A Mrs. Jeffires Mystery 11 - Mrs. Jeffries Questions the Answer (28 page)

“But what if they got caught?” she moaned.

Mrs. Jeffries was thinking the same thing.
They’d be ruined. All of them. And it would all be her fault.

“They ain’t gonna get caught,” Luty said. “Hatchet’s too smart and fer that matter, so is that feller of yours.”

“Mine?” Betsy stopped pacing and stared at Luty. “What are you talking about?”

Luty chuckled. “We ain’t blind, ya know. Everyone can see you two are sweet on each other. ’Course he’s not much to look at…”

“I think he’s fine to look at,” Betsy said indignantly. “His appearance isn’t ordinary, but I think he’s quite handsome.”

“You think Smythe is ’andsome?” Wiggins exclaimed. “Our Smythe?”

“Yes, our Smythe,” Betsy shot back. “And furthermore, if you repeat one word of this to him, I’ll have your guts for garters.”

From the flaming red in her cheeks and the glint in her eyes, Wiggins was sure she meant what she said. “I can keep a secret,” he retorted. “I’ve kept ’em for Smythe often enough. You should ask me what ’e says about you.”

“What does he say?” she demanded.

Wiggins grinned. “Can’t tell ya. It’s a secret.”

Mrs. Jeffries smiled at Luty, grateful the woman had distracted everyone with her remarks. Luty winked at her.

They continued the vigil.

Mrs. Goodge yawned. Wiggins scribbled. Luty played another hand of Patience and Betsy continued to pace. Mrs. Jeffries’s thoughts swirled around the case. What if she was wrong? What if Smythe and Hatchet got caught?

The clock had just struck the half hour when they heard the back door open. Betsy almost cried in relief when the two men, grinning like they’d just conquered a mountain came into the kitchen.

“Did you have any difficulties?” Mrs. Jeffries asked anxiously.

“Not a one, madam,” Hatchet said. “No one will even know we were ever there.” That wasn’t quite the truth. Someone might notice the scratches on the window, but he didn’t think it likely.

“You were right, Mrs. Jeffries,” Smythe said as they all took their seats at the table. “She did have a will. Lucky for us she’d seen her solicitor recently too. It were right on ’is desk.”

“Unfortunately, we did waste some time looking for the wretched thing in the file cabinets,” Hatchet added. “Until I suggested we have a look at Drummond’s desk.”

“I’d a sussed that out eventually,” Smythe told him testily.

“Were you able to determine who her heir is?” Mrs. Jeffries said quickly. She crossed her fingers. The suspense was killing her. “Is it Brian Cameron?”

Smythe looked Hatchet, waited for him to nod and then said. “Sorry to disappoint ya, Mrs. J., but you were off the mark with that one.”

She stared at him in disbelief. She simply couldn’t believe it. “Are you certain?” she whispered.

“Quite sure,” Hatchet said. “The will is very simple. I’m sorry to say the heir is Connor Reese. On her death, everything goes to him.”

CHAPTER 11

Mrs. Jeffries didn’t sleep well. How could she? She’d been wrong. Dreadfully so. She got up the next morning grumpy and still angry at herself for being so foolish as to think that only her solution was the right one. She’d put Hatchet and Smythe in terrible danger and she wasn’t going to forgive herself easily.

But as she puttered about the drawing room, halfheartedly running a feather duster over the mantel, she couldn’t help thinking that she couldn’t have been that wrong. She was sure she knew who murdered Hannah Cameron. She sighed as she glanced at the clock, wondering if the inspector was having a better day than she was.

He’d been so excited by his discoveries yesterday that he’d not even had a proper breakfast this morning. He’d just grabbed a slice of toast and dashed off.

Her shoulders slumped and she put the duster down on the table. In a short while, she’d have to tell the others. Admitting she was wrong wasn’t going to be pleasant, but she owed them the truth. Luckily, it had been so late last night when Hatchet and Smythe had returned, she’d been able to get everyone to hold their questions until today. They were due to meet back here at four for tea. Everyone, except herself, was out snooping about, doing their very best to bring this case to a just conclusion. She sighed again and shook her head. Too bad she hadn’t a clue about how to go about it.

“Dr. Reese,” Witherspoon said, “we’re sorry to bother you, but we’ve a few questions to ask.”

“Can you be quick about it?” Reese looked pointedly at his waiting room, which, as the inspector and Barnes knew because they’d come in that way, was filled with patients wanting to see the doctor. “Some of those people out there are very ill. I don’t like to keep them waiting.”

They were in the doctor’s surgery—in his examination room to be precise. It was quite small. There was a privacy screen in one corner. A table covered with a clean linen cloth stood in the center of the room and beyond that was a desk beside a glass cupboard filled with medical texts. Next to the door was a cupboard and a sink. The room smelled heavily of disinfectant. But despite its size, the inspector was quite impressed. The surgery was obviously clean and well equipped. Not really what one would expect for an East End practise.

“We won’t keep you long, sir,” Witherspoon assured him. “Uh, this is a bit awkward, Doctor,
but can you tell me where you were on the night your cousin was murdered?”

Reese hung his coat in the cupboard and pulled out a clean, white apron. He slipped it over his head. He looked surprised, but not unduly alarmed by the question. “May I ask why you want to know?”

“We’ve had it on good authority that you’re…uh…er…”

“You’re courting Miss Ellingsley.” Constable Barnes took pity on Witherspoon and interrupted. “We’ve heard that she’s been sneakin’ out at night to see you. Is this true?”

“It is,” Reese replied. He walked over to the table, pulled a drawer open and began taking instruments out. “I imagine you know all about Kathryn and I. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

Witherspoon nodded.

“I imagine you also know that I loathed my cousin,” he continued. “But I’ve loathed her for years. I’d hardly bother to murder her now.”

“Nevertheless, she was murdered,” Barnes said.

“Kathryn and I had nothing to do with Hannah’s death,” Dr. Reese stated flatly.

“But it was because of Mrs. Cameron that you had to sneak about to see each other,” Barnes charged. “Seems to me that gives you a bit of a motive, sir.”

“Hannah tried to make it impossible for us to see one another,” he said curtly. “But that didn’t stop us. We started meeting secretly. That was Kathryn’s idea. I wanted her to marry me. But Kathryn felt she should stay on at the Cameron house for awhile longer for the children’s sake. She
was hoping that Brian would send them away to boarding school next term.”

“Even the little girl?” Witherspoon asked. He thought eight years old was quite young to send a child away from her home.

“Ellen would be better off at school than she was living with that woman,” he said disgustedly. “But that’s not the issue, is it? I’m just explaining why we met secretly. Why Kathryn didn’t just chuck the position and marry me. She’s devoted to those children.”

Witherspoon wondered how a devoted governess could sneak out and leave her charges unattended. “Wasn’t she worried about the children when she slipped off to be with you? I mean, what if one of them woke up and needed her?”

“Ellen and Edward sleep very well,” he replied, going to the sink and turning on the water. He picked up a bar of carbolic soap and started scrubbing his hands. “They never wake up. But please don’t think Kathryn is in any way negligent. Hazel, one of the housemaids, would slip up and stay in Kathryn’s room by the nursery. The children were always well looked after.”

“How often did you and Miss Ellingsley see one another?” Witherspoon asked. He had no idea what prompted the question, but he felt he ought to ask something. He was rather surprised by the doctor’s candor. He’d expected the man to hem and haw and deny everything.

“Not often enough to suit me.” Reese dried his hands. “Look, Inspector. Kathryn and I are going to be married. I’ll not have you thinking she’s loose or doesn’t have the highest of morals. When we
did manage to see one another, all we ever did was walk and talk.”

“You’re engaged?” Witherspoon asked. That probably wasn’t pertinent either, but it never hurt to ask.

“Yes.” Reese sighed. “We were going to announce it last week, but then Kathryn’s uncle took ill and she didn’t want to announce our engagement publicly till she told him privately. Now, if there’s nothing else, I’ve a room full of patients.”

“You haven’t answered the question, sir,” Barnes reminded him. “Where were you on the night that your cousin was murdered?”

Reese smiled. “I think you already know the answer to that question. I was visiting Kathryn. Only this time, instead of her slipping out to meet me, she’d let me into the house.”

“This come for ya, Mrs. Jeffries,” Wiggins said as he came into the kitchen. He handed her a small brown envelope, the twin to one the housekeeper had received yesterday.

“Thank you, Wiggins,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. She dreaded this meeting. She wasn’t sure what to say. One part of her was still convinced she had to be correct.

“Been a lot of telegrams today,” Wiggins continued cheerfully. “Helen was tellin’ me that Kathryn Ellingsley’s ’ad one as well. ’Ers was bad news, though. Her uncle’s not expected to last through the night.”

“Who’s not going to last?” Aunt Elberta, wrapped in her coat and hat, thumped into the kitchen and headed purposely toward the table.
“Thought I’d find the lot of you here,” she continued, not waiting for an answer to her question. “Can’t see how you get any work done. Every time I come in here you’re sittin’ around drinking tea.”

“Aunt Elberta,” Mrs. Goodge cried in alarm. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at the British Museum with Effie!”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Got boring, that did. Told Effie to bring me home.” She stopped beside the cook. “I’m tired. That girl’s dragged me all over London.”

“Would you care for a cup of tea?” Mrs. Jeffries asked.

Aunt Elberta shook her head. “No, I’m going to go lay down for a bit. I just come in to let you know I’ll be goin’ home tomorrow.”

“But I thought you were staying the week,” the cook said.

“Changed my mind,” Aunt Elberta replied with a yawn. “No offense meant, but I’ve decided I’m too old for sightseein’.” She smiled wearily. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll go have a nap before I start my packing.”

“Really.” Mrs. Goodge sniffed as soon as the woman left the room. “This is a bit of a surprise. She seems quite anxious to leave.”

“Not to worry, Mrs. Goodge,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “I think she’s had a nice visit. But when a person gets to be your aunt’s age, they like their own home.”

“At least Effie’ll stop complainin’ about havin’ to ride herd on the woman,” Luty commented. Then she looked at the envelope in the housekeeper’s hand. “Well? Ain’t ya gonna open it?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Mrs. Jeffries smiled bravely and tore the ruddy thing open, though she didn’t expect that this answer would be much better than the one she’d had last night. She pulled the paper out and stared at the brief message.