Page 6 of Death of a Courtesan
‘You have clients in positions to ensure that it would not?’ Riley asked.
Mrs Sinclair gave a small shrug.
‘Do you have an address for her family?’ Riley asked. ‘They will have to be informed.’
‘Sorry, but no.’
‘Very well. Now that we understand one another,’ Riley said, ‘tell me more about Mary, or shall we continue to use her professional name for the purpose of clarity? How old was Adelaide?’
‘Twenty.’
Riley shook his head at the futility of a life cut so needlessly short, quelling recollections of a similar case—one that had arisen when he had been just fifteen and still at Eton. It had involved the death of an actress who enjoyed the protection of his father, the influential Marquess of Chichester. He had been the primary suspect and Riley had been disgusted by the manner in which he used his authority to intimidate the investigating detective. Recollections of that unhappy time had motivated him to take up the career that his family so disapproved of, doing what he could to dispense justice without fear or favour.
‘How long had Adelaide lived here?’ he asked. ‘I assume all the girls live in.’
‘Yes they do.’
‘How many?’ Salter asked, pencil poised. ‘I counted five downstairs.’
‘That is the sum total. Six is my maximum.’
‘I assume your soirees take place in the room visible from the gallery,’ Riley said. ‘Those who are exhibitionists see no reason to leave it. Some prefer the semi-seclusion of the alcoves and others require privacy in the upstairs rooms.’
‘Exactly so.’
‘The girls are kept busy,’ Salter remarked.
‘They are very well recompensed for their efforts. You won’t find any of them complaining.’
‘You were about to tell us about Adelaide,’ Riley reminded her.
‘She was referred to me by a childhood acquaintance.’
‘Someone who works for you?’ Riley asked.
‘She no longer does. Adelaide’s was a common enough story. One I hear all too often, sadly. She was fifteen when she finished up here.’ Salter tutted. ‘Thirteen is the age of consent, sergeant, as I’m sure you are aware, and girls considerably younger than that are passed off as being of age so their parents can sell them to unscrupulous brothel-keepers.’ She sighed. ‘A young virgin will earn five pounds for her parents, who often have half a dozen other children to feed and no money to buy food with.’ Riley nodded, well aware that desperation often forced parents to take such unthinkable action. He couldn’t excuse it but could understand it. ‘I have nothing to do with such situations but it would be naïve to pretend that they don’t exist.’
‘You were telling us about Adelaide,’ Riley reminded her curtly. He had no desire to hear Mrs Sinclair justify her position. She provided a service that would always be in demand, and Riley wasn’t here to judge her, even though he suspected that Salter already had, and didn’t like what he was hearing. He wanted to tell his sergeant that those who objected to the Mrs Sinclairs of this world set themselves the task of holding back a tidal wave. In other words, they would never succeed. Mrs Sinclair’s conscience didn’t trouble her because the ladies she employed had willingly entered a trade that saw more brothels than schools flourishing in London, and probably always would.
‘Her uncle was taking too much interest in her,’ Mrs Sinclair said. ‘Her mother, from what little Adelaide told me, refused to believe it. Her aunt, who lived with them, blamed Adelaide for leading him on. Her position became untenable, so she came to London. Her acquaintance was working here at the time, recognised her difficulty and encouraged her to meet me. The moment I set eyes on her, I knew she could earn a small fortune, as long she knew what she was getting herself involved in.’ Mrs Sinclair looked almost prim. ‘I train my girls in the art of seduction, I make sure they understand how to converse intelligently and in return the girls give the clients what they require. I don’t allow drunkenness or opiates. My girls have regular checks by a doctor to ensure they remain clean, and they earn a very generous wage. If they are sensible with their money, they will be able to retire at the age of thirty and will be set for life.’ She paused. ‘Take it from one who knows.’
‘You were in their position once?’ Riley asked non-judgementally.
‘I was—and very occasionally still am. Some of the gentlemen who come here I have known for a long time. They helped me to become established and spread the word amongst friends who share their predilections. I cater for their needs in person. I myself was trained in a house similar to this one. I saw how much my madam made and decided to go one better. I have emulated some of the more successful aspects of her business and added some of my own. This establishment is high class, expensive and caters for the specialist needs of my customers.’
‘Your clients enjoy flagellation?’
‘Some do. Others prefer cross-dressing, subjection, straightforward sexual intercourse or, as you suggested, Lord Riley, they enjoy being watched. Others require a willing partner with whom they can play out their fantasies. Others still are lonely and just want a lovely woman to talk to.’ Mrs Sinclair ticked off the various aspects of her business empire briskly on her fingers. ‘We don’t judge, and we cater for all types, provided they don’t turn violent against the girls. Well, no more violent than has been agreed to beforehand.’
‘And taken into account in your charges,’ Riley added.
‘Quite so,’ Mrs Sinclair replied in an unruffled tone.
‘But someone clearly did turn violent against Adelaide,’ Riley pointed out.
Another shudder from Mrs Sinclair. ‘Indeed.’
‘Adelaide was popular?’ Salter asked.
