
‘Well, Jack, as I said before, none of the ladies who paid him seemed to resent doing so. We have just had that confirmed for a third time. Our Roderick was a clever chap. If he’d had to threaten any of them to stump up quarter after quarter they would eventually have grown weary of his demands and told their spouses, or someone else, in order to put a stop to the blackmail. Rod made sure he only scrounged from willing victims and appeared to give value for money in return, at least to their way of thinking.’
‘How could he…’ Salter growled something unintelligible. ‘How could he calmly bed someone else’s wife for money?’
‘There are ladies in Covent Garden who do that sort of thing with married men all the time.’
‘Yeah, but they can pretend…well, you know. A man has to rise to the occasion.’
Riley chuckled. ‘Rod clearly had no problems in that regard.’
‘You don’t think anyone connected to Cowley found out and did him in? I mean, Cowley couldn’t impregnate his wife so some impudent cove took it upon himself to undertake that duty for him. Not that he succeeded, but if he had, her husband’s pride would never have recovered from the humiliation.’
‘I don’t think Cowley knew—or cared, for that matter. He certainly couldn’t have done the deed himself and doesn’t have any male relatives capable of undertaking it on his behalf. No, I think we can safely put the Cowleys firmly at the bottom of the suspect list. But we might have to have a word with Lady Eldridge’s son if no other leads present themselves.’
Their conversation took them back to Scotland Yard, where Sergeant Barton told them that a young woman awaited them, claiming to have vital information about the Woodrow murder.
‘Does she have a name, Barton?’ Riley asked.
‘Alice Fanshaw.’
Riley shook her head. ‘Doesn’t sound familiar.’
‘She ain’t one of your lot. More working class, I’d say, and in a right state, too.’
‘Have Carter and Soames returned with William Woodrow?’
‘Just now, then they went out again. Something about talking to cabbies. Woodrow made a right old fuss when he demanded to see you at once and was told you weren’t here. Anyway, Carter said to tell you that Woodrow left the Covingtons at midnight. Their coachman hailed him a cab but didn’t hear what destination he gave the jarvey.’
‘Damn! All right. Thank you, sergeant. Woodrow can wait a bit longer. Give me a couple of minutes, Barton, then bring Miss Fanshaw through to my office. I will see her first.’
He and Salter divested themselves of their hats and coats and settled into Riley’s office as they awaited the girl’s arrival. Riley was obliged to inhale sharply when she walked through his door. Dressed respectably in cheap clothing and with huge tragic green eyes reddened through tears, she was still one of the most exquisitely beautiful young women he had ever laid eyes upon. Salter exchanged a puzzled look with Riley as he pulled out a chair for her and helped her into it.
‘Good morning, Miss Fanshaw,’ Riley said. ‘I am Inspector Rochester and this is Sergeant Salter. I hear you have something to tell me about Mr Woodrow’s death.’
‘Is he really dead?’ She screwed her hands into tight balls and gripped the fabric of her skirt. ‘Please tell me it ain’t so.’ Her voice was soft and unmodulated. ‘I can’t bear it.’
‘I am sorry to say it’s true,’ Riley replied, steeling himself for hysterics that didn’t materialise. ‘May I ask how you were acquainted with him?’
‘Acquainted? Upon my life, we was more than mere acquaintances, sir. We were engaged to be married.’ She removed the glove from her left hand and triumphantly flashed a small diamond ring beneath Riley’s nose. ‘He was me heart’s desire and I was his.’ She sobbed into her handkerchief. ‘There will never be another for me. My life is over.’