Mrs. Jeffries Defends Her Own (15 page)

Wiggins put the pint down on the small table and slid onto his stool. “Thanks for talkin’ with me,” he said.

The young man sitting across from him shrugged. “I didn’t have anything else to do. I’ve got no job thanks to Dearman.” He was a taciturn fellow with brown hair, a long, bony face, and deep-set green eyes. His name was
James Tremlett. “You said your newspaper would be willing to pay for information, that’s right, isn’t it?”

“That’s right,” Wiggins said. He’d had a quick word with Daniel Jones when the clerk had come out of Sutcliffe’s for lunch and found out where James Tremlett lived. He’d gone to Tremlett’s lodgings and, using the lie about working for a newspaper, convinced the man to talk to him in exchange for a few pounds. Wiggins felt a bit funny about bribing someone just to chat, and he’d not have done such a thing except that he knew Tremlett was unemployed and needed the money. Besides, it wasn’t like it was his money. Before Smythe left, he’d pulled him aside and shoved a fistful of pound notes into his hand. He’d instructed him to use the cash if they got a case and he needed to “cross a few palms with silver” to loosen a few tongues. Wiggins hadn’t mentioned the cash to the others because even though Smythe hadn’t said to keep quiet about it, he had sensed it wouldn’t do to talk about it openly. Wiggins pushed the thought of Smythe and why on earth the coachman had so much money to the back of his mind. “I said I’d pay you for your time and I meant it,” he said. “And I’ll buy you as many pints as you like as well. You didn’t ’ave to speak with me and I’m grateful.”

“I don’t know that there’s much I can tell you,” Tremlett said as he picked up his pint and took a sip. “Dearman sacked me over two weeks ago. I’ve not seen him since.”

“How did you find out he’d been murdered?”

“I read about it in the newspapers,” he said. “Not that I’ve got coin enough to buy a newspaper every day. But Mr. Morland—he’s got rooms on the ground floor—he
gives me his paper when he’s through with it. Even though Mr. Dearman wasn’t a nice man, I thought it was terrible that he’d been shot.”

“Why did he sack you?” Wiggins took a sip and struggled not to make a face. He didn’t really like the taste of beer.

“He accused me of not doing my job, but that’s not true. I was doing my work. I was a reconciliation clerk and my ledgers were in perfect condition. There wasn’t one receipt from any of our vendors that I couldn’t account for,” he cried. “I was doing a good job.”

“But he sacked you anyway,” Wiggins pointed out. “He must ’ave ’ad a reason.”

“Don’t you think I know that? He was very strict with us, but I’d never known him to sack someone for no reason at all. I still don’t understand what I did wrong,” Tremlett protested. “There were never any complaints about my work or my deportment. I was never late, I never took too long for my lunch, and I never even thought of putting my ledgers away until it was quitting time. But for some odd reason, Mr. Dearman decided I must go.”

“He didn’t tell you why he was givin’ you the boot?” Wiggins pressed. Surely there was more to the story than the fellow was letting on. “He must ’ave said somethin’.”

Tremlett pursed his lips and shook his head. “All he said was that my services were no longer needed. It stunned me, it did. Just a few days earlier I’d stayed late to finish up reconciling the Jenkins account, but did he care? No sir, he’d didn’t, he didn’t give a toss.”

“When you stayed late, did Dearman receive any visitors?”

Tremlett thought for a moment. “You mean in his office?”

“Yes, did anyone come to see ’im?

“No one came to his office, but I did see him with someone that evening.”

“Where were they?” Cor blimey, Wiggins thought, getting information out of this fellow was as hard as herding ducks.

“I thought he had gone, but it turned out he hadn’t.” Tremlett took another sip. “You see, I’d gone to use the facilities just when everyone else was packing it up for the day. When I returned, the outer office was empty but the lamps were still lighted.”

“So you were left to lock up?” Wiggins knew the clerks didn’t lock up, but he wanted to see what the man would say. It was so ruddy hard to know if people were telling you the truth or just making it up as they went along.

“Goodness no, Sutcliffe’s would never allow a clerk to have a set of office keys. Either Mr. Dearman or Mr. Anson always locked the premises,” Tremlett said. “Aside from Mr. Sutcliffe, they’re the only two who have keys. Mr. Sutcliffe never locked up, of course. So the two of them took turns.”

Wiggins perked up. “And because the lamps were still lighted, you knew that one of them was still there?”

“Yes, but I didn’t know which one, so I went down the corridor to Mr. Anson’s office and saw that he’d gone.”

“How did you know he’d left?” Wiggins pressed.

“His lamp was out, and the door to his office was locked. So I knew that Mr. Dearman must be there. They’d never leave lighted lamps on when the office was
closed. Mr. Dearman was always nagging us to keep costs down, so I knew he must be about somewhere. I went back to my ledgers. But it got later and later and I started to get concerned. I was afraid there might have been a misunderstanding between Mr. Anson and Mr. Dearman and I was the only one left. I certainly couldn’t have locked the place up.”

“But you could ’ave gotten the porter to do it, couldn’t you?” Wiggins asked. “Surely he ’ad a set of keys. He coulda locked up for you.”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t have liked to do such a thing.” Tremlett sighed. “The porter would have reported it to Mr. Sutcliffe.”

“But it wouldn’t ’ave been your fault that one of them forgot to do it. Why should you care?”

“I cared because I like Mr. Anson. He’s a decent sort of chap, and he and Mr. Dearman hated each other. They’d had some conflicts ever since Mr. Anson was hired, and frankly, I was afraid if it was Mr. Anson who’d forgotten to lock up, that Mr. Dearman would use the incident against him. But as it was, it wasn’t Mr. Anson who was responsible that night, it was Mr. Dearman. I peeked into his office and saw that his lamp was still on, so I knew he must be about somewhere. So I waited another ten minutes, but he still hadn’t come back. I decided to go down and ask the porter if he’d seen him.”

“What time was this?” Wiggins took another swig of his beer.

“It was almost seven o’clock,” Tremlett replied. “That’s an hour after we close for the day, and I couldn’t imagine where Mr. Dearman had got to, but when I opened the outer office door, I heard his voice. I was so
relieved that I stuck my head out into the hall. I saw him at the far end of the corridor by the back stairs.”

“What was he doin’ there?” Wiggins asked. “Had he nipped out for a quick drink at the pub?”

“He might have. He was with someone.”

“Did you see who it was?”

Tremlett shook his head. “No. Whoever it was stood back on the landing. But I know someone else was there because just then, I saw a hand come out and hand him an envelope. Then I heard the murmur of voices. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I know they spoke for a moment or two. So I closed the door and went back to my desk. A few minutes later, Mr. Dearman came in and told me to pack it in as he needed to leave. So I did.”

Wiggins thought for a moment. “Had Dearman seen you when you peeked out into the hall?”

“I don’t think so,” he murmured. “But he probably heard the door when I closed it. The wood is warped and you’ve got to give it a good yank to get it shut properly.”

“How long after this incident was it before he sacked you?”

“It was two days later. As I said, he called me into his office. He told me my services were no longer required.” Tremlett shook his head, his expression confused. “I kept asking him what I’d done wrong, but all he said was that I wasn’t needed and for me to get out. I was so upset, I went to Mr. Anson’s office to see if he could help me, but he was gone. I’d forgotten that he’d gone to Southampton on business. So I had no choice. I packed up my desk and left.”

Wiggins stared at the young man. He couldn’t believe
the fellow was so dim he couldn’t see the connection between what Tremlett had seen in the hall and his getting the sack two days later. But why would Dearman have waited two days? “You said that Mr. Anson was in Southampton the day you got let? Had Mr. Anson been in the office the previous day?”

“Oh yes, he’d asked me for a list of any outstanding receipts for Drego and Everette—they’re a shipyard, and that’s who he was going to see in Southampton.”

“You said that Mr. Anson and Dearman didn’t ’ave much use for one another. So tell me this, could Mr. Anson have helped you? Could he have overruled Dearman’s decision?”

Tremlett nodded eagerly. “That’s why I rushed to his office. Like I said, he’s a good person, and he wasn’t scared of Dearman’s temper. He’d already forced Dearman to keep the typewriter girl on staff. So I was hoping he could help me, but I’d forgotten that he was out of the office.”

“What kind of envelope was it—the one Mr. Dearman was handed in the hallway, I mean?” Wiggins asked. An idea was beginning to form in his mind. He didn’t want to jump to any conclusions about the case, not at this point anyway, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that what Tremlett had seen was important.

“What do you mean? It was just an envelope like the ones we have in the office,” he said. “The kind you use for documents rather than correspondence. We use them to send contracts and such to our vendors and customers.”

Wiggins nodded. “Could you tell if the person talkin’ to Dearman was a man or a woman?”

“I told you, I didn’t see them.”

“But you saw the hand,” Wiggins pointed out. “Was it a man’s hand or a woman’s?”

“The lighting was dim, and it’s a long hallway. All I saw was a black gloved hand giving Mr. Dearman the envelope.”

“And this was definitely two days before you were sacked, right?”

Tremlett laughed harshly. “I’m not likely to forget, now, am I?” He drained his glass and then smiled. “Mind you, I’m glad I’ve had a chance to talk about it. It’s given me an idea.”

“What kind of idea?”

“Well, seems to me that now that Mr. Dearman is dead, I can ask Mr. Anson if I can have my old job back.” He cocked his head to one side. “Do you think I have to wait until after he’s been buried before I go see Mr. Anson?”

Mrs. Goodge put the plate of scones on the table and sat down opposite her guest. “Please, help yourself. I’m so glad you were able to come and see me,” she said.

Lottie Brimley laughed heartily and put one of the triangle-shaped pastries on her plate. She was a tall, thin woman with salt-and-pepper hair, a broad face, and brown eyes. “I was thrilled to get your note.” She reached for the butter pot, picked up her knife, and speared a good tablespoon. “It’s been years since we worked together. I didn’t think you’d remember me. I was just a scullery maid back then.” She slathered the butter onto her scone.

“Of course I remember you,” Mrs. Goodge declared. “I know it’s been more than twenty years, but you made
a strong impression on me. I always admired your cheerful and observant nature.” This was a bold-faced lie; Lottie was good natured, but the cook certainly didn’t recall her being particularly observant. However, when one of her other sources had mentioned that Lottie had moved to York to work for a family there but was now back and living in London, Mrs. Goodge had sent her a note inviting her to tea. Thus far, Lottie Brimley was the only acquaintance she had from the old days who had gone anywhere close to where the principals in this ruddy case had come from. She counted herself lucky that Lottie had returned to London.

“What a lovely thing to say,” Lottie exclaimed. Her smile grew even wider. “I used to be terrified of you. I’d no idea you thought I was anything more than a green girl who couldn’t cut radishes into fancy shapes.”

Mrs. Goodge laughed. “Did I really scare you? Oh dear, I’m sorry. I thought I was the only one who lived in fear back in those days. If you’ll remember, someone from that household was always gettin’ sacked.”

Lottie took a bite and nodded in agreement. “You’re right about that. That’s one of the reasons I left. Mind you, right after you left to go to …” Her voice trailed off and she frowned. “Where did you go?”

“I went to work for Lord Rotherhide,” the cook said. “I went there right after leavin’ the Rampling house. Where did you go?”

“Oh, I went north to York and got a position as a downstairs maid.” She laughed. “I knew I’d no talent for cooking, so I set my sights on becoming a housekeeper. I worked for the Donnelly family for several years and then got a position as housekeeper to a nice gentleman
named Mr. Keighley. He was a very good employer, single, not fussy, and as long as the house ran properly, he left me alone. He’s the reason I was able to retire to a nice flat near my sister and her family. When he passed away, he left decent-sized legacies to all his servants. Well, he would, wouldn’t he. He had no family to speak of, and we’d taken good care of him, especially when he was ill there at the end.”

“It was good of him to remember those that did for him. So often people forget and even if they’ve no family, they leave it all to the church or a charity.” She took a deep breath. “I was wonderin’ if you’ve—”

“Mr. Keighley didn’t go to church,” Lottie interrupted. “Once you work for a single gentleman, you’d never want to work taking care of a family again, it’s too much bother. Mind you, you work for a single gentleman, so I bet you’d say the same, wouldn’t you. Charlotte told me that you work for a policeman.” She looked around at the large, well-stocked, bright kitchen. “He must have plenty of money if he can run a household this size.”

“He does and he is a policeman,” Mrs. Goodge replied. She realized too late that she’d forgotten what a chatterbox Lottie had been. She’d gotten her name and address from Charlotte Temple, another old associate, but she’d need to talk fast if she was to get a word in edgewise. “Now, when you were up north, did you ever hear of a family named Sutcliffe?”

“You mean the family that owns Sutcliffe Manufacturing?”

“Yes, those people, I was wonderin’—”