A Mrs. Jeffires Mystery 11 - Mrs. Jeffries Questions the Answer (24 page)

They had so much information. Unfortunately, their meeting had been cut short by Aunt Elberta coming into the kitchen in search of a cup of cocoa. But they had had time to hear most of the important news. Betsy had told them that she’d found out that Fiona Hadleigh had rented a house on the same block as the Cameron house. Apparently, the woman had told her personal maid that this time she wasn’t going to sit back and wait for Cameron to get over his grief. Fiona Hadleigh was bound and determined to marry the man. Mrs. Jeffries wondered how badly Mrs. Hadleigh wanted him. Badly enough to kill? Betsy had been a bit reticent about where she’d come by her information and it was only the arrival of Aunt Elberta that had kept
Smythe’s questions in check. But was Betsy’s news anything more than Fiona Hadleigh’s “jumping the gun,” as it were? Or was it a motive for murder?

The only facts Betsy really had were that the woman was moving into a rented house close to the Cameron house and that if Hannah Cameron had not come along right after Cameron’s first wife died, he would have married Mrs. Hadleigh.

Mrs. Jeffries shifted in her chair and stared out at the quiet street. A pale yellow fog had drifted in and now wafted eerily among the gas lamps. She thought about Smythe’s report on Connor Reese. Like the coachman, she found herself hoping that Reese wasn’t the killer. She rather liked the good doctor herself. Anyone who worked among the poor and destitute of the East End had her admiration. She shook her head, cautioning herself against prejudgment. Reese had a strong motive to kill Hannah Cameron. He hated her and blamed her for his own mother’s death. Furthermore, he’d been in the house that night. Reese could easily have slipped the knife into the victim’s back and then slipped out the front door. But Cameron claimed the front door was locked and bolted until his butler had raised the alarm. So how did Reese get out? She sighed. There was only one logical answer to that question. Reese must have had help. Namely, Kathryn Ellingsley. She lived in the house. That night, she assumed that everyone was asleep. She could easily have unbolted a door and slipped her lover out. Add to that the fact that Reese was a doctor and would therefore have no trouble knowing the precise spot to stab someone in order to perforate her heart. Death had been instantaneous.
The killer had either been very lucky or very knowledgeable. Dr. Reese might have been both.

But Mrs. Jeffries didn’t like that idea either. It didn’t really make sense. Why would the governess help commit murder? Kathryn Ellingsley knew that Hannah Cameron was going to try and trap her that night. That’s why she didn’t go out in the first place. Instead, Reese came in. Surely, then, if she was frightened of losing her position…Mrs. Jeffries went still as another thought occurred to her. Why would Kathryn Ellingsley be frightened? If the Camerons sacked her, she could always go back to her uncle in Yorkshire. Or could she?

Mrs. Jeffries stood up. Gracious, she’d been such a fool. Two different pieces of the puzzle tumbled into her mind. Neville Parrington and a stolen box of papers.

She walked over and lit the small lamp she kept on her desk. Sitting down, she pulled open a drawer, drew out her writing paper and picked up her pen. When she’d finished, she looked at the short message and nodded in satisfaction. Tomorrow morning, she’d send this by telegram to her old friend Constable Trent in York. If anyone could find the answer to her questions and find them quickly, it would be him.

Inspector Witherspoon stared at his fried eggs and bacon with something less than his usual enthusiasm. Being taken off the case had quite lost him his appetite.

“Would you like tea, sir?” Mrs. Jeffries asked cheerfully.

“Yes, thank you,” he mumbled.

“Here you are, sir,” she said, placing his tea next to his plate. “I’m delighted you’re taking the time to eat a proper breakfast this morning. It’s quite cold outside and I know you’ve a lot to do today.”

Witherspoon looked at her over the rim of his spectacles. “A lot to do today?” he echoed.

“Why, yes, sir.” She smiled brightly and drew his timetable out of her pocket. Unfolding the paper, she put it down next to his teacup. “I hope you don’t mind, sir, but I was quite curious about this…”

“I’ve been taken off the case, Mrs. Jeffries,” he said wearily.

“I know that, sir,” she said crisply, “but just because you’ve been taken off the case doesn’t mean you’ve stopped being a brilliant detective and a true agent of justice in this great land of ours.” She watched him carefully as she spoke, hoping her words would perk him up a bit.

He straightened his spine and lifted his chin. She noted that his expression was no longer glum. Instead, he looked puzzled. “I’m afraid I don’t follow you.” He gave her a brief smile and then slumped back down in the chair. “But thank you for your kind words.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” She sighed dramatically. “Perhaps I’ve overstepped my bounds. I shouldn’t bother you with this.” She started to reach for the paper but he shot back up and snatched it up himself.

“Bother me with what?” he asked, his attention now on the timetable.

She knew she had to be careful here. Their dear
Inspector, despite seeming to be a bit muddled at times, wasn’t a fool. “Well, sir, I was so very curious, you see. So when I was dusting your desk, sir, I happened to glance at it…and well, I must say I was quite astounded. Absolutely flabbergasted, to tell you the truth.”

“Flabbergasted? About what?”

“About your plan, sir. Your timetable.” She walked over to stand by his chair. “It worked. You did find something. That’s what made me so curious. I don’t quite understand why Chief Inspector Barrows took you off the case. It seems to me, sir, he ought to be thanking his lucky stars that he had you on the hunt, so to speak. If not for your magnificient efforts, a grave miscarriage of justice could happen.”

Witherspoon squinted at the paper. “Er, thank you, Mrs. Jeffries, but I don’t quite see what you’re getting at.”

“You don’t?” She contrived to sound confused. “But right here, sir.” She pointed to the square that Hatchet had altered. “Look. Eleven forty-five…”

“Oh yes, I see now,” Witherspoon interrupted. “Gracious, I don’t remember this. How odd. ‘Heard footsteps/front stairs’—that was reported by the maid, Helen.” He shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t remember writing that down, and you’re right, of course—it’s quite pertinent. Quite pertinent, indeed. That’s the precise time, according to my calculations on the timetable, that the killer would have been moving about the house.”

“I know sir,” Mrs. Jeffries said enthusiastically. “And I shouldn’t worry about not remembering writing it, sir. I’m sure your inner voice prompted
you to do it almost by rote. You know how you are, sir. When you’re on a case, your instincts take over, so to speak. Besides, sir, you’ve been under a great deal of strain since your discussion with Chief Inspector Barrows. It’s no wonder that a few things have slipped your mind.”

Witherspoon nodded vigorously. “You’re absolutely right, Mrs. Jeffries. I must pursue this. I’ll go and see the Chief Inspector straight away…”

“But sir,” she interrupted quickly. “Wouldn’t it be easier for you to just go and see this maid”—she made a great show of peeking at the timetable again—“Helen. Wouldn’t it be far easier politically to do your investigation on the…oh dear, what’s the right word to describe this situation?”

“Sly?”

“No, no, sir,” she replied. “You’re far too honorable a man for that. What I was trying to say was perhaps it would be best to be a bit discreet. Until you have some real evidence, that is.”

He looked doubtful. “But this is real evidence,” he said. “But perhaps you’re right. The situation is delicate.” He sighed deeply. “Politics, Mrs. Jeffries. I must be careful here. I don’t wish to go against my superiors. But in this case, I’ve a feeling they are terribly, terribly wrong. Perhaps a bit of discretion wouldn’t be amiss. Perhaps I’ll just nip out and get Constable Barnes and we’ll see what we can find out without stepping on anyone’s toes or upsetting any applecarts.”

“Do finish your breakfast before you go,” she said happily. “I believe you’ll need your strength.”

“Want me to go with ya?” Wiggins asked Helen as he held open the back garden gate for the maid.

“How’d you know I’d be comin’ out?” Helen asked. But she was smiling.

He grinned. “I figured ’e’d be sendin’ you out with another telegram today.”

“Right you are, you cheeky lad.” She laughed and linked her arm with his as they started up the street. “Where’s Fred?”

“I left ’im ’ome today,” he admitted. Fred had stared at him mournfully when Wiggins had left that morning. But it had been ever so early and he’d not wanted to take the dog with him when he went to the post office to send that telegram for Mrs. Jeffries. He didn’t reckon the post office much liked dogs. “You seem ever so much ’appier today. ’Ow come?”

Helen laughed again and then sobered. “I shouldn’t be laughin’, not really. But the truth is, that household is a lot happier now that her nibs is dead. I know it sounds wicked. I mean, she were stabbed and no one ought to die like that. But she were a right old mean hag and that’s the truth. Ever since she’s been dead, everyone’s breathin’ a right sight easier. Especially the governess.” She giggled. “She can see her young man now without sneakin’ about like a thief in the night. Not that she was foolin’ anyone…We all knew she was sneakin’ out to see that Dr. Reese.”

Wiggins looked at her. “You mean all the servants knew?”

She shook her head. “Not just us. Mr. Cameron knew too. He’s known for months, since right after Miss Ellingsley come to work there.”

“’Ow do you know that?” Wiggins wasn’t sure this was important, but it might be.

“’Cause I saw ’em,” she declared.

“You saw ’em? ’Ow?”

“What do you mean, ’ow? With me eyes.” Helen gave him a sharp look. “You don’t believe me?”

“’Course I do,” he soothed. “I’m just curious, that’s all.”

She stared at him as though debating whether or not to take offense. Then she shrugged. “Well, if you must know…”

“I must, I must. I love the way ya tell things. So much more interestin’ than when I try and tell somethin’. Go on, what ’appened, then?”

“Well.” She smiled happily. “It were one night just a few weeks after Miss Ellingsley come there. She’s ever such a nice one, she is. Not at all stuck-up or mean like Mrs. Cameron, despite bein’ one of the gentry herself.”

“And what ’appened?” he prodded.

“It were one night late like, and…uh…well, I got a bit hungry…”

“That’s all right, Helen,” Wiggins said kindly. “Don’t be embarrassed. I’ve been ’ungry myself a few times.”

“Yeah, I expect you have.” She sighed and closed her eyes briefly, then continued. “But like I was sayin’, I got hungry and the girl I share with always sleeps like the dead, so I slipped down to the kitchen. Mrs. Cameron was always so stingy with how much we could eat, ya see, and I’d not had much so as soon as Hazel were asleep, I slipped down to the kitchen and got a bit of bread
and cold sausage. I’d just nipped back upstairs when I heard footsteps comin’ up the stairs behind me. I run lickety split right up to the top landin’ and then I nipped in behind the post and stuck me head round to see who it was. I couldn’t think who it were and I were scared to death it were Mrs. Cameron. But it weren’t. It were Kathryn Ellingsley. I watched her slip up the back stairs and then go on down the hall to her room on the second floor. Below me, then just as she disappeared, I heard more footsteps and it were Mr. Cameron. He were followin’ Miss Ellingsley. I stood there, my knees shakin’, hopin’ he didn’t look up and catch me peekin’ out from behind that top post, but he didn’t. He just stood there staring in the direction where she’d gone, a funny little smile on his face. A few days later, I found out from one of the other servants that Kathryn was sneakin’ out at night to meet that nice Dr. Reese.”

“You like Dr. Reese, then?” Wiggins asked. He found her story quite startling.

“Oh, yes, he’s ever so nice. He treated Hazel for bronchitis, you know. Didn’t charge her, neither.” Helen made a face. “She was ever so sick, she was, and that bloody Mrs. Cameron was goin’ to sack her. But Miss Ellingsley slipped Dr. Reese in one night when the Camerons were out with that stupid Hadleigh woman, and he give her some medicine. Hazel were right as rain in a few days.”