Mrs. Jeffries and the Mistletoe Mix-Up (14 page)

“What did you do? ’Ow’d you get away?” Wiggins asked eagerly.

“I threw myself against it hard as I could.” She rubbed her shoulder. “And I’m sure I’ll pay for that with a multitude of aches and pains, but it worked! The gate flew open and I ran outside.” She sat back and looked at the faces around the table. Their expressions ranged from amused to shocked.

“Bloomin’ Ada, Mrs. Jeffries, that’s a good way of gettin’ out of a bad spot!” Smythe exclaimed.

“You broke the lock on their gate?” Mrs. Goodge asked incredulously.

“It was already broken. It must have been,” the housekeeper said defensively. “A good lock shouldn’t have given way as easily as that one did.”

“I don’t know,” Betsy mused. “You’re a strong woman; you could do a lot of damage.” She ducked her head to hide her smile.

“I didn’t do any damage!”

“Although it does sound as if you destroyed private property,” Hatchet said primly, but his eyes twinkled, and he was struggling not to laugh.

“I’m going to pay for the lock!” Mrs. Jeffries exclaimed indignantly.

“Just the lock?” Wiggins asked. “’Ave you gone back to look at the gate? If ya slammed yourself into it ’ard enough to bust it open, you might ’ave knocked it clear off the hinges.”

“Of course I didn’t go look at it!” Mrs. Jeffries yelled. “I was too busy running away—” She broke off as she realized they were all having a good chuckle at her expense. “Very funny,” she said as everyone began to laugh. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at them. “I’ll have you know I was terrified.”

“I’d have been frightened, too.” Ruth giggled. “But you got away, and that’s what’s important. It was quick thinking on your part.”

“It sure was,” Luty agreed. “And you ain’t the first one of us to have to do somethin’ undignified when we’re out on the hunt. I once had to hide in a closet. We’re not makin’ fun of ya; we’re just havin’ a good laugh because it finally happened to you.”

“You were lucky one of their servants didn’t catch you.” Mrs. Goodge chuckled.

“Indeed I was,” she said before laughing ruefully.

“Maybe they were gone,” Luty said cheerfully. “Just like all my sources.”

 

Witherspoon was tired by the time he and Barnes entered Jerome Raleigh’s ground-floor flat. He lived in a modern block on a cul-de-sac off Brook Green.

Raleigh was a tall, thin man with a broad face and blond hair brushed back from his high forehead. He was wearing a heavy woolen brown and blue plaid dressing gown. A pair of wire-rimmed spectacles framed his watery blue eyes. He gestured at two balloon-back chairs by the fireplace. “Please sit down, gentlemen,” he offered as he flopped down on the sofa opposite them. “As you can see, I’m not well, so I’ve got to lie down.”

“We’ll be as brief as possible, sir,” Witherspoon replied as they took their seats. Like the other houses they’d visited today, this one also boasted a huge array of gorgeous Oriental objects. Chinese ceramics, brass statues, vases of every color and description, wooden boxes inlaid with mother-of-pearl designs, and half a dozen sets of teapots with matching cups were arranged on the shelves along the walls. A faded Oriental rug covered the space between the gray love seat and the two chairs, and the middle of them was a brilliantly polished low table with carved legs. “I’m sure you know why we’re here.”

“Of course.” He pulled a white handkerchief out of his pocket and rubbed the bottom of his nose. “Terrible business, just terrible. But I don’t know what you think I can tell you. Daniel McCourt was alive when I left his home.”

Barnes took out his notebook. “We’re speaking to everyone who was there yesterday afternoon.”

Witherspoon nodded in agreement. “What time did you arrive at the McCourt home?”

“Half past four. I don’t believe in being fashionably late. That’s a foolish affectation and it’s also rude.”

“Were the other guests on time?”

“Yes, we were all punctual, though Leon Brunel disappeared as soon as they arrived.” He rubbed the handkerchief across his upper lip.

“How did you get to the McCourt home?” Barnes asked.

“I walked. It’s not far, and this time of year, it’s more trouble trying to get a hansom than it’s worth,” he replied.

“Did you notice anyone suspicious either when you went into the McCourt home or when you left after the fire?” Witherspoon asked.

“You know about the fire, then.” He waved off his own question. “Of course you do. But in answer to your question, no, I saw no one who struck me as being suspect in any way.”

Witherspoon gestured at the objects on the shelves. “You’ve quite a collection here.”

“I’m a dealer, Inspector. Unfortunately, the warehouse where I used to store my goods has been plagued with burglaries, so I’m forced to house the most valuable pieces here.”

“Which warehouse would that be, sir?” Barnes asked softly.

“It was a small concern off Commercial Road in Whitechapel. I don’t think they’re still in business. Now, can we get on with this? I’m really not feeling well.”

“You’re an antiquities dealer, sir?” Witherspoon commented. “We were told you were an appraiser.”

“I do both, Inspector,” he replied. “Most appraisers also have their own collections.”

“Do you work for any of the local antiquity auction houses?” Barnes asked blandly.

“No, I’m independent and my clients come to me through referrals.”

Witherspoon said, “Do you know if Mr. McCourt had any enemies?”

Raleigh blinked in surprise at the sudden change in topic. “He wasn’t a particularly well-loved man, but I don’t know of any actual enemies he might have had.”

“What about Mr. Arthur Brunel?”

Raleigh blew his nose again. “What about him? The men weren’t close anymore, but he’d been invited to the house, so there must have been some sort of reconciliation.”

“Then you know they were estranged?” Witherspoon pressed. He wanted to see how widespread this information had been.

“Everyone knew it. Arthur Brunel has told most of London that McCourt conspired with Leon Brunel to cheat him out of his fair share of their father’s estate.” He leaned all the way back, causing the sofa to squeak. “Look, Inspector, is this going to take much longer? I’m very tired. Oh dear, wait a moment.” He straightened back up again. “I’ve told you a fib. There was someone outside the McCourt house. Gracious, I must be running a fever. I completely forgot. There was a lady standing there.”

“You saw a woman?” Barnes asked patiently.

“She was on the other side of the road, and she was staring at the house. When she saw that I’d spotted her, she walked away. But I saw her again when I came out. I noticed particularly because she was quite attractive and very well dressed. She had on a forest green jacket with a matching hat.”

“What did she look like?”

“She had blonde hair and very fine features, but she wasn’t young. I’d guess she was in her early forties.”

“And where was she when you saw her after leaving the McCourt home?” Witherspoon asked. He noticed that a line of perspiration had appeared on Raleigh’s upper lip.

“At the corner opposite the hansom stand,” he replied. “And when she knew I’d seen her for the second time, she turned and walked away. Don’t you think that’s suspicious?”

“Perhaps she was simply out shopping in the area,” Barnes suggested. He wasn’t sure he believed him. No one else had mentioned this woman, and there was something about Raleigh that got his back up. “And she was alarmed by your staring at her.”

“I wasn’t staring,” he snapped. “I simply glanced in her direction, and both times, when she saw me, she trotted off like the hounds of hell were at her heels. Besides, if she’d been shopping she’d have had a boy with her to carry her packages.”

“We can see you’re unwell, Mr. Raleigh,” Witherspoon said. “But there is one other matter we need to ask you about.”

“What’s that?”

“You appraised for Mr. McCourt,” Witherspoon said. “You advised him on what pieces to buy and on what the real value of particular pieces might be; is that correct?”

Raleigh had gone a bit pale. “That’s right.”

“Did you advise him as to the value of a set of Yuan dynasty vases that he recently took to Goodison and Bright for auction?”

Raleigh drew a sharp breath. “I did advise him on those particular pieces, but as I’m sure you already know, I made a mistake. It wasn’t my fault. They were supposed to have been genuine Yuan, but it turned out they were copies from a much later period.”

“We understand McCourt made a scene at the auction house when he found out he’d overpaid for the pair?” Barnes said.

“He was furious,” Raleigh admitted. “He came to see me directly from their premises. He said I’d never work for him again. I tried to tell him that it was simply a mistake and that even the best person could be fooled.”

“Did he think you’d been paid to deliberately overvalue the piece?” Witherspoon suggested.

Raleigh’s mouth flattened to a thin line. “Why are you asking me this? I’m sure you already know the answer. He accused me of taking money from the seller, but that’s nonsense. I didn’t even know the man. I simply made a mistake.”

“And Mr. McCourt isn’t known for being forgiving of mistakes, is he?” Barnes said. “If he was angry at you, why did he invite you to his house for tea?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He snorted derisively. “He invited me to show off his latest acquisition. He wanted to rub my nose in the fact that he’d acquired something without my help or expertise.”

“Why did you accept the invitation?” Witherspoon asked curiously.

“Oh, that’s simple, Inspector. I accepted because I fully intended to cast doubt on the authenticity of whatever it was that he was going to exhibit.” He smiled slyly. “I’m still enough of an expert that people seek my advice. In fact, Daniel’s own cousin was picking my brain for information just a few days before the tea.”

Barnes looked at him. “You know what he was going to show everybody?”

“Not really, though I suspect it was some sort of weapon.” Raleigh laughed. “But whether it was genuine or not wouldn’t have been the point. Whatever the object was, I was going to make just the sort of comment to cast doubt on its authenticity. McCourt would have hated that, and I wanted to watch the bastard squirm.”

 

Mrs. Jeffries shoved the bolt home on the top of the front door and then wandered into the drawing room. Tired as she was, she couldn’t go to bed; she knew she’d not sleep a wink. Her mind was racing. She flopped down on the settee and stared at the lamp she’d put on the mantelpiece so she’d have light to go upstairs. The household was quiet, and everyone, save her, was abed. The inspector had already gone up, and she had no doubt he’d fallen asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. The poor man had arrived home as tired as a pup. But they’d had a sherry together, and she’d kept him company while he ate his dinner and told her all the details of his day.

Gracious, she thought, no wonder he was so exhausted he could barely finish his pudding; he’d questioned almost every single person who’d been at the tea and had gotten an earful from all of them.

She closed her eyes as she tried to make sense of everything. Nicholas Saxon had been engaged to Glenda Brunel, but did that have anything to do with McCourt’s murder? As had been pointed out, it wasn’t Leon Brunel who’d been killed. And what about Jerome Raleigh? Their assumption that he’d gone to the tea to try and make amends with McCourt was utterly wrong. From what Witherspoon had been told, Raleigh had gone to exact a petty and personal revenge on the deceased.

She leaned her head back and stared up at the ceiling. Why would Raleigh admit such a thing to the inspector? Wouldn’t it have been far safer to simply say he’d gone to apologize in hopes of keeping McCourt’s future business?

She sat up, wincing as the sudden movement jarred her tender shoulder. Maybe Raleigh wasn’t so keen on keeping McCourt’s custom because he knew there wasn’t going to be much future business. Perhaps he’d already heard that Elena McCourt was telling everyone she knew that it was now her husband who had to worry about money.

Moving slowly, she got to her feet. She had to get to bed, even if she didn’t sleep. She walked across the darkened room and picked up the lantern. She had a lot of information, but she couldn’t make sense of any of it, and the more she tried to force the facts into some sort of comprehensible pattern, the more she was convinced that nothing they’d learned thus far pointed to the killer.

 

Luty and Hatchet were the last to arrive for their morning meeting. Both of them were grinning from ear to ear as they hurried into the kitchen.

“Looks like you two must have found out somethin’,” Mrs. Goodge said cheerfully.

“I can’t speak for Hatchet, but I know I got an earful last night!” Luty exclaimed as she snapped open the gold clasp of her sapphire blue cloak. Hatchet swept off his black top hat and simultaneously caught her cloak as it slipped off her shoulders. “And I expect he heard somethin’, too, because he’s been whistlin’ all the way over here.” Luty’s smile faded as she stared at the empty chair beside Smythe. “Where’s Betsy and my goddaughter?”

“She wanted to come, but she ’ad a bit of a cough this mornin’, and as it was lookin’ like rain, I didn’t want ’er goin’ out in the wet,” Smythe said apologetically. “But if it clears up, she and the baby will be along this afternoon.”

“Is it serious?” Luty asked anxiously.

“It’s just a slight cough; she’ll be fine,” he assured her.

Mrs. Jeffries waited till they’d taken their seats. “Before we hear Luty and Hatchet’s information, I’ll tell you what I learned from the inspector last night. He got home rather late in the evening because he managed to speak to almost everyone who’d been at the tea party. I think the only one he didn’t interview was Charles Cochran, and he’ll be seeing him this morning. Constable Barnes popped in as well this morning and added a few details.” She told them everything she’d heard, taking care not to put emphasis on any one fact or statement.