A Mrs. Jeffires Mystery 11 - Mrs. Jeffries Questions the Answer (12 page)

“That’s all right. I’ll wait fer ya.” Blimpey grinned broadly. “Yer payin’ fer me time.”

Inspector Witherspoon peeked around the door of the drawing room and then breathed a sigh of relief.

“Inspector Nivens isn’t here, sir,” Barnes said softly as he and the inspector stepped into the room. “He’s questioning the neighbors.”

“But the police constables did that yesterday,” Witherspoon said. “Inspector Nivens was given a complete report. Why’s he doing it again?”

“He wasn’t satisfied with the reports. Claimed they weren’t done properly. Matter of fact, he had a couple of the lads in front of his desk and was tearin’ a strip off ’em last night.” Barnes looked disgusted. “There wasn’t a ruddy thing wrong with those reports, sir. The lads did a fine job of it.”

Witherspoon clamped his mouth shut. It wouldn’t do to say anything rude about Inspector Nivens, but really, sometimes he was most undiplomatic. “I’m sure they did, Barnes. Perhaps Inspector Nivens is just being unduly cautious.”

Barnes shrugged, turned away and muttered something under his breath that Witherspoon couldn’t quite catch. He turned back to his superior and asked, “Exactly who are we questioning today, sir?”

“The servants.”

Barnes looked surprised. “But we did that yesterday.”

“Yes, I know,” Witherspoon smiled brightly. “But after thinking about their statements, I realized
there were one or two important things that hadn’t been asked.”

“Are you sayin’ I left something out?” Barnes asked, his tone defensive. Good Lord, was Witherspoon turning into Nivens?

“Oh no, no,” the inspector hastily assured him. “Your questions were, as always, excellent. But I realized last night that I’d neglected to find out the one thing that might be very important to this case.”

Barnes brightened and was immediately ashamed of himself for thinking, even for a moment, that Inspector Witherspoon was anything like Nivens. “And what would that be, sir?”

Witherspoon beamed happily. He was rather proud of himself for having thought of it last night. “Something that can help us a great deal, Barnes. I’m assuming, of course, that the killer was in the house.”

“Yes, sir, I agree.”

“And I do hope you’ve plenty of paper in that notebook of yours.”

“It’s a new one, sir.”

“Excellent, excellent.” Witherspoon couldn’t wait to begin. “Then let’s have a go at the butler, shall we?” He started for the hallway.

“But sir, I don’t understand. Exactly what is it we’re doing?”

“Didn’t I say? Goodness, I’m getting ahead of myself.” Witherspoon stopped and turned to his constable. “We’re going to do a timetable, Barnes.”

CHAPTER 5

“A timetable, sir?” Barnes was really confused now. “You mean like the railways use?”

“That’s it precisely.” Witherspoon continued toward the hallway. “Only instead of trains, we’re going to have people on ours. I say, I wonder where the maid’s gone?” He stopped at the doorway and peered down the silent hall. “Do you think we ought to ring the bell-pull for someone?”

But then they heard footsteps on the staircase and a moment later, Kathryn Ellingsley appeared. Startled, she drew back a bit when she spotted the two policemen lingering by the drawing room door. She came closer, stopping just in front of a huge potted fern sitting on an elaborate mahogany table by the foot of the staircase. “Good day, Inspector. Are you looking for Mr. Cameron?” she asked.

“Actually, Miss Ellingsley, we were looking for the butler.” He thought it best to conduct this area
of the inquiry solely among the servants.

“Hatfield’s downstairs in the kitchen,” she replied, glancing briefly at the front door. “He’s supervising the food preparations for after the funeral tomorrow.”

“I see,” Witherspoon murmured. Drat. He didn’t relish the thought of dragging the butler away from his duties, especially that particular kind of task. But he needed to talk to the servants. Every one of them. Individually. Perhaps he ought to speak to Mr. Cameron after all. “Oh dear, this is a bit awkward. I’m afraid I’ll have to interrupt the household even further. I suppose we ought to let Mr. Cameron know that we’re here.”

Kathryn gave him a strained smile. “He’s not here. He and Mrs. Hadleigh took the children to her estate in the country. It’s just outside Tunbridge Wells.”

“You mean he’s left London?” Witherspoon didn’t like the sound of that. They hadn’t instructed any of the household to stay in town, but surely leaving before the victim’s funeral was a bit much.

“He’ll be back tonight,” she said quickly. “As will Mrs. Hadleigh. Brian felt the children would be better off away from here. It’s been a rather dreadful experience for them.”

“Aren’t they going to their stepmother’s funeral?” Barnes asked.

“No.” Kathryn shook her head. “Brian felt that considering the way she died, it would be better for the children not to go. He’s only told them that she died. He didn’t tell them how. After the funeral tomorrow, the house will be full of people. Brian
doesn’t want the children to overhear any of the ugly circumstances of her death.”

The inspector felt a surge of pity for the little ones. Losing a mother, even a stepmother, must be very frightening.

“Were the children fond of Mrs. Cameron?” Barnes asked quietly.

Kathryn hesitated and then shrugged. “I think so. They were both very upset when they heard the news. But she was quite strict with them and though she was their stepmother, she was the only mother they’d really ever known.”

“Will you be staying on?” Witherspoon wanted to make sure she wasn’t planning on leaving town as well. “I mean, now that the children are gone, perhaps you’ll go away for a time as well.”

She smiled and shook her head. “I’m staying on, Inspector. My only other relation is in a little village in Yorkshire. I may go up to visit him. He’s not been well lately and he’s quite elderly. But the children will be coming back as soon as this is over, and Brian’s asked me to stay on.”

There was a knock on the front door. Kathryn moved quickly toward it as footsteps pounded on the back stairs. “Don’t bother to come up,” she called to the maid whose head bobbed up from the staircase. “I’ll get it.” She flung open the door and then stepped back. “Come in, Dr. Reese,” she said formally.

“Miss Ellingsley.” The man took off his bowler and stepped into the hall. He was about thirty, tall and neatly dressed in a dark gray suit with a white shirt and black tie. His hair was that shade of colour that’s somewhere between brown and dark
blond. He turned and stared at the two policemen out of cool blue eyes.

“This is Inspector Witherspoon and Constable Barnes.” Kathryn introduced them quickly. “They’re investigating Hannah’s death.”

“I’m Connor Reese.” He stepped forward and offered his hand, first to the Inspector and then to the constable. “I came by to extend my condolences to Brian.”

“Are you a friend of the family?” Witherspoon asked.

“Hardly, Inspector,” Reese replied. “I’m Hannah Cameron’s cousin.”

Wiggins eyed the housemaid warily. She skittered about so quickly down the road, he was having a hard time keeping up with her. But he was determined not to go back to this afternoon’s meeting empty-handed, so to speak.

The girl disappeared around the corner, and Wiggins dashed after her. Unfortunately, the maid had stopped smack in the middle of the pavement. Wiggins went flying into her, knocking her flat. “Oi…” she screamed.

Horrified by what he’d done, Wiggins quickly reached down to help her up. “I’m ever so sorry, miss,” he sputtered.

“You stupid git,” she snapped. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?” She brushed off his assistance and got up.

“I’m sorry, miss.” He tried again. Up close, he could see she was quite a pretty girl. Brown hair, neatly tucked up under her cap, scrubbed pink complexion
and rather pretty blue eyes. “Please, miss. It were an accident…”

“Oh, bother, now me skirts are dirty.” She brushed at the loose dirt on the gray broadcloth. Wiggins reached over and tried to help, but she smacked his hand before his fingers even brushed the fabric. “’Ere, keep your ruddy paws to yourself.”

“I’m sorry.” He apologized again. “I’m only tryin’ to ’elp.”

“You’d help more by takin’ yourself off and lettin’ me be about me business,” she said, but her voice had softened a bit and there was a hint of a smile on her pretty face. She turned and started off.

But Wiggins wasn’t about to let her get away. “Please, miss,” he said, dogging her heels like Fred did when he was trying to get you to take him on walkies. “I am ever so sorry. Is there something I can do to make it up to you?”

“I’m in a hurry,” she answered, taking his measure. “I’ve got to get this ruddy telegram sent.”

“Can I walk with ya?” he asked.

She shrugged. As a maid, she didn’t often get a chance to meet a young man. “I don’t mind. It’s a free country. You can walk where you like.”

“A telegram, eh?” he said pleasantly.

She bobbed her head. “Right, like I don’t have enough to do round that place. Still, it gets me out of the house and what with the police and then that ruddy butler worryin’ himself to death over the funeral reception, I’m glad to ’ave an excuse to get out.”

“There’s police at your ’ouse?”

“Not my house,” she corrected him. “I only
work there. I’m the parlour maid. But there’s been murder done where I live. The police think it were burglars. Fat lot they know.”

Wiggins inhaled sharply. The girl was a talker, that was for sure. But he’d best be careful. It wouldn’t do to be too nosy too quick. Put people off, that did. “Burglars? Cor blimey, ain’t ya scared to stay in a such a place?”

“Weren’t no thieves.” She snorted derisively. “Besides, why should I be scared?”

“But you just said there was murder done,” he said. He watched her carefully. Despite her brave words, he could see a flash of fear in her pretty eyes. “That’d scare me, all right. I’d be out of that ’ouse fast as I could.”

She shrugged. “Got no place to go, do I?”

“Who got killed, then?” Wiggins thought this the strangest conversation he’d ever had.

“The mistress, Mrs. Cameron. She were knifed a couple of nights ago. We’ve had the house full of coppers ever since. God, they ask a lot of questions.”

“That’s their job, is’n it?”

“Bloomin’ stupid, the lot of them,” she charged. “Especially that smarmy lookin’ one with the greased-back hair. Stupid git, don’t have enough brains to see what’s right under their noses, think that just because we’re servants we ain’t got eyes in our heads and treat us like dirt, they do.”

Wiggins suddenly realized the girl wasn’t particularly talking to him; she was just talking.

“Place was bad enough before the old cow got knifed,” she continued, “now it’s even worse with that Hadleigh woman flouncing about and givin’
everyone orders. No talkin’, no laughin’, no doin’ nothin’ but waitin’ on her hand and foot.”

Wiggins stared at the girl in amazement. He had the impression that she’d be haranguing a lamppost by now if he hadn’t happened along. Some people were like that. They simply had to get it all out. “Who you on about?”

“That ruddy Mrs. Hadleigh,” she snapped. “Got her cap set for the master and the mistress not even buried yet.” She lifted the hem of her dress and stepped onto the street.