Mrs. Jeffries and the Mistletoe Mix-Up (13 page)

“Why thank you, Wiggins.” Luty smiled gratefully. “Now, let’s just hope that Lucille wasn’t lyin’ through her teeth this time and the mysterious blonde lady is still there. Anyways, that’s all I found out. But I’m goin’ to dinner at Lord Farleigh’s tonight. Maybe I can pick up somethin’ interestin’ there.”

“Take heart, madam,” Hatchet said. “My day wasn’t much better than yours. I, too, had to rely on a source that, shall we say, isn’t very reliable. But beggars can’t be choosers. I did find out a few tidbits about our victim and his wife.”

“What did you learn?” Mrs. Jeffries helped herself to a slice of brown buttered bread.

“Elena McCourt’s just inherited a fortune from her aunt,” Hatchet replied. “Apparently, as soon as the will was read, she made it clear to several of her friends that she was taking control of her money.”

“What does that mean?” Wiggins asked.

“I suspect it means she wasn’t going to let her husband get his hands on it,” Ruth interjected. “Oh dear. I’m sorry, Hatchet. I didn’t mean to interrupt your report, but it does dovetail nicely with what I found out.”

Hatchet waved off her apology. “Actually, I’m delighted you were able to verify my information. As I said, my source isn’t the most trustworthy person.”

“Did your source know how much she inherited?” Betsy asked.

He shook his head. “He didn’t mention an exact figure, but he did say she was the sole remaining heir of the Herron family, and they are known to be very, very rich.”

“That’s what my source said as well,” Ruth added.

“Why don’t you go next,” Mrs. Jeffries suggested to her.

“Alright. As I’ve already mentioned, several people at my Women’s Group meeting commented about her inheritance and the fact that she’s been very forthcoming about controlling her own money. But I also heard something else from Joanne Wells, who is a member of our group and an acquaintance of Elena McCourt’s. Joanne told me that the day after the reading of Mrs. McCourt’s late aunt’s will, they ran into each other when both of them were out shopping. Joanne made some comment about spending too much money and how her husband was going to complain, and Elena just laughed. She said she didn’t have to be concerned about that anymore, and from now on, it was her husband’s turn to worry. Joanne asked her what she meant. She just shrugged and said that she’d be the one controlling the purse strings and that she wasn’t disposed to be generous.”

“I don’t understand; does that mean McCourt had no money?” Mrs. Goodge frowned in confusion. “But that doesn’t make sense. How could he keep up that big house and all those servants?”

“Perhaps their living expenses are paid for out of her marriage settlement money,” Mrs. Jeffries speculated. “Or perhaps he wasn’t completely destitute. After all, he just purchased something for his antiquities collection.” She glanced at Ruth. “Did Mrs. Wells make any other comments?”

Ruth smiled ruefully. “Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t get anything else out of her. But I might have something for our morning meeting. Like Luty, I’m going to a dinner party tonight.”

“I’ll go next,” Smythe volunteered quietly. He was holding the baby, who’d fallen sound asleep. “I went to the hansom stand closest to the McCourt house and ’ad a word with a couple of the drivers. One of’em told me that the only fare he ’ad around the time the tea party ended yesterday was a lady. ’Er husband put her in the hansom and gave him the address, but as soon as the rig went round the corner, the woman insisted ’e stop, and she got out and scarpered off.”

“Did he remember the address he’d been given?” Mrs. Jeffries asked quickly.

“He couldn’t recall the name of the street; just that it was in Kensington.”

“That’s not much help. Everyone at that tea party lives in that neighborhood,” the cook complained.

“True, but it is a very interesting piece of information,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “Don’t forget, by the time the guests had gone, the servants at the McCourt house were outside and all the windows and doors were open.”

“Meanin’ any of the guests could have gone back, grabbed the sword, and murdered the victim,” Phyllis said thoughtfully. “Includin’ the mysterious lady who got out of the hansom cab.”

Mrs. Jeffries nodded approvingly at the maid and then looked at the coachman. “Was the driver able to describe what she looked like?”

Amanda squirmed and made a mewling sound but didn’t awaken. Smythe waited till she’d settled before he answered. “’E only got a peek at her when she climbed out of the cab, but ’e told me she was dark-haired and wearin’ a rust-colored cloak with a fur collar and a matchin’ hat. From the glimpse’e got of her face, ’e said she was pretty.”

“Sounds to me like he got more than a glimpse of the woman.” Betsy laughed softly. “Mrs. Brunel was the only woman other than Mrs. McCourt who was at the tea. If she’s young and pretty, all we need to find out is if Mrs. Brunel has a rust-colored cloak.”

She glanced at Amanda, sleeping in her father’s arms. Listening to the others give their reports hadn’t been as hard as she’d thought. She’d been afraid that the meeting might make her wish she could be out and “on the hunt” again, and though it did cause a tiny pang of regret, she was glad she’d stayed with her baby. Today hadn’t been difficult. She tried her best to stay out of Mrs. Goodge’s way, especially when the cook had someone in the kitchen, but she’d soon gotten bored, and using the baby as an excuse, she’d spent the afternoon at home, returning only a few moments before the meeting.

“I’ll make it a point to ask the inspector,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “Who would like to go next?”

“I’ve got a bit more to report,” Smythe said quickly.

“Oh, sorry, do go on,” Mrs. Jeffries said.

“I ’eard somethin’ about Jerome Raleigh and Nicholas Saxon,” he continued. He told them what he’d learned from Blimpey, without, of course, mentioning Blimpey.

“Glenda Brunel was once engaged to Nicholas Saxon!” Mrs. Goodge exclaimed. “Gracious, Smythe, you’ve found out more than any of us.”

“Nah.” He shrugged modestly. “I just got lucky today, that’s all.”

“But it wasn’t Leon Brunel that were murdered; it was Daniel McCourt,” Wiggins pointed out. “And seems to me that we ought to be takin’ a real close look at Jerome Raleigh. If ’e tried to pull the same fraud on McCourt that he pulled on his old employers, then McCourt might ’ave found out. He’d probably ’ave wanted Raleigh prosecuted.”

“Which would give him a motive for murder,” Mrs. Jeffries said.

“But only if he tried to cheat McCourt,” Mrs. Goodge argued. “And we don’t know that he did. He might have learned his lesson ten years ago.”

“That’s true.” Smythe nodded in agreement. “My source’adn’t ’eard anythin’ about him bein’ up to ’is old tricks. But I’ll keep snoopin’ about and see what I can find out.”

“If you’re done, can I go next?” Wiggins asked. At the coachman’s nod, he told them about his meeting with the footman from the McCourt house. “After he was finished tellin’ me about the maid who ’eard someone outside in the passageway last night, I found myself wonderin’ if she was bein’ fanciful or if there’s somethin’ to it.”

“You’re thinking she might have really heard someone walking about outside?” Hatchet said.

“That’s right, and what’s more, maybe the reason Mrs. McCourt didn’t want Annie sayin’ anythin’ to the police was because she was the one outside doin’ the walkin’.”

“Then why wouldn’t she simply tell the housekeeper that the maid had heard her walking? Mrs. McCourt said she’d not been able to sleep, and perhaps she went outside for some air,” Betsy said reasonably. “It’s her house, and she can do what she likes.”

“It’s the middle of winter,” the footman protested. “It’s cold. No one in ’er right mind would go out unless she ’ad a reason.”

Enjoying herself, Betsy crossed her arms over her chest. “What kind of reason? Come on, Wiggins. What are you getting at?”

“I don’t know what I’m gettin’ at.” Wiggins frowned. “But I think it’s mighty suspicious that she didn’t want the maid to tell the police what she’d ’eard. Maybe she was hidin’ somethin’.”

“What could she be hidin’?” the cook asked as she reached for the teapot. “The murder weapon was found next to the body. Maybe she didn’t want the girl sayin’ anythin’ to the police because the maid is a nervous ninny who jumps at her own shadow.”

“We’re getting off course here,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “Though I must say, both arguments are somewhat valid. Wiggins, can you find a way to speak to Annie and learn what she may or may not have heard?”

Wiggins grinned. “’Course I can. It’ll take a bit of doin’, but Albert Jones will make sure ’e finds a way to speak to the girl.”

Phyllis looked at Wiggins, her expression confused. “Albert Jones? Who is he?”

“’E’s the name I use when I’m on the hunt,” Wiggins confessed. “People talk, and it wouldn’t do for a constable or even the inspector to overhear one of the servants mentionin’ they’d been knocked over on the ’igh street by a fellow named Wiggins.”

Phyllis’ eyes widened. “Oh, I never thought of that.” She frowned, trying to remember whether she’d mentioned her name or where she worked while she was out today. She was fairly sure she hadn’t.

“I did ’ear one more thing from Duncan,” Wiggins added quickly. “Just as I was fixin’ to leave, the lad took some salve out of his pocket and smeared it on his knuckles, which were in a right old mess. When he saw me lookin’ at his ’ands, he said the police inspector who’d come to the house ’ad given him the money to buy the salve.”

There were murmurs of approval from around the table, but it was Phyllis who spoke up. “Inspector Witherspoon is such a good man. I hope I never have to leave here,” she declared.

“Yes, he is a good man,” Mrs. Jeffries agreed. “And that’s one of the reasons we all work so hard to help him. Why don’t you go next.”

She took a deep breath. “I didn’t learn much, but I did have a quick chat with the girl at the greengrocer’s on the high street.” She repeated what she’d heard, taking her time and trying to recall every single word. She didn’t want to get it wrong. “And that was the only bit I found out. I know it’s not very much, but I only managed to do the shops on one side of the street today, so I’ll do the other side tomorrow.”

Betsy started to clap her hands and then stopped when the baby’s little fists jerked. “Bravo, Phyllis,” she whispered. “I knew you could do it.” She pushed back in her chair and took Amanda out of Smythe’s arms. “Let me put her down for a nap. I’m afraid I’m going to wake her.”

“But I ain’t had a chance to hold her,” Luty hissed. Betsy hesitated, but Luty waved impatiently. “Let the baby go to bed, but I git to hold her first at our mornin’ meetin’ tomorrow.”

“We’ve got a deal,” Betsy agreed before she hurried off toward the cook’s suite. Mrs. Goodge had insisted they put a crib in her room so the baby could nap there during the day.

“I wish we knew what the McCourts were squabblin’ about,” Wiggins mused. “I’ll see if I can get any more information out of the maid. It must ’ave been a real nasty argument. Too bad Mrs. McCourt didn’t tell the inspector exactly what they was arguin’ about.”

“You’ll sort that out soon, lad,” Mrs. Goodge said confidently. She pushed a plate of raisin scones toward Phyllis. “You’ve done well, Phyllis, and I’m sure you’ll do even better tomorrow. You’ve all done better than me; I’ve not found out anythin’ at all from my sources today. But an old colleague is visitin’ in the mornin’, and I expect she’ll have a few bits of information that might come in useful.”

Betsy had returned as the cook was speaking. She slipped back into her chair. “Now it’s Mrs. Jeffries’ turn to tell us about her adventure.”

Mrs. Jeffries winced slightly. “To begin with, I’ll admit that my ‘adventure’ almost gave me heart failure.”

“Cor blimey, what ’appened?” Wiggins asked eagerly.

“As you all know, I went to Victoria Gardens to see the ‘lay of the land,’ so to speak. My bonnet was pulled down low over my face to prevent any constables I might run into from recognizing me, and all seemed to be well. I walked past the front door of the McCourt home without mishap, and no one paid any attention to me. But then I realized that from the front of the place, you couldn’t see the back or side doors, so I thought I’d be clever and try to get into their communal garden. But the only gate that I could find was locked. So I went back out to the street. Just then, I saw a delivery boy going to the house two doors down. He’d left the service gate open, so I nipped in and dashed through the passage to the garden. I’d just gotten directly behind the McCourt house when four constables suddenly appeared, so I turned to run back the way I’d come, but then I saw another two constables.”

“Oh my goodness, that must have been terribly frightening!” Ruth exclaimed. “What on earth did you do?”

“The only thing I could; I ran into the passageway in the house next door to the McCourt home and prayed they weren’t going to search there. There wasn’t even anyplace to hide. The flower beds along the fence were completely bare, and there wasn’t as much as a bush I could jump behind. So I stood just inside the gate as the constables approached, but when I heard them talking, I realized they were going to come in. Honestly, if I’d had time, I’d have burrowed under the pine mulch, but I didn’t have a moment to spare! They were getting closer by the second, and being caught hiding in the house next to the murder house would have been ten times worse than being seen in the communal garden.”

“How is that worse?” Phyllis asked.

“At least if she’d been in the communal garden she could always say she was looking for our inspector,” Betsy explained.

“But as it was, I was now effectively trapped,” Mrs. Jeffries clarified. “Getting into the passageway from the communal garden end was easy; those gates are often unlocked so family and servants can come and go as they please. But the gate at the street end is always locked. I’d no choice. When I realized they were coming inside, I ran toward the street. As I feared, the gate was locked.”