A Mrs. Jeffires Mystery 11 - Mrs. Jeffries Questions the Answer (5 page)

BOOK: A Mrs. Jeffires Mystery 11 - Mrs. Jeffries Questions the Answer
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“She’s been with us for about six months,” Cameron replied. “I’ve two children, Inspector. Edward and Ellen. Edward’s ten and Ellen is eight. This will be very difficult for them to understand.”

Witherspoon clucked his tongue sympathetically. “How dreadful for them to lose their mother so young.”

“Mrs. Cameron was their stepmother,” Fiona put in.

“But she’s the only mother the children have ever known,” Brian added. “We married when they were both babies. My first wife died of influenza right after Ellen was born.”

“So you’ve been widowed twice, sir,” Barnes commented quietly.

Fiona Hadleigh glanced at him sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean? The first Mrs. Cameron died of influenza.”

Barnes raised his eyebrows slightly. “It wasn’t a question, Mrs. Hadleigh, just a comment.”

“I’ll thank you to keep your comments to yourself.”

Witherspoon cleared his throat. “Can you tell me what happened this evening, sir?”

Cameron sighed wearily. “As I told you, the four of us had dinner together…”

“At a restaurant?” Witherspoon interrupted. He hated to be rude, but he’d found that if he didn’t get a question out when he thought of it, he sometimes forgot it altogether.

Cameron nodded. “At Simpsons. We were to dine at eight, but the restaurant was crowded so it took quite a while to get served and have our meal. By the time we got home, it was so late that we invited Mrs. Hadleigh and Mr. Ripton to spend the night. They accepted the invitation. John and I had a glass of port before retiring and Fiona and Hannah kept us company. About eleven-thirty, we all went to bed. I read for a while and then just as I started to get undressed, Miriam, my wife’s maid, knocked on the door. She asked if I’d seen Mrs. Cameron. She couldn’t find her.”

“So it was the maid who alerted you to the fact that Mrs. Cameron wasn’t in her room?” Witherspoon said. He wanted to get the sequence of events clear in his own mind.

“That’s correct.”

The inspector thought about it for a moment. “How long was it from the time you went up until the maid came and knocked on your door?”

He shrugged. “Twenty minutes or so, perhaps a bit more, perhaps a bit less. I’ve really no idea. It’s my habit to read before I retire. I remember I’d just put down my book when the maid knocked. But I didn’t think to look at the clock.”

“And then what happened?” Witherspoon prompted gently.

“Then I went back downstairs thinking that perhaps Hannah had forgotten something and gone to fetch it. But she wasn’t in the drawing room or the library, so I had a look in the small back sitting room and…and…” His voice broke and he looked down at the floor.

“It’s quite all right, sir,” Witherspoon interrrupted. “You needn’t go on about that part of it. We know what you found.”

“Had the maid searched for Mrs. Cameron?” Barnes asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied, shaking his head. “I assume not.”

“Why?” the constable persisted. From what he knew of rich people, they didn’t get off their backsides and hunt for someone if they had a servant to do it for them.

Brian Cameron seemed surprised by the question. “Why what? Why didn’t the maid search? I’ve no idea. You’ll have to ask her.”

“Was there any reason that you can think of why your wife went into that room tonight?” Witherspoon asked.

Cameron closed his eyes and shook his head. “Not that I know about. I’ve no idea why she went downstairs at all. The only thing I can think of is that she’d forgotten something and gone back downstairs to fetch it.”

“But if she’d forgotten something, wouldn’t she have sent her maid to get it?”

“Usually, yes.”

“But this time, she went down herself,” Witherspoon
mused. He thought back to how the body had been situated in the room. “Is it possible she could have heard something out in the garden and gone down on her own to see what it was?”

“It’s possible,” Cameron replied. “Quite honestly, Inspector, I’ve no idea why my wife came downstairs. She only uses that sitting room in the mornings. But as it was, she did go down and it cost her dearly. She obviously surprised a thief and the cur murdered her.”

Witherspoon knew he had to tread cautiously here. Apparently, Chief Inspector Barrows hadn’t informed the master of the house that his wife’s murder might not be as simple as that. “Were any of the windows or doors opened when you came downstairs?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think to look. As soon as I realized that Hannah was dead, I sent the butler out for help.”

“The front door was open,” Fiona Hadleigh volunteered. “I saw it standing wide open when I came downstairs to see what all the commotion was about.”

“It was only open because Hatfield was so rattled he dashed out into the street shouting his lungs out for the police,” Cameron replied. “It wasn’t opened before that. It was locked. I checked that when I came down looking for Hannah.” He looked up at Witherspoon. “The police searched the house earlier. They didn’t find any windows open and the bolt was still on the back door when they looked. Why are you asking about the doors and windows?”

“If your wife surprised a burglar,” Witherspoon
replied, “I’m wondering how he got in and out?”

“Well, surely that’s obvious. The French doors in the study. The glass was broken in one of them. That’s how he must have gotten in.”

Witherspoon thought about the position of the body again, about the way Hannah Cameron had been crumbled in a heap less than two inches from the door frame.

“Mr. Cameron,” he began hesitantly, “I’m afraid there’s a possibility your wife didn’t surprise a thief.”

Cameron’s brows drew together. “But that’s nonsense. She must have. Who else could have killed her?”

Witherspoon thought it prudent not to share all his information with someone who might be a suspect in this case. He was sorry now that he’d said anything. But if Hannah Cameron had surprised a thief, he’d eat his hat for breakfast. “I’m afraid, sir, that we can’t rule out any possibilities. I’ll have to ask everyone, including your servants, to make yourselves available for further questioning.”

Mrs. Jeffries was at her wit’s end. Getting Aunt Elberta safely ensconced in the household while at the same time trying to pry a bit of information out of a dreadfully tired Inspector Witherspoon had greatly taxed her resources, not to mention her stamina. But by ten o’clock the next morning, Aunt Elberta was resting comfortably in her room upstairs and they were grouped around the kitchen table. Inspector Witherspoon, having come home very late, had gone to bed with only a weary smile
at his housekeeper and then been up and out with only a cup of tea for his breakfast.

But Mrs. Jeffries had gotten some basic facts out of the man. Facts she was eager to share with the others, all of whom were chomping at the bit to get cracking.

“What’s takin’ Luty and Hatchet so long?” Wiggins asked. “Smythe left to get ’em ’ours ago.”

“It’s not been hours,” Betsy corrected, but she too frowned at the clock.

At that moment, they heard the back door opening and the sound of voices.

“Howdy, everyone,” Luty called as she dashed into the kitchen. “I’m sorry it took us so long to git here, but I had to get shut of some business before I could come.” Luty Belle Crookshank was white-haired, dark-eyed and sharp as a razor despite her advanced years. She wore a bright blue bonnet with a plume of peacock feathers on the crest and carried a large mink muff. Her small frame was swathed in a heavy black coat which she shedded as she crossed the room. Tossing it on the coat tree, she smoothed the skirt of her outrageously bright green-and-blue striped day gown and hurried over to the others.

“I’d hardly call Sir William Marlin ‘business to get shut of,’” Hatchet reproved his employer stiffly. He was a tall, distinguished looking man with a full shock of white hair, a carriage straighter than the Kaiser’s and a ready smile that belied his always correct manner. “Good morning, everyone,” he said formally as he pulled out a chair for his employer. “I must say, I was utterly delighted
when your good man Smythe came round this morning and told us our services were needed.”

“Glad you finally got here,” Mrs. Goodge said testily. She whipped a quick glance over her shoulder toward the hall and the backstairs. No doubt she was still worried that Aunt Elberta would come bursting in on them.

“We got ’ere as quick as we could,” Smythe said, dropping into the chair next to Betsy. “But Luty had some important business…”

“Piddle.” Luty snorted. “Bill Marlin only wanted to badger me about givin’ my money away. I told him it weren’t none of his business who I give my cash to and sent him along. Stupid men, always tryin’ to stick their noses in other people’s business.”

“You didn’t have to be so rude to him.” Hatchet sniffed disapprovingly. “Honestly, madam, you practically threatened to shoot the poor fellow.”

“I never threatened him,” Luty protested. “Can I help it if he turned tail and skedaddled just because I got my gun out?” Luty liked to carry a Colt .45 in her fur muff when they were on a case.

“Oh dear.” Mrs. Jeffries cast a worried glance at the muff that lay innocently on the table in front of Luty. “I thought we’d agreed that perhaps carrying a loaded weapon in London wasn’t such a good idea.”

“Don’t fret, Hepzibah.” Luty laughed. “I only got the gun out to have a look at it. I’m not carryin’ it. Hatchet claims it makes him nervous.”

“It would make anyone nervous,” Hatchet replied. “And you got the weapon out to terrorize Sir William…”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Luty shot back. “Bill took one look at my peacemaker and suddenly remembered another appointment.”

Hatchet harrumphed loudly.
“Bill
indeed! All he was doing was his proper job, madam. Your late husband did specifically request that Sir William act as your financial advisor.”

“Let’s argue about it later,” Luty replied. “I want to hear what we’ve got on our plates.” She turned to Mrs. Jeffries. “What do we know about this here killing?”

“We’ve learned enough to get started,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “The inspector was too tired to talk when he came home and he was in a hurry this morning. But luckily, one of the constables on the scene was here last night and we got quite a bit out of him. The victim is a woman named Hannah Cameron. Whoever killed her tried to make it look as though she’d interrupted a burglary. She was stabbed in the back. Chief Inspector Barrows of Scotland Yard happened to be leaving the house next door when the alarm was raised and he took charge. The moment he saw the room the woman was found in, he knew it was a case of willful murder.”

“Then I take it that someone, presumably the killer, deliberately tried to make it look as though the victim had surprised a burglar?” Hatchet ventured.

“Indeed.” Mrs. Jeffries picked up her tea cup. “They went to a great deal of effort. There was a broken window in the pane of the French doors, some drawers were left open and a number of items were found on the floor. But apparently, whoever
did it didn’t know the first thing about how a real burglar would have behaved. It was the top drawers that were opened, you see,” she explained. “And there were a number of small, expensive items in the bedroom that hadn’t been touched. A true professional would have nabbed those before he’d even touched the drawers looking for valuables.”

Luty’s brows drew together. “I ain’t followin’ ya. What difference does it make which drawers were open?”

“A professional burglar would have started from the bottom up,” Hatchet answered. “It’s much faster that way. If you start from the top and work down, you have to take the time to close the drawer before you can properly see what’s in the one below it. Oh, excuse me, Mrs. Jeffries, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

She smiled in amusement. “That’s quite all right, Hatchet. You are correct.” She went on to tell them the rest of what they’d learned. “So you see,” she concluded, “we must be extra careful. Not only is this case extremely puzzling, but we’ve got to contend with Inspector Nivens being very involved in it.”

There was a collective moan from the others. Mrs. Jeffries smiled briefly and went on, “But we do have a list of suspects. Inspector Witherspoon thinks that the killer must have already been in the house. As there was no sign of a door or window being open, he’s assuming that the killer either was already in the house or had a key.”

“But didn’t you just say that this Hadleigh woman noticed the front door standing wide open?” Betsy asked.

“I did,” Mrs. Jeffries nodded. “And that’s one of the things we’ll need to confirm. Brian Cameron claims it was only opened when the butler dashed out to get a policeman.”

“Was Cameron watchin’ the door the whole time?” Smythe asked. “I mean, a lot of thieves are quick on their feet. If the burglar couldn’t have gotten out the French doors in the sittin’ room before the alarm was raised, he could have been hidin’ and waitin’ for a chance to slip out the front door.”

“At this point,” the housekeeper explained, “we simply don’t know enough one way or the other. But if Chief Inspector Barrow and our inspector both think this wasn’t a burglary, I believe we ought to go along with that assumption. At least until we have some facts in our possession which indicate differently.”

BOOK: A Mrs. Jeffires Mystery 11 - Mrs. Jeffries Questions the Answer
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