Mrs. Jeffries and the Mistletoe Mix-Up (26 page)

He peeked out the gate and spotted his quarry. He’d been fairly sure she’d do it again. Because of the murder, the McCourt household was in disarray, making it easy for someone who had the craving to take advantage of the situation and slip out for twenty minutes or so.

Wiggins stifled a flash of guilt as he stepped out and hurried after her. Despite her protests at their previous meeting, he’d suspected she couldn’t help herself; that the need would take her and she’d go back to the pub. Wiggins had seen the need before and knew it was like a beast that wormed its way into a person’s soul, demanding to be fed. As a lad, before the inspector had come, he’d watched the need destroy Euphemia Witherspoon. He’d watched her descend into illness while the other servants had taken horrible advantage of her, feeding her need with whiskey and gin so that she’d not notice they were robbing her blind. He’d never told the others of those dark days at Upper Edmonton Gardens, and he wasn’t going to, either. Euphemia Witherspoon had taken him in and been good to him, and that was all anyone needed to know.

He rounded the corner and saw her go into the pub. Sighing heavily, he followed her.

 

“Good luck, madam,” Hatchet said softly as Luty charged toward the front door of the Alexandria Hotel.

“You’re goin’ to need it more than me,” she hissed before turning and giving the doorman a brilliant smile.

Hatchet chuckled and went on, rounding the corner and walking until he reached the mews that ran along the back of the hotel. He glanced around to make sure no one on the busy street was watching him. But this close to Christmas, the shoppers and pedestrians were intent on their own business.

The back entrance to the hotel was easily visible from the mouth of the mews. Pallets, empty barrels with missing slats, and trash bins were scattered along the walls on both sides of the cobblestones. Tall buildings, several of them five or more stories high, blocked what little light there was from the overcast day. Hatchet took his time and surveyed the area thoroughly. Across the main street and kitty-corner to the mews, a narrow road led off at an angle with a pub at the apex. Hatchet laughed to himself. He’d start there.

Inside the Alexandria Hotel, Luty’s smile was strained as she tried to get rid of the manager. He’d taken one look at her expensive clothing and the diamonds hanging from her ears and come faster than a bat out of hell to see whether he could be of assistance.

“No, no, that’s alright, you don’t have to send anyone up to Mrs. Fenwick’s room. I’m of a mind just to sit a spell, so if it’s all the same to you, I’ll just wait and see if she shows up. I don’t want to trouble anyone.” Luty had decided she’d take matters into her own hands rather than trusting Lucille.

“It’s no trouble, ma’am,” he exclaimed. He waved at a bellboy. “Hodges, go upstairs and see if Mrs. Fenwick is in her suite.”

The boy bobbed his head respectfully before shooting off at a run.

“Sometimes Mrs. Fenwick forgets to leave her key at reception,” the manager explained to Luty. “Would you care to wait over there?” He pointed to the circular tuffet. “I’ll be happy to send for some refreshment.”

Luty knew her plan wouldn’t work with him hovering around. But there was one place where she might have some luck. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to wait in your dining room. A pot of tea would be nice.”

“Absolutely, madam, it’s right this way,” he gushed.

A few minutes later, Luty sat alone at a table. She’d gotten rid of the manager and saw neither hide nor hair of Lucille. She hoped the woman was out shopping and stayed gone for a long time. She surveyed the other diners. It was past ten o’clock, and the breakfast crowd was just about gone. A man in a dark blue suit sat at a table by himself, reading the newspaper, and two well-dressed middle-aged women were sitting near the entrance.

“Here you are, ma’am.” The waiter put a serving tray on the table. He unloaded a silver teapot, cream, sugar, and a porcelain cup and saucer. “Shall I pour, ma’am?”

Luty gave him her best smile. He was a nice-looking young man with dark brown hair and blue eyes. “That would be nice, and I’d sure appreciate it.” She deliberately exaggerated her American accent.

“Very good, ma’am.” He picked up the pot and poured the tea into the cup without so much as a splash.

“Have ya worked here long?”

“Six months, ma’am.” He put the pot down.

“Do you like it?”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Well, I don’t . . . I’ve never thought about it . . .”

“Oh, come on, you can tell me,” she guffawed. “Ain’t no reason you should like your job.”

“I get to meet a lot of nice people.” He picked up the silver sugar tongs. “Sugar?”

“Two lumps, please.” She looked around, making sure that the manager was safely out of sight. “Look, I need some help, and I’m willin’ to pay for it.”

Alarmed, he gaped at her. “What sort of help, ma’am?” Luty pulled her hand from under the table, revealing a five pound note. “I just need some information, so if you think you can help a poor old woman, you better start movin’ just a little slower, otherwise that fussbudget of a manager of yours will be pokin’ his nose in wonderin’ what you’re doin’.”

He stared at her for a moment and then gave her a brilliant smile. “Of course, ma’am. Now, what do you want to know?”

“Do you know if anyone who works here has been askin’ questions about one of your guests, a Miss Lydia Kent?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.” He looked confused. “What kind of questions?”

Luty decided to take the bull by the horns. “Did anyone git paid to find out when she was leavin’? You know, when she was supposed to check out.” She saw his eyes widen in fear and knew she had her man. Nell’s bells, today was her lucky day. She couldn’t believe she’d struck gold so fast. “Come on, fess up. I ain’t goin’ to go tattlin’ on you. I just need to know.”

“Are you going to tell the police?” he asked anxiously. “They’ve been here to talk to her, you know. If I’d known the police were going to get involved, I’d never have done it. But he offered me five pounds to find out when she was going, and I needed the money . . .”

“I ain’t runnin’ to the police.” She tapped her finger against the note, which was now on the tabletop. “So tell me what you know, and you’ll git another five pounds. Do you know who this feller was?”

“I don’t know his name, but I can describe him to you.”

 

“I know it’s short notice,” Smythe said to Blimpey, “but can you find it out or not?”

Blimpey shook his head. “I can find it out, but it’ll take a few days.”

“We’ve not got a few days,” Smythe insisted. “The Home Office is puttin’ pressure on the inspector to get this case solved. Come on, Blimpey, I’ll pay extra.” He’d been given his task because Mrs. Jeffries knew he was the only one with the resources to discover what they needed to know.

“I might be able to find out by late tonight,” he said. “Will that do ya?”

“That’ll be fine.” Smythe got up. “I’ll be back ’ere at clo-sin’ time, and I’ll pay you double my normal rate.”

“Bloody right ya will.” Blimpey grinned broadly. “I’m goin’ to ’ave to call in all sorts of markers for this one.”

 

“Mrs. Brunel, I’m glad you’re here. We’ve some questions for you, and this will save us a trip.” Witherspoon smiled kindly. He could see she was embarrassed, and he felt a tad awkward as well.

“I’ll not have you harassing her.” Saxon put his arm around her shoulders in a protective gesture. “She came to ask my advice about buying a gift—”

“Give it a rest, Mr. Saxon,” Barnes interrupted. “We all know why she came here, and it wasn’t to get your opinion about a ruddy Japanese tea set. Now, we can ask her questions here or we can wait until she goes home. It’s her choice.”

“I’ll answer anything you like.” She smiled at Saxon. “Nicholas, it’s a bit late to try and protect my reputation. I fear it’s already in tatters with these gentlemen.”

“I assure you, ma’am, we’re not here to pass judgment on anyone,” Witherspoon said. “We’re merely trying to discover who murdered Daniel McCourt.”

“I didn’t kill him,” she said quickly. “I didn’t like him, but he didn’t deserve to die the way he did.”

“Did Mrs. McCourt ever mention how her husband proposed to her?” Barnes sat back down.

“How he proposed?” Saxon repeated in confusion. “I don’t understand the question.”

“Neither do I,” she added.

“So you didn’t know that he was supposed to have asked her to marry him at Christmastime while they were under a sprig of mistletoe?”

“It was jolly decent of Mrs. Brunel to help us,” Witherspoon said as he waited for Barnes to pay the hansom driver.

“It was, sir,” Barnes agreed. “Mind you, her offering to find out if her husband knew about McCourt’s mistletoe proposal was more than a little self-serving, as she did get us to promise we’d not mention her relationship with Mr. Saxon unless we’d no choice in the matter. Little did she know that we’d not have revealed a detail like that unless it was pertinent to finding the killer.”

“Apparently, even if she does want to divorce her husband, she doesn’t want him to know about her relationship with Saxon. Do you think either of them did it?” he asked. Witherspoon started toward the entrance to the Alexandria Hotel.

“They could have; both of them had a motive. Saxon’s got no money, and his only income is selling off his collection. McCourt threatened to prosecute Raleigh for fraud—an action that could easily have frozen the Oriental antiquities market for a long time. Mrs. Brunel might want to divorce her husband, but if McCourt had told Brunel about the two of them, he can prove adultery on her part, and she’ll not even get basic maintenance.” Barnes turned and saw the inspector staring straight ahead. He followed his gaze and cringed. Luty Belle and Hatchet were coming out of the hotel. Their heads were close together, and Luty’s hands gestured wildly as though she were arguing. She broke off long enough to nod her thanks at the doorman.

Barnes shot forward, hoping his sudden movement would cause one of them to look up and see the inspector.

His ruse worked, for Hatchet glanced their way and, without missing a breath, smiled at the two policemen. “Inspector Witherspoon, Constable Barnes, what a lovely surprise. How very nice to see you both.”

“Howdy, Inspector, Constable. I sure didn’t expect to see you here!” Luty exclaimed. “What are ya doin’ here?”

“We’re going to interview a witness who is staying at the hotel,” Witherspoon explained.

“My gracious, that sounds excitin’,” Luty gushed. “I came to meet a friend of mine who’s stayin’ here. But we must have got mixed up ’cause I waited and waited and she never showed. But I had me a nice pot of tea, and that warmed me up.”

“I told you not to count on seeing the woman.” Hatchet chided his employer. He looked at the two policemen. “Mrs. Fenwick has never been reliable.” Hatchet deliberately used Lucille’s surname. He didn’t think the inspector would check their story, but it paid to take precautions. “But come along, madam.” He took Luty’s elbow. “The inspector is here on official business, and we mustn’t keep him.” Tugging gently, he pulled her toward the curb. He waved at the driver of the hansom the policemen had just vacated. “Good day, gentlemen,” he called. “Give our regards to your household.” He paused long enough to tell the driver the address and then shoved Luty inside.

“Good-bye, Mrs. Crookshank, Hatchet,” the inspector yelled.

Grinning broadly, Barnes waved a good-bye. “Shall we go in, sir?” he said as the cab pulled away from the curb.

Witherspoon stood staring at the back of the hansom as it disappeared among the traffic. He had a quizzical, puzzled expression on his face.

“Sir? Is everything alright?”

“Oh yes. I was just thinking that it’s a small world, isn’t it?”

“It is, sir. But it’s no surprise that Mrs. Crookshank’s friends would stay at an exclusive hotel like the Alexandria, for it’s a lovely place that caters to the wealthy, and this time of year a lot of people are in town for the holidays.” He wanted to make sure the inspector didn’t give their story a second thought. It wouldn’t do for him to suspect they’d been there digging for information. “Shall we go and see if Miss Kent is available?”

She was available, but this time, she insisted on seeing them in her suite of rooms. “She’s on the fourth floor, so we can take the lift.” The bellboy guided them into a metal cage contraption on the far side of the sweeping staircase, clanged the metal gate shut, and slammed the door. Witherspoon’s stomach lurched as the lift ascended.

Barnes, on the other hand, was grinning in pleasure. “What will they think of next,” he enthused. “Moving staircases. We do live in miraculous times, don’t we, Inspector?”

Witherspoon gave him a sickly smile. He felt slightly nauseous. “Yes, we most certainly do.”

The lift stopped, and it seemed to Witherspoon that the simple act of opening up the ruddy thing took ages, but finally, he was able to get out of it. He took a deep, heartfelt breath, as if a great weight had been lifted off him.

“Miss Kent’s room is 408,” the bellboy said. He pointed down the hall. “It’s just there, sir.”

“Thank you,” the inspector muttered. “Where are the stairs?” he asked quickly. He wasn’t getting in that moving coffin again no matter what.

“At the end of the corridor, sir.” He slammed the grate shut and closed the door.

“You didn’t like it, sir?” Barnes asked as they made their way to room 408. He knocked quietly on the wood.

“No, to be truthful, I hated it. I, er, I’m not fond of small spaces.”

The door opened, and an Oriental man wearing a floor-length green robe with a high neck collar bowed politely. “Miss Kent is expecting you,” he said as he stepped back and motioned them inside.

The sitting room furnishings were as elegant and luxurious as those in the lobby. The floor was carpeted with a blue, green, and gray rug; the walls were covered in pale green silk paper imprinted with a fleur-de-lis pattern; and blue and green velvet curtains hung from the three windows. A blue sofa and two balloon-back chairs were clustered around a small, low table on top of which was a silver coffeepot complete with service and a plate of biscuits.