Page 1 of Death of a Courtesan
Chapter One
London: October 1870
A hansom cab deposited Inspector Riley Rochester outside the Whitehall entrance to Scotland Yard early on a wet and gloomy Friday morning. The jarvey whipped up his miserable-looking horse, turned his conveyance in a tight circle and trundled off in the opposite direction, splattering Riley as the wheels jolted through ruts filled with mud and God alone knew what else. With a resigned sigh, Riley pulled his hat low and turned up his collar against the unrelenting rain, striding over puddles as he sought the relative safety of the building.
Despite the government’s expensive and much publicised renovation of London’s drainage system, it still failed to cope with all the city’s debris, stirred up by a deluge that had lasted for almost a week without respite. Riley preferred not to think about the provenance of the substances dripping from his coat and swirling past his expensively shod feet. He ignored the stench and ducked gratefully into the front entrance of the police station, where he removed his hat and shook what seemed like a gallon of water from its brim. London had sweltered for the entire summer, resulting in frayed tempers and a marked increase in crime. Now October was here. Families had returned to the capital from their country estates, Parliament was in session again and the weather decided that it still had a few more tricks up its sleeve.
‘Filthy weather, sir.’
Sergeant Barton looked up from the front desk with no apparent purpose in mind other than stating the obvious. He and Riley had enjoyed an acrimonious relationship since the formation of the Detective Department. The wily and long-serving sergeant, whose influence amongst the uniformed division seemed ubiquitous, saw no need for an elite squad of detectives in general and Riley—Lord Riley Rochester—in particular. Two months previously, when Riley had been charged with investigating the murder of a young woman that had taken place in the home of an aristocrat, Barton vociferously opined that Riley would sweep it under the carpet in order to protect his own. Riley had not done so, and the diligence with which he had pursued members of London’s aristocracy who thought themselves untouchable had earned him Barton’s grudging respect. Life had become a great deal easier for Riley since then, as he was assured of the cooperation of those in uniform.
Up to a point.
‘Should make for a quieter life,’ Riley replied, thinking that all divisions of the Metropolitan Police Force would benefit from a less frenetic pace for a while.
‘Oh aye, it will an’ all. No self-respecting burglar will show his face in this weather. The cells are half empty.’
‘Every cloud, sergeant,’ Riley said, thinking of the mountain of paperwork waiting for him and what a change it would make if he could, for once, make inroads into it undisturbed.
Riley strode through to the Detective Department, trailing water in his wake. He nodded to the detectives in the main room, which was crowded. Most, it seemed, had found excuses to remain inside rather than pursue leads in the cases they were supposed to be investigating. Riley couldn’t blame them for that, but didn’t pause to speak with any of them. Let the weather keep a lid on the city for a while. The moon would be full in a week or so and no doubt his world would become a madhouse again. In the sanctity of his own small office he knocked the last few drops of water from his hat, stripped off his coat and threw himself into the chair behind his desk. He rubbed absently at a vein that throbbed in his forehead and tried to put from his mind the fiasco he’d been obliged to weather the previous night.
His mother, the Dowager Marchioness of Chichester, never tired in her efforts to marry Riley off and have him forget about the demeaning business of police work. Far from boasting that her younger son pursued a worthwhile line of work, the dowager maintained that in so doing, Riley was somehow dragging the family name through the mud that now choked the streets, and the atmosphere between them had become increasingly strained as a consequence. As a general rule he was able to evade her match-making machinations, but last night she had caught him unawares. Under the impression that he would be spending a quiet evening with his mother, his married sister and her husband and his indefatigable niece Sophia, he had accepted her invitation to dine. But his mother’s idea of a quiet family gathering had turned into an entertainment for forty, including the young woman whom his mother had been trying to pair him off with for over three months.
Furious to have been manipulated, Riley would have simply turned on his heels and left had it not been for Sophia’s presence. He accepted that in the very near future he would have to conduct the conversation with his mother that he had been putting off for too long. He leaned back in his chair, stretched his arms above his head and yawned, firmly resolved not to give up a career at which he’d had to work especially hard to prove his mettle. If and when he did decide to marry, he was perfectly capable of selecting his own bride. Images of Amelia Cosgrove sprang to mind. He hadn’t seen her for over a week but was planning to dine with her that evening, always supposing that something pressing didn’t come up that would require him to cancel.
Again.
‘Late night, sir?’ Jack Salter walked into the room and grinned. ‘Don’t know how you do it myself, burning the candle at both ends and still looking like an advert for gentleman’s tailoring.’
‘Sometimes I surprise myself, Jack,’ Riley said, returning his chair to its proper position and smiling up at his sergeant. ‘All quiet, I take it.’
‘It was until a minute ago. We’re needed in Covent Garden. A suspicious death.’
‘Damn.’ Riley glanced at the pile of papers that stared accusingly back at him. ‘Can’t someone else go?’
Salter chuckled. ‘Doubt if they’ll be any shortage of volunteers for this one.’
‘Really?’ Riley quirked a brow. ‘Why is that?’
‘It’s a courtesan from a cathouse. She’s had her throat slashed.’
‘Ah, I see.’ Wearily, Riley pushed himself to his feet and reached for his damp coat. ‘Whereabouts?’
‘Maiden Lane,’ Salter replied, the irony clearly not lost on him.
‘Named after the statue of the Virgin Mary that once stood there.’ Riley winced. ‘They moved it a long time ago but forgot to change the name.’
‘How the mighty fall,’ Sergeant Barton remarked with a droll grin as Riley and Salter returned to the front desk. ‘One day a debutante, the next a courtesan in the depths of Covent Garden.’
Riley returned his smile, much preferring the sergeant’s good-natured joshing to his previously uncooperative attitude. ‘We live to serve those from all walks of life, Barton. I take it you’ve sent some of your constables to secure the scene.’
‘I’ve sent Peterson and Harper, seeing as how they impressed you so much before.’
‘Good.’ Riley nodded his approval. Peterson was young and keen and had used his initiative in the debutante murder case. Riley had him earmarked for the Detective Department when a vacancy next occurred. ‘I take it the chief inspector is aware of the incident.’
‘Ain’t seen much of him today,’ Barton replied with a derisory sniff, not sounding too upset because Danforth chose to keep a low profile. It was something that rarely happened. Danforth enjoyed throwing his considerable weight about and Riley shared Barton’s low opinion of his abilities. He had never been able to understand why a man of his superior’s limited intellect had risen to such lofty heights, from which he ruled his empire with bombastic disregard for anyone’s views other than his own.
He and Riley were chalk and cheese. Danforth resented Riley’s affluence and constantly tried to undermine him. His efforts had backfired badly in the summer, when he assigned Riley to the case of the murdered debutante. Like everyone else, Danforth assumed that Riley would side with his own, giving Danforth the excuse he was looking for to have him thrown off the force. But Riley didn’t baulk at doing his duty and a very uneasy truce had existed between him and his superior since that time.
