Chapter Six
Riley’s first action when he got back to London was to check up on the investigation’s progress. There was none. By the time he returned to his Sloane Street townhouse he barely had time to change before keeping his dinner engagement with Amelia Cosgrove. His man, the inaptly named Stout, had Riley’s evening clothes and a hot bath ready for him.
‘Been gallivanting about on the railways I see, my lord,’ he said, turning up his nose at the sooty stains on Riley’s formerly pristine white shirt.
‘Having a whale of a time, Stout,’ he replied, stripping off the rest of his clothing and sinking gratefully into the steaming water. ‘I’m short of time. Can I get away without shaving?’
Stout pressed his lips together and looked at Riley with an expression of disdain.
‘Best shave me whilst I’m still in the tub then.’ Riley sighed, knowing better than to earn Stout’s disapproval by flouting his exacting standards. Stout was inordinately fond of Amelia and would consider it to be a stain on his own character if Riley looked anything other than perfectly turned out. She was one of the few people who could persuade Riley’s dour servant to occasionally smile, or to speak when words were not strictly necessary. Despite his lack of social graces, Stout was loyal to a fault, had connections in the most unlikely of places and often helped with Riley’s official investigations, using his ability to blend into certain areas where officialdom was not welcome.
‘What do you know about specialist brothels, Stout?’ he asked as his servant lathered Riley’s jaw.
Stout didn’t show any reaction to the odd question. ‘Care to be more specific, my lord.’
Riley gave Stout a brief account of his current investigation, managing to elicit a brief snort of amusement from his man when he learned of Danforth’s predilections.
‘I’ve heard of Mrs Sinclair,’ he said, stropping the blade of his razor. ‘She has a reputation for keeping a clean house and catering for the more discerning client. But the services her girls provide don’t come cheap.’
‘Adelaide was arguably her most valuable asset. How much would an hour in her company set a man back?’ Riley belatedly realised that he should have obtained that information from Mrs Sinclair, even though he was unsure what bearing it might have on his investigation. He let out a slow whistle when Stout told him, thinking it better not to enquire how his man could have provided him with such a precise answer. Riley had no idea how Stout occupied his leisure hours and had no intention of asking him. He was entitled to his privacy.
‘How much would Adelaide receive, do you suppose?’
‘Half. That’s the usual arrangement.’
‘So setting up on her own, or accepting a more generous percentage from a competing madam keen to steal a march on Mrs Sinclair would be an attractive proposition? Perhaps that was what she intended to do. Mrs Sinclair found out, couldn’t persuade her to stay and so eliminated her, or arranged for someone else to do the eliminating.’
‘It’s certainly a cutthroat business,’ Stout agreed, ‘but would she do the deed on her own premises and leave the poor girl there for all the world to see? Wouldn’t help her business, I don’t expect.’
Stout wielded a razor perilously close to Riley’s own throat as he spoke, so Riley thought it wise not to nod, and merely grunted. ‘Take yourself out this evening, Stout,’ he said, when the razor was out of harm’s way, ‘and see what’s being said about the death of Adelaide. I dare say word has spread by now.’
‘As you wish.’
‘Who is Mrs Sinclair’s main competitor in the specialist market?’
‘Mrs Arnold, in Half Moon Street. She opened for business a few years ago and I think she stole a few of Mrs Sinclair’s girls. There has been open warfare between them ever since.’
‘Has there indeed! Thank you, Stout. Thank you very much.’
‘I live to serve.’
Further conversation was rendered impossible by the swishing of Stout’s razor and its renewed proximity to Riley’s throat. Recollections of the cause of Adelaide’s death were still fresh in his mind and he had no desire to endure a similar fate.
A few minutes later, shaved, bathed and dressed in his evening clothes, Riley inspected his image and nodded his satisfaction. His dark hair, a little too long, fell across his cynical grey eyes, giving him a rakish appearance, of which his mother thoroughly disapproved. He looked as tired as he felt, but was sure that Amelia’s beguiling and always challenging company would revive him.
‘Thank you for making me look presentable, Stout.’
‘Have a pleasant evening, my lord.’
Stout helped Riley into his coat before handing him his hat and gloves. Riley strode through the door that Stout opened for him and took himself off to walk the short distance through the light yet persistent drizzle to Amelia’s house in Chelsea. Stout, he knew, was bound for less respectable parts and would blend in with his surroundings effortlessly, speaking little, missing nothing. Riley chuckled to himself, concluding that Stout couldn’t possibly possess such precise information about London’s demimonde unless he spoke from experience. He found it hard to imagine his fastidious manservant relaxing his standards to the extent that he would place himself in someone else’s hands, ceding control in the pursuit of pleasure. But then again he was a man, with needs that would require satisfying, just as Riley’s did. He could afford the exclusive services of a courtesan. Most men could not.
Amelia’s butler Norris admitted Riley only ten minutes after the agreed time. He found his hostess looking as lovely as always, clad in a strawberry-coloured gown of changeable silk that bared her shoulders and was cut low enough to display a tantalising glimpse of her breasts. Her smile when Riley walked into her drawing room lit up her lovely features and took his breath away. He felt the travails of the day slipping from his shoulders and wondered, not for the first time, what prevented him from proposing to her. If she agreed to be his wife, he could look forward to her company every evening and would have a reason to…well, to live for something other than his work.
He was sorely tempted, but Amelia’s attitude deterred him. She had made it clear that she had no interest in marrying again after a less than happy first marriage. Keen as she was to see him married, Riley’s mother had made it equally clear that she would not approve if Amelia was his choice. She had been married before and that union had been childless, so his mother would assume that Amelia was barren. Riley might well be required to sire the next Marquess of Chichester, his brother’s only son being of a sickly disposition. In his mother’s biased opinion, regardless of Riley’s feelings for her, Amelia would not be a risk worth taking.
Be that as it may, his mother’s views wouldn’t prevent Riley from following his heart. Perhaps it was the prospect of rejection that held him back, or the conflict that would be created between his duties at the Yard and his obligations as a husband. He would no longer be free to please himself if he had a wife’s interests to consider. There again, he felt comfortable in Amelia’s company simply because she didn’t try to ensnare him—the only unmarried woman of his acquaintance who did not. Best leave matters as they were and not rock the boat, he reluctantly decided. If he suspected that she had taken an interest in another man, then he would reconsider his strategy.
‘I apologise for being so tardy,’ he said, kissing the back of her hand and holding onto it for a protracted period. ‘I hope I have not disrupted your arrangements.’
‘You are barely late at all,’ Amelia replied, reclaiming her hand and motioning Riley towards a chair. He waited for her to seat herself and then took it. ‘I dare say you are investigating some ghastly crime and that has kept you fully occupied for the entire day.’
‘Something of that nature, but for now I would prefer not to discuss it.’
‘Then we will not talk of it. Whisky for his lordship please, Norris. I get the impression that he is sorely in need of it.’
‘Tell me about your day,’ he said, smiling at her and nodding his thanks to Norris as he took the glass from his salver.
‘Oh, it was fairly ordinary, apart from the fact that your niece came for her harp lesson this afternoon.’
‘Cabbage was here?’
Riley had always affectionately referred to Sophia, the eldest of his brother Henry’s children, as Cabbage. Her parents took little interest in her, reserving their attention for their precocious son, the seven-year-old and much cossetted Jasper, heir to the Chichester marquessate. Henry and Riley didn’t see eye to eye on most subjects and Riley avoided contact with the stuffy and self-aware marquess as much as he possibly could. But Sophia possessed a sunny disposition, and if she realised that she was neglected she didn’t seem to mind. It fell to Riley to mind on her behalf and he tried to make it up to her by giving her as much of his time as he could manage.
Sophia, now almost fifteen, had spent the summer in London sharing her time between Riley’s mother, the dowager marchioness, and his sister Martha. She had dipped her toe into society beneath the marchioness’s chaperonage and had injected a certain joie de vivre into activities that Riley customarily looked upon with a jaded eye. The start of the season was now upon them and yet Sophia remained in London. Her mother had probably forgotten about her existence, Riley thought with a cynical twist of his lips.
‘You know that she comes as regularly as she can manage. I think your mother invents excuses for her not to, even though she can’t possibly object to her learning to play the harp,’ Amelia said with a mischievous smile. ‘It is more the teacher’s influence that she objects to, I imagine.’
‘Hardly,’ Riley said, aware that it was true.
‘There’s no need to spare my feelings, Riley. I am aware that your mother does not approve of our friendship because she assumes I’m anxious to get my possessive claws into you.’
Riley sighed, wondering if Amelia really was as immune to his mother’s disapproval as she often implied. ‘If only that were true,’ he said, making Amelia laugh and shake her head.
‘You would run a mile if it was.’
‘What progress does Cabbage make?’ Riley asked, thinking it prudent to change the subject.
Amelia sent him a knowing look. ‘She is a remarkably quick learner and enjoys her lessons almost as much as I enjoy instructing her.’
Riley smiled. ‘Cabbage enjoys everything she does. Spending time in her company quite restores one’s faith in human nature, I find.’
‘She wants you to hear her play. Do you think you could stand to? Your opinion means so much to her.’
‘Of course I can. Best make it early evening. I am less likely to be distracted by my duties at such a time. I would not want to disappoint her.’
‘Very well. I will arrange something and let you know.’ Amelia cleared her throat. ‘Your sister is giving a soiree tomorrow evening and Sophia came with an invitation for me. Would you know anything about that?’
‘If that is your artful way of trying to discover whether I asked Martha to issue it then the answer is no, but I am very glad that she did. Besides, since you spend so much time with Cabbage, it stands to reason that she would want you there.’ Riley paused and fixed her with a significant look. ‘As would I.’
‘Very well then, I shall attend and risk your mother’s wrath.’
Riley gave a theatrical shudder. ‘I admire your courage.’
‘There will be enough people there, now that everyone is back in town, for me to blend into the background. Your mother won’t even notice me.’
Riley laughed. ‘Fishing for compliments, Amelia? We both know that your blending into the background unnoticed is about as likely to happen as Henry taking a sudden interest in his daughter’s wellbeing.’
‘I shall keep my opinion to myself with regard to your brother’s neglect of Sophia, even if I suspect that it closely mirrors your own. At least if he doesn’t want her in Chichester, we can be assured of the pleasure of her company here.’
‘You are very good to her, Amelia. She needs a friendly female in whom to confide. I don’t think she has many friends of her own age.’
‘I am twice her age, but I suppose because we are not related she feels she can speak more candidly to me.’
‘I will collect you and we can go to Martha’s together.’ Riley held up a hand. ‘I don’t give a damn if my mother objects. We are friends, you do not keep a carriage and we live close to one another. It makes sense for us to go together and there’s an end to the matter.’
‘Very well. Thank you, but please don’t think I mentioned the invitation in the expectation of you offering to escort me, since I most assuredly did not.’
‘Perhaps I asked Martha to invite you so that I would have an excuse to escort you.’
Amelia shook her head. ‘Stop being so gallant, Riley. It’s me you are talking to, and I know you far too well to be deceived.’
Riley studied her over the rim of his glass, finding it hard to identify her current mood. She seemed almost nervous about the prospect of his mother’s disapproval, which was most unlike Amelia. Her opinion of society’s absurdly rigid rules was very similar to his and she was not afraid to express it. Nor was she afraid, as far as he was aware, of giving offence, deliberately or otherwise. He was fascinated by the manner in which the lamplight glowed upon her tawny curls and caused her green eyes to shine like those of an exotic, untamed cat. That was how Riley thought of Amelia, he realised now. He likened her to a lithe, sleek and sophisticated feline who would always be a tantalisingly free spirit.
‘You are a hard woman to compliment, Mrs Cosgrove,’ he said softly.
‘I don’t seek false praise, Lord Riley,’ she replied, meeting his gaze with a recklessly sensual expression that produced in him an involuntary rush of primal desire. She was flirting with him, something she had always avoided doing in the past, and Riley was unsure how to respond. If he followed his instincts, they would cross a boundary from which there would be no turning back.
The spell was broken when Norris entered the room, cleared his throat and announced that dinner was served. Riley put his empty glass aside, offered Amelia his arm and escorted her through to the dining parlour. By the time they were seated she appeared to have become her usual irreverent self again, leaving Riley wondering if he had imagined the momentary lapse in her behaviour. Could it have been wishful thinking on his part?
The meal was delicious and they spoke of general matters during the course of it. When they had finished, they returned to the drawing room together and Riley accepted another glass of whisky. Amelia seated herself at her harp and filled the house with its melodic sound. Riley applauded when her fingers stilled and the final notes faded.
‘I somehow doubt that Cabbage will ever reach your standard,’ he said, meaning it.
‘Oh, I spent hours during my marriage practising until my fingers were too sore to continue,’ she said, resuming her seat beside him. ‘I had precious little else to do with my time.’
Amelia seldom alluded to the years of her marriage, which she had spent in America where her husband had business interests. Riley knew it had been an unhappy union, and was filled with curiosity about the late and unlamented Cosgrove. But he wouldn’t intrude upon her privacy. If she wanted him to know what had occurred to make her so fiercely disinclined to marry again then she would tell him without any coercion on his part.
‘Anyway,’ she added, ‘Sophia is proving to be a diligent pupil and will do well enough if she decides to stick with the instrument.’
‘She seldom drops any occupation that interests her.’
‘Ah, but have you considered the possibility that the harp only interests her because you frequently say how much you enjoy hearing it?’
‘Heavens no!’
‘Well, you should. Sophia will do anything to impress you. She adores you and hankers after your good opinion.’
‘She is assured of that.’
‘Yes, I expect she is.’ Amelia nodded her thanks when Norris entered the room and served her with coffee. He replenished Riley’s glass and left the room, closing the door softly behind him. ‘Now, tell me about your new case,’ Amelia invited.
Riley knew he should not discuss details with anyone outside Scotland Yard, but he didn’t hesitate to tell Amelia all the particulars in much the same way that he had told Stout. He could rely upon them both to exercise discretion. Besides, Amelia had acted as a sounding board with previous cases and often offered insightful suggestions that had not occurred to Riley or Salter. Even the salacious nature of this particular murder prevented him from holding back. Amelia had been married and was not easily shocked.
‘The poor girl,’ she said when Riley ran out of words, shaking her head in genuine sorrow. ‘You imagine, I suppose, that the uncle with the scarred face is the man she was seen talking to in London. He found her, perhaps by accident, has always been resentful and sought revenge for his disfigurement.’
‘Possibly. I don’t doubt for a minute that Miss Huxton created discord in that household. She sounds like a sanctimonious old witch whenever she opens her mouth, jealous of her brother’s wife and her own niece.’
‘It isn’t like you to be so judgemental, Riley. I don’t suppose she was born that way. Perhaps she has had disappointments in own her life that changed her attitude.’
‘I stand corrected.’ Riley suppressed a smile. ‘Anyway, I haven’t met the brother yet, he of the scarred face, but I suspect he did what the girl accused him of.’
‘As do I,’ Amelia said with a decisive nod. ‘How would she know about such things otherwise?’
‘That is precisely the question that I asked Miss Huxton, but received no satisfactory response. Anyway, the brother is certainly a prime suspect, and Salter and I will have it out with him tomorrow.’
‘If he accompanies his brother to identify the girl.’
‘I don’t see that he has any choice, especially if he’s the guilty party. He will want to be sure that we don’t suspect him of anything. Besides, if he doesn’t come it will make it look to us as though he has something to hide.’
‘Yes, I can see that it would.’
‘Anyway, there are other suspects.’ He explained about the prim Grant. ‘He proposed not once but twice, thinking he was doing her a favour. He says she rejected him—’
‘And you suppose his pride was hurt?’
‘Unquestionably, but another possibility occurred to me. Supposing she actually accepted him? She confided in Ruby that she would soon be leaving Mrs Sinclair’s employ. Perhaps she decided to accept Grant and use her free time to entertain her regular clients whilst Grant was at work, thereby earning more than she would if Mrs Sinclair took her cut. Stout told me how much she would earn for an hour’s work, but Mrs Sinclair keeps half of it.’
‘How would Stout know?’ Amelia asked, looking amused.
‘You ask him if you dare.’
‘Poor Stout. I suppose you have sent him out this evening to delve into the demimonde.’
Riley smiled. ‘He didn’t raise too many objections.’
‘I keep telling you. The man holds you in considerable respect and will do anything you ask of him.’
‘Stout is not a sociable creature and it suits him to work in a house that isn’t teeming with servants and their strict hierarchy.’
‘Hmm.’ Amelia plucked at her lower lip with her forefinger. ‘Anyway, if Mrs Sinclair found out that Adelaide planned to leave her employ and set up in competition, she would have been desperate to hold on to her. I cannot imagine her being foolish enough to murder her most profitable asset.’ Amelia tilted her head as she thought the matter through. ‘I suspect she would be more likely to try and talk her out of it by…oh I don’t know, offering her a greater cut of the profits, or something of that nature.’
‘Stout tells me Mrs Sinclair has a deadly rival just around the corner in Half Moon Street. I shall have a word with her tomorrow.’
‘Goodness, you have more suspects than you will know what to do with.’
‘Precisely. For instance, what if Grant discovered that she had only accepted his proposal to give her a legitimate reason to leave Mrs Sinclair?’ Riley took a sip of his drink as he permitted the question to hang between them. ‘And planned to take half of Mrs Sinclair’s clients with her when she left Maiden Lane. But Grant wouldn’t have been any happier about it than Mrs Sinclair would. He told her that her time would be her own but I am absolutely sure he didn’t mean for her to occupy it in such a manner, and in his house too. He expected that by marrying her he would have exclusive rights to her services.’
‘Then he must be added to the list of suspects, although how you will prove your theory, even assuming it’s correct, is beyond me.’
Riley went on to explain about Tennyson, his criminal record and the possibility of him allowing customers into the house without Mrs Sinclair’s knowledge.
‘Risky,’ Amelia said pensively. ‘Unless said customers held information on Tennyson that would see him gaoled again if he didn’t cooperate with them. But even if they did, why would one of those customers kill the poor girl?’
‘Why indeed? But his name stays on the list, as do all of the other five men whom Adelaide entertained last night.’
Amelia shuddered. ‘The poor girl. But still, if she had to choose between that and living with her horrible-sounding aunt…’
Riley chuckled.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘I have saved the best until last.’
Amelia’s mouth fell open when Riley told her that Danforth had been one of Adelaide’s best customers.
‘Good lord! I can scarce believe it.’
‘If it helps, I can assure you that he was having difficulty sitting down this morning.’
‘Danforth?’ She shook her head, a wide smile breaking across her face. ‘But he has always been so judgemental of you, and seemed so above reproach.’
Riley shrugged. ‘Apparently not.’
‘He must be feeling mortified.’
‘So he should, the damned idiot.’ Riley shook his head. ‘He exploited his position by accepting Adelaide’s services free of charge in return for protecting the establishment from police raids. He could not have afforded her otherwise, but he doesn’t seem to realise that he’s laid himself open to blackmail, or worse. His integrity, such as it was, has been compromised but all he seems to care about is making sure no one knows his unpleasant little secret. He seemed to think that I would enjoy spreading the word just to humiliate him.’
‘Which goes to show just how little credit he gives to your gentlemanly instincts. You would never stoop to his level.’
‘Perhaps not, but I will not be able to keep his involvement a secret indefinitely. It will leak out eventually and then he will have to face derision from all those he has attempted to bully during his tenure as chief inspector. I can’t do anything about that and suspect that his position will prove untenable, even if the superintendent decides not to relieve him of his duties on a permanent basis.’
‘You will have to treat him as a suspect, I suppose.’
‘Yes, but he didn’t do it. He left well before the end of the evening, when Adelaide was still alive. I can’t see him creeping back in to kill her and risking the very exposure he’s now…well, exposed to.’
‘She might have been demanding payment from him to keep their liaisons secret.’
Riley nodded. ‘That thought had occurred to me, but somehow I doubt whether she would do that. Girls don’t rise to the top of her profession if they are indiscreet. Anyway, Danforth is nobody’s fool and could have made her life a living hell if she threatened him. And he could have done it without resorting to murder.’
‘Perhaps the killer acted out of jealousy.’
‘Very possibly.’ Riley sighed. ‘All of her customers were devoted to her, considered her their own personal property and might well have resented the attention she gave to others. Grant certainly felt that way, and possessiveness tends to blight a man’s judgement.’
‘Do you think you will solve this crime, Riley?’ Amelia asked, jumping when a log crackled in the grate and sent a shower of sparks flying up the chimney. ‘You seem to have a lot of suspects but no way of proving either their involvement or their innocence.’
‘I shall do my very best. Just because circumstances had reduced Adelaide to selling herself for reasons I have yet to clarify, that will not prevent me from trying to avenge her murder just as assiduously as I would if she had come from a respectable background.’
‘No, I can see that you would…’
Amelia’s words spluttered to a halt and she abruptly doubled over, holding her stomach, her hair hiding her face. Concerned, Riley crouched in front of her and took her hand.
‘What is it? Are you unwell? Shall I ring for…’
‘I’m so sorry,’ she managed to splutter, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘It’s just the thought of Danforth’s fat backside…’
She convulsed with fresh laughter that Riley joined in with. ‘Don’t ever frighten me like that again,’ he said, standing and pulling her to her feet. Her body collided with his and his arms automatically circled her slender waist to prevent her from toppling over. Her laughter stopped abruptly as she looked up at him with a combination of curiosity and sensual disobedience. Instinct trumped common sense. Her eyes were still moist with tears, the product of her laughter, and widened when she realised that no space separated them. Her breasts pressed against his chest, igniting a spark in his bloodstream. Her lips parted and the tip of her tongue darted out to moisten them, sweeping aside the residue of Riley’s self-control. He had been fighting this attraction for too damned long and there was only so much temptation a man could resist.
With a smothered oath he dropped his head and crushed her mouth beneath his, firmly, finally savouring the treat of her sweet lips—in reality rather than in his dreams. Only a minuscule hesitation on her part preceded a response as passionate as his own as her arms circled his neck and her hands buried themselves in his hair. He pulled her harder against him and deepened the kiss, fiercely possessive, a man with a point to prove. What that point could possibly be was lost in the haze of his passion. He’d been a fool to imagine that mere friendship could exist between himself and the lovely woman whose image was never far from the forefront of his mind. What seemed so intransigently right, so natural, couldn’t possibly be wrong.
Carnal sensations ripped through Riley’s bloodstream as his hands roamed the contours of her back, prevented from exploring lower by the impediment of her bustle. With his head still reeling he reluctantly broke the kiss and released his hold on her, wondering how to explain the unexplainable.
‘That’s what you get for laughing at my superior,’ he said, attempting to lighten the mood.
He held her hand as she slowly lowered herself back into her seat, her legs clearly incapable of supporting her. Her eyes were hazy, her lips swollen, and it was obvious to Riley that she had been as reluctant to bring their passionate embrace to an end as he was. Even so, her next words almost floored him.
‘Are you asking me to be your mistress, Riley? If so, I accept the position.’