Page 29 of Death of a Courtesan
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.
