A Mrs. Jeffires Mystery 11 - Mrs. Jeffries Questions the Answer (17 page)

Luty grinned. “I think I know what ya mean. Come on in to the drawin’ room and we’ll have us a nice sit-down.”

“Where’s Hatchet?” Betsy inquired. It was rare to see Luty without the butler hovering somewhere close.

“I’m right here, Miss Betsy,” Hatchet said from the door of the library. “And, of course, like madam, I’m delighted to see you.” But he looked as puzzled as the rest of them.

“Luty,” Mrs. Jeffries said, “do you think Effie Beals could take Aunt Elberta out to the gardens? They’re quite spectacular, even this time of the year. When she’s finished with showing her the gardens, do you think she might take her down to the kitchen for some tea and cakes?”

Aunt Elberta was whisked away in very short measure, and soon they were all seated in Luty’s sumptuous drawing room. Before the questions could start, Mrs. Jeffries began issuing orders like a general.

“We’re going to need a lot of help, Luty,” she
said. “This case has gotten completely away from us. Between Aunt Elberta’s visit and our constant interruptions, we’ve not even had time to have a good meeting to share our information or our ideas. Today, that’s going to change.”

“Tell me what ya need,” Luty declared, “and I’ll see that ya git it.”

“First of all, I want you to ask your cook to whip us up something to take back for lunch and possibly dinner tonight. Mrs. Goodge may not have time to cook when we get home.”

“But the inspector doesn’t like fancy food,” Mrs. Goodge protested. In truth, though, she was delighted at the thought of having the whole day to pump her sources.

Luty reached over and patted her arm. “Don’t worry, I’ll have him fix somethin’ simple like roast beef or steak and kidney pie. He’ll squawk like a scalded rooster, but he’ll do it.”

“Could ’e fix us some of them fancy cream cakes?” Wiggins asked eagerly.

“Wiggins,” Mrs. Jeffries objected, “we mustn’t take advantage of Luty’s hospitality.”

“Piffle, Hepzibah,” Luty said stoutly, “it’s no trouble. That lazy cook of mine spends half his time sittin’ on his backside. He’ll enjoy fixin’ up something special for you all to take home.”

“Thank you, Luty,” Mrs. Jeffries replied gratefully.

“What else do you need, madam?” Hatchet asked.

“Well, if you could spare one of your maids or footmen, I’d like someone to take Aunt Elberta out during the days.”

“Effie can keep her occupied,” Luty answered. “She likes gettin’ out and about. You want me to send her home with you today?”

“That would be fine,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “And lastly, I want us to finally, finally, have a decent meeting about this case.”

“It’s about time, I’d say.” Luty stood up. “Fer the last couple of days, we’ve been runnin’ around like a bunch of chickens with their heads cut off. I’ll ring fer tea and we can find out what’s what about this killin’.”

“A pity Inspector Nivens didn’t stay,” Barnes said quietly to Inspector Witherspoon as soon as Helen had left to fetch Mrs. Cameron’s maid. “He might have discovered something useful.”

“I expect he’s his own inquiries to take care of,” the inspector replied, but he was sorry Nivens hadn’t stayed as well. He was quite pleased with the inquiries so far. He’d be even more pleased when he had a moment to fill in his timetable—especially with the information he’d just received from Helen. But the timetable could wait until he was finished.

“Excuse me, Inspector.” Brian Cameron stood in the doorway, a quizzical expression on his face. “If you’ve a moment, I’d like to speak to you.”

“Certainly, sir,” Witherspoon replied.

Cameron smiled fleetingly and stepped into the room. “I don’t want to tell you your business, but I fail to understand what you’re doing here. For God’s sake, man. My wife’s funeral is this afternoon.”

“We’re investigating your wife’s murder,” he
answered, somewhat taken aback. “I do assure you, we won’t be intruding upon you or your household while you’re paying your last respects to your wife. We only wish to have a few words with your staff.”

“My servants know nothing of this matter,” Cameron exclaimed. “Why are you wasting time here? Shouldn’t you be out trying to apprehend the monster that did this?”

Witherspoon didn’t know what to say. What did the man expect him to do, ask people in the street if they’d recently stabbed some poor woman to death? But on the other hand, he could understand Cameron’s point of view. “We’re doing our best, Mr. Cameron. But these things take time.”

“How much time?” Cameron whispered, his face a mask of anguish. “I’ve had to send my children away, I’m worried about my staff and if it wasn’t for the support of my friends, I believe I’d go out of my mind.”

“I’m sorry if we’re upsetting your household routine, especially at a terrible time like this,” the inspector said apologetically, “but it really can’t be helped.”

Cameron gestured impatiently. “I’m not concerned about our routine, Inspector. Under the circumstances it would hardly be normal in any case. I suppose what I’m really asking is if you’ve made any real progress. I’m sorry, I know I must sound half-demented. But when the butler told me you were here, I’d hoped you might have some good news for me. I don’t think I’ll be able to rest until Hannah’s killer is brought to justice.”

“Oh, give it to me.” Fiona Hadleigh’s voice
sounded from outside the room. “I’ll see that Mr. Cameron gets it.”

She flounced in carrying an envelope. “This telegram just came for you,” she said, ignoring the policemen.

“Thank you, Fiona.” He took it and tore it open.

“Good day, Mrs. Hadleigh,” Witherspoon said politely. Barnes merely bobbed his head at the woman.

“Back again,” she said archly, but she was watching Cameron out of the corner of her eye. “I should have thought you’d be finished here.”

It was Barnes who answered her. “We’ve a number of questions still to ask, Mrs. Hadleigh. As a matter of fact, now that you and Mr. Cameron are both here, would you mind going over a few things with us?”

Witherspoon blinked in surprise. Though he encouraged Constable Barnes to participate fully in their investigations, he was a bit startled by his boldness. He hadn’t planned on asking either of them anything until after he’d filled in his timetable.

Then again, Barnes was a most intelligent man. The inspector decided that if he had some questions to ask, they were probably very good ones.

CHAPTER 7

“This room’s much cozier,” Luty said as she ushered them into a smaller sitting room down the hall from the drawing room. “The fire’s already lit.”

“This one’s my favorite,” Betsy said, smiling as she turned in a slow circle. The walls were painted the colour of thick cream, an exquisite Persian carpet was on the floor and the windows were hung with cheerful blue-and-cream flowered print drapes.

At one end of the room next to the cheerful fire, there was a round mahogany table and six chairs. Luty pointed. “You all have a seat,” she instructed. “Tea’ll be ready in a minute.”

While they were taking their places, Hatchet arrived pushing a heavy silver cart loaded with a china rose teapot with matching cups, a tray of tea cakes and a Battenburg cake.

Wiggins licked his lips at the sight. “Cor blimey, this is right nice.”

“You just help yerself,” Luty ordered. She sat down next to the housekeeper and for a few moments, everyone busied themselves pouring tea and filling their plates with sweets.

“If no one has any objection,” Mrs. Jeffries began, “I’d like to begin.” This time she wasn’t taking any chances, so she plunged straight ahead. “Actually, I’ve been trying to tell everyone this information for two days now and I haven’t had much success. I’m not sure it’s important, but it may be.”

“What is it, then?” Betsy asked. “Have you figured out who the killer is already?”

“Not quite, my dear.” The housekeeper smiled ruefully. “But I think I’ve found out something that eliminates one of our chief suspects. I don’t think Brian Cameron’s the murderer.”

“Why not?” Luty demanded. “Seems to me he’s the one with the strongest motive. Accordin’ to what Mrs. Goodge heard, he’s a real ladies’ man. Lots of men like to rid themselves of an inconvenient wife so’s they can be free to git another one. Besides, look at some of the other cases we’ve worked on. Husbands can’t ever be ruled out. Not unless there’s an eyewitness that saw ’em someplace else when the killin’ was done.” Luty, though she professed to have had a happy marriage to the late Mr. Crookshank, frequently took a dim view of the marital state.

“I don’t think we ought to knock ’im out of the runnin’ yet,” Smythe added. “I found out that Cameron’s already gone through all of his wife’s
money. My sources told me there was a fine settlement from her family when they got married and he’s spent just about every bloomin’ cent. What’s more, that Mrs. Hadleigh is sweet on the man and she’s got plenty of lolly.”

“That may be true—” Mrs. Jeffries began again, only this time she was interrupted by Hatchet, of all people.

“Really, Mrs. Jeffries,” he chided, “I do think it’s a bit premature to start eliminating anyone as a suspect. Unless, as madam colorfully puts it, you’ve got an eyewitness that clears him.”

“There’s no eyewitness.” Mrs. Jeffries took a deep breath. Really, sometimes they were most impatient. “But there is something just as good.”

“And what’s that, then?” Mrs. Goodge asked.

“A motive. Brian Cameron didn’t have a motive to kill his wife,” she said. “Unless, of course, you’re willing to accept the premise that he murdered the woman on the off chance that he could find another wealthy woman to marry him. Namely, Mrs. Hadleigh.”

“But she probably is fixin’ to marry the bloke,” Smythe protested. “She’s got ’er cap set for the man and ’e probably knows it.”

“That may be true,” she replied calmly. “In which case, I’d be more likely to think Mrs. Hadleigh was the killer than Mr. Cameron. With Mrs. Cameron dead, Brian Cameron stands to lose everything, including the very house he lives in.”

“You mean the ’ouse belonged to Mrs. Cameron?” Wiggins asked.

She nodded. “Not quite. The house belongs to Mrs. Cameron’s
family.
She has a lifetime use of
it, but upon her death, the actual property goes to John Ripton. So you see why I was inclined to eliminate her husband. Now, that doesn’t mean he didn’t do it, but it seems to me he’s got less of a motive than some of the others that were there that night.”

“John Ripton for one,” Mrs. Goodge said thoughtfully. “Seems to me that he’s goin’ to do quite nicely. He not only gets his hands on those dockside properties but he gets the house as well.”

“And the income that comes with the house,” Mrs. Jeffries added. “The maintenance and upkeep on the property and the servants wages are paid out of a trust established by Mrs. Cameron’s family before she married.”

“And Ripton didn’t much like his sister,” Luty commented.

“But that don’t mean ’e killed ’er.” Wiggins hated the thought that a man could murder his own kin in cold blood. “And what about Kathryn Ellingsley and Dr. Reese? Seems to me that they didn’t much like ’er either. Especially Dr. Reese. ’E’s Mrs. Cameron’s cousin. Does ’e inherit as well?”

“Hold yer horses, there,” Luty said. “Just what about this Ellingsley woman and this here Reese feller?”

Mrs. Jeffries realized they hadn’t brought Luty and Hatchet up to date on the latest developments in the case. She quickly filled them in on Wiggins’s adventure of the night before.

Luty shook her head slowly. “All right, I’ll give ya that the girl might not a liked Mrs. Cameron, but if she’s in love with this feller Reese and fixin’
to marry him, why would she kill the woman? Why not just marry Reese and get out of there?”

“Because she couldn’t,” Smythe replied. He smiled apologetically for stealing Mrs. Jeffries’s thunder, but he’d learned quite a bit from Blimpey Groggins the other night. “Not yet, anyway. My sources give me some information about Reese. He’s been studyin’ to be a doctor, just got ’is degree from the Edinburgh Medical School a few months back. But ’e don’t ’ave much in the way of a practise. ’E spends most of ’is time workin’ with the poor over in the East End and that don’t give ’im much of a wage to support a wife on.” He hoped the killer wasn’t Reese. From what Blimpey had told him, the good doctor sounded a right decent sort of bloke.