Page 40 of Death of a Courtesan
‘Naturally. We wouldn’t survive long in the business if we didn’t keep abreast of the competition.’ At least Mrs Arnold wasn’t pretending not to be a brothel-keeper, for which Riley was grateful. The laws regarding the maintenance of such establishments were easily circumvented and Mrs Arnold would be satisfied that she had covered herself in that regard. ‘Adelaide was exceptional at what she did. I know because some of her regular clients also frequented this establishment and sang her praises.’
‘Why come here if she was so good at giving them they wanted?’ Salter asked.
‘She knew her worth and charged accordingly. Not everyone could afford to indulge as often as they needed to, so they made do…’
‘With second best?’ Riley suggested.
Mrs Arnold lifted one shoulder, seemingly unoffended. ‘If you like.’
‘But now that she’s out of the way, Adelaide that is, your business will see the benefit,’ Salter said.
Mrs Arnold laughed. ‘If I went around killing all the opposition, there wouldn’t be many efficient whores left in London.’
‘We didn’t come here because we suspected you of killing her,’ Riley said calmly. ‘We want to know more about your association with her. We understand you offered her employment. Tell us about that.’
‘Of course I did. She would have been the making of this place and could have named her price, but annoyingly she remained loyal to Mrs Sinclair.’
‘Which of your customers also availed themselves of Adelaide’s services?’ Salter asked.
Mrs Arnold sent him an amused look. ‘I’m afraid I cannot recall.’
‘Now look here,’ Salter said belligerently, ‘this is a murder investigation and you’re bound by law to help us in any way you can.’
‘Not by destroying my business, sergeant. Arrest me if you like. My lawyers will have me out again by the end of the day.’
Riley knew it was true. ‘Are you aware how Adelaide occupied her spare time?’ he asked, more in hope than expectation of receiving a positive response.
‘I saw her on several occasions as it happens with a man by the name of Clement.’
Riley sat up a little straighter. Stout had heard a man with that name loudly proclaiming in a tavern the night before that Adelaide had got what she deserved. Riley didn’t believe in coincidences of that nature, so it had to be the same man. The one who worked at Billingsgate. What business could she possibly have had with such an unlikely individual?
‘Clement,’ he replied calmly. ‘Where can I find him?’
‘In Dover Street. He is a vintner.’
