Mrs. Jeffries and the Mistletoe Mix-Up (28 page)

It was Brunel who spoke first. “Really, Inspector, how many times must you disturb poor Mrs. McCourt?”

She put her hand out to silence him. “As many times as it takes to catch my husband’s killer, Leon. Please sit down, gentlemen. Mr. Brunel was just leaving.”

“I’ll be happy to stay if you need me, Elena,” he said to her. “After all, I’m now the most senior male member of your family, and it’s my duty to ensure you’re treated properly. I won’t have you bullied by the police.”

“These policemen have been very kind thus far.” She gave him a strained smile.

“It isn’t seemly that you have these men in your home without a family member present,” he argued. “A male family member.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m quite capable of taking care of myself. Now, if you’ll excuse us . . .” She let her voice trail off, and for a moment, it appeared as if he was going to stay in his chair, but he finally got to his feet.

“As you wish.” He nodded curtly and, ignoring both men, stalked to the door and slammed it shut behind him.

“Mrs. McCourt,” the inspector began, but she leapt up, shushing him by putting her index finger across her lips. She tiptoed across the room and put her eye right up to the crack between the two double oak doors. “Good, he’s gone,” she announced. She went back to her seat. “I’m sorry, Inspector, but he’s a dreadful snoop, and I wanted to make certain he’d gone. I’ll not have another man sticking his nose into my life and trying to boss me about.” She noticed neither man had taken a seat. “Please, both of you, make yourselves comfortable and sit down.”

Barnes slid into the chair Brunel had just vacated. “If you don’t mind my asking, ma’am, what was he doing here? Offering condolences?”

“Hardly, Constable.” She smiled wryly. “He was doing precisely what I expected of him. He wants to establish that he’s now head of the family and that I ought to turn all my decisions over to him.”

Barnes chuckled. “I have a feeling you set him straight fairly quickly.” He hoped this woman wasn’t a murderer. He’d taken a liking to her and would hate to watch her hang.

“I most certainly did,” she answered. “When he realized I wasn’t going to give him control of my money, he then began hinting that he’d like to buy Daniel’s collection. Of course that wasn’t a surprise; he’s coveted the collection for years.”

“Would you say your husband’s collection was superior to Brunel’s?” the inspector asked.

“I don’t know what its real worth might be. All I can tell you is that they were both very competitive with each other, and I know that my husband had acquired a substantial number of items that Leon wanted desperately. The two men spent most of their time trying to outfox each other in tracking down rare and valuable objects. It was a stupid and childish competition that had gone on for years.”

Witherspoon regarded her curiously. “Would you sell the collection to Mr. Brunel, ma’am? I mean, considering how competitive he was with Mr. McCourt? You wouldn’t think it a betrayal of your husband’s memory?”

“Not at all,” she declared. “Daniel always said that the only person genuinely capable of appreciating it would be his cousin. Besides, I don’t want it.”

“You know that we’ve spoken to your husband’s solicitor. He said the collection has been valued at over thirty thousand pounds,” the inspector pressed.

“That was before we learned that it’s possible some of the pieces are fakes,” she said bluntly. “And that’s exactly what I told Leon. I made it clear I was going to have the entire collection reevaluated, and then if he was still interested, I’d give him first refusal on it. I must say he took it with good grace.”

“Ma’am, are you certain you’ve no idea how your husband came to the conclusion that he’d been defrauded by Jerome Raleigh?” Witherspoon asked.

“I’ve told you, Inspector, he didn’t mention how he’d found out.”

“When did he tell you about the fraud?” Barnes asked. “Was it recently?”

She put her palms together and touched her chin with her entwined fingertips as she thought for a moment. “I’m not sure . . . No, wait, I am sure. It was the day he came home from Goodison and Bright with the Yuan dynasty vases. He was utterly furious when he got home. Mrs. Williams and I were doing menus downstairs, but I sat there listening to him slam doors and scream at the housemaids until we finished our business, then I went up to see what was wrong.”

“You weren’t alarmed enough by his behavior to go up immediately?” Barnes asked curiously.

“No, I was used to it.” She smiled bitterly. “He not only had a bad temper, but he couldn’t abide being thwarted in any way. It’s a trait all the men in the family have; Leon and Arthur are the same. Of course, with Arthur it’s not as noticeable, as he isn’t a collector.”

“What happened when you went up?” Witherspoon asked.

“He’d poured himself a whiskey and was venting his rage kicking the footstool. I got him to calm down enough to tell me what happened, and then he said he was going to bring in a real expert to reappraise some of the pieces Raleigh had advised him to buy.”

“Do you know who he brought in?”

“I’m afraid not. The next day I left for my aunt’s home in Buckinghamshire. I was there until she passed away. I know he’d brought someone here, because he was crowing to me that the damage wasn’t as bad as he’d feared, but he was still going to make Raleigh’s life miserable.”

“He said he was going to prosecute?” Witherspoon said.

“He said he wouldn’t if Raleigh would pay him back for the items he’d overvalued. Otherwise, he was going to have the man put in jail.”

“Could Mr. McCourt have actually proved fraud?” Barnes glanced at the inspector.

“He claimed he could.” She smiled wearily. “But I was only half listening to him. I’d just lost the only remaining member of my birth family, and though I was very distraught, I knew that her death would free me from Daniel’s tirades.”

“How so, ma’am?” the inspector asked.

“As soon as I got my inheritance, I was going to move into my late aunt’s home.”

“Did he know you planned on leaving this house?” Witherspoon wondered whether this fact had anything to do with the murder and then realized he’d no idea what, if anything, they’d learned thus far was going to be useful. He silently prayed that Mrs. Jeffries was correct and that his “inner voice” was putting two and two together to make four, because his outer voice certainly wasn’t giving him any answers.

“He knew, and he was very upset about my plans. We’d quarreled on a number of occasions, but there wasn’t anything he could do to stop me,” she replied. “He didn’t care if I left; what he cared about was gaining control of my money. He had none of his own, you see. But despite his threats, I wasn’t going to stay here.”

“What kind of threats?” Barnes asked.

“He said if I left he’d take me to court.” She snorted delicately. “Apparently there’s some sort of law pertaining to conjugal rights.”

Witherspoon glanced at the constable and saw from his expression that he’d also realized the woman had just admitted to a motive. Lady Cannonberry had pointed out to him on many occasions that the law courts were notoriously biased against females when marital cases went before a judge. The judges were male. Blast, why did these things always happen when he was so tired he couldn’t think straight?

“Were you concerned about that?” Barnes asked.

“Not really.” She smiled. “The courts could order a restoration of conjugal rights, but there was no way to enforce it, and Daniel could only obtain such an order by a long and very expensive court battle. Daniel could be ruthless, but I had something he didn’t have.”

“What was that, ma’am?” The constable shifted slightly.

“Money to pay a solicitor and court fees. I’m not a monster, Constable. I wasn’t going to live in the same house as my husband, but I made no plans to divorce him. I fully intended to pay for the upkeep of this house,” she said. “And I was going to give him an allowance.”

Witherspoon decided to change tactics. “Mrs. McCourt, you said you saw the bill of sale for the Hwando and it was marked paid in full. Is that correct?”

“That’s right. I’ll get it for you.” She started to rise, but he waved her back to her seat.

“Don’t trouble yourself, ma’am,” he said, “because we spoke with Miss Kent and she claims she didn’t sell him a Hwando. She sold him an ancient and very valuable sword from the Goryeo period.”

 

“Here’s your sherry, sir.” Mrs. Jeffries handed Witherspoon his glass and sat down opposite him. He looked terrible. His eyes were red, his mouth gaped slightly open, and his hair stood up in small tufts. “You look very tired, sir. Perhaps you should retire as soon as you’ve eaten your dinner?”

“I’m exhausted. I’ve had the most peculiar day.” He put his head against the back of his chair and closed his eyes for a moment. “On the one hand, we learned quite a bit, but on the other, I’ve no idea what, if anything, it might mean.”

“Perhaps it will help if you talk about it, sir,” she encouraged. “Your dinner won’t be ready for another half hour.”

He nodded mutely and took another sip. “That’s an excellent idea. Sometimes discussing it helps me to keep it all straight in my mind.” He told her about his day, beginning with the visit to the Saxon house and Mrs. Brunel’s unexpected arrival there and ending with his odd conversation with Elena McCourt.

Mrs. Jeffries listened to his recitation, breaking in only occasionally to ask a question or to get him to supply a bit more detail. When he told her about the Goryeo sword, she clamped her lips together to keep from laughing out loud. She was so relieved she’d been right that she wanted to dance a jig, but she forced herself to sit still and pay attention.

“It wasn’t the Hwando that he’d bought. It was some ancient thing from the Goryeo period,” he explained.

“Gracious, sir, that’s a surprise.”

“It most certainly was, and I’m not entirely sure what it might mean to the investigation.”

“Oh, but I think it must be important,” she interrupted. It wasn’t just important; it was the crux of the killing. “And I’m certain you’ll soon ascertain precisely how it fits into the murder.”

“I do hope so,” he admitted, his expression glum.

“What did Mrs. McCourt have to say about it?”

“When I asked her, she was sure she’d never seen nor heard of it. Honestly, Mrs. Jeffries, I don’t know what to think.” He drained his glass.

“You searched the house and the grounds of the communal garden thoroughly on the night of the murder,” she commented. “But are you certain the sword wasn’t there?”

“I think so.” He frowned and pushed his spectacles, which were slipping down, back up to the bridge of his nose. “Miss Kent gave us a good description of the sword, and it’s not a thin, rapier-like weapon. It’s quite sizable, and she’d given it to McCourt in a large, flat case. We found nothing like that when we searched.”

“Did any of the servants at the McCourt home recall seeing Daniel McCourt bring such an object into the house?” she pressed. A vague course of action was forming in her mind; one where Witherspoon would have a reason for questioning the servants.

“I didn’t think to ask,” he said. “Perhaps I ought to inquire. Miss Kent claims that McCourt took the sword three days before he was murdered.”

“That’s an excellent idea, sir,” she encouraged. There were still one or two missing pieces of the puzzle, but she was fairly certain she was correct. She only hoped she could come up with a way to prove it.

 

“Are you sure about this information?” Smythe asked. He was back at the Dirty Duck. It was past closing time, and he and Blimpey were alone in the pub.

Exasperated, Blimpey pursed his lips. “Don’t be daft. Of course I’m sure, and this is goin’ to cost you an arm and a leg. I ’ad to roust one of my sources at the telegraph office out of bed, and ’e was none too pleased.”

“But this source is sure of his facts, right?”

“’Course he is! Otherwise I’d not use him. Do ya know how much it costs to get one of them telegraph people in yer stable? Those are bloomin’ good jobs, and they know if they get caught passin’ on information like this, they’ll get the sack. But ’e’s sure of his facts. ’E says it was the only message that came in from the Far East for the Kensington district that day, and ’e remembers it well enough.”

“Right then, if you’re sure, I’ve got to go. They’re waitin’ up for me.” He stood to leave. “We’ll settle up once this case is over. I may need your services again.”

“I want yer word you’ll not complain about the bill,” Blimpey warned. “Like I told ya, it’s goin’ to be the biggest one I ever gave ya. But my information is golden.”

“And that’s why you’ll not ’ear a peep out of me.” Smythe grinned. “I just want us to get this one over and done with so we can enjoy the season.”

He left by the back door and hurried over to the hansom he had waiting. He rarely used the inspector’s carriage because the two horses, Bow and Arrow, were both getting old and Smythe didn’t like taking them out in the cold. “Get me to Upper Edmonton Gardens as quickly as you can,” he told the driver as he climbed aboard.

They made good time through the deserted, late-night streets, and Smythe was soon back in the kitchen with a hot cup of tea in front of him.

Wiggins, Mrs. Goodge, Mrs. Jeffries, and even Phyllis had waited up to see whether he’d been successful or not.

“Go on, then. Tell us what you ’eard,” Wiggins said.

“Give the man a moment to have his tea,” Mrs. Goodge chided the footman. “It’s cold out there, and he’s half frozen.” She patted the big orange cat that was curled in her lap. Samson cuddled closer and butted his big head against the cook’s rib cage. Fred, who’d not let the cat get near the table without him being there as well, put his head on Wiggins’ leg, and the footman idly scratched him behind the ears.

“My source was able to find out what we needed.” Smythe blew on the top of his tea to cool it down. “Brunel did receive a telegram from Hong Kong.”