Mrs. Jeffries Defends Her Own (33 page)

Mrs. Jeffries nodded in agreement. “But because she was so much in the background, I didn’t think of her as a potential suspect. Then last night, I remembered what your friend from your women’s meeting had told you.”

Ruth nodded. “That’s right, Edwina Hawkins. She lives next door to the Meadows. Is that why you asked me about our executive committee meeting?”

“When you confirmed that it was Monday, the day that Dearman was killed, I was fairly sure I was right.”

“What does that have to do with it?” Mrs. Goodge asked.

“Antonia Meadows told Constable Barnes she was home that evening, but she couldn’t have been. She’d given a door-to-door tinker her umbrella to fix, and he tried to return it that night. He knocked and knocked, but she never answered. He took the umbrella next door and gave it to Mrs. Hawkins, who was on her way out to an executive committee meeting, which start promptly at six fifteen. Which means she wasn’t home when Dearman was murdered. When I was outside last night, I also remembered that she had begun letting her two servants off every afternoon.”

“She gave them the time off so she could slip out of the house,” Phyllis guessed. “She wanted to watch the building.”

“That’s right. When the inspector mentioned that the newsagent had noticed a woman staring at the Sutcliffe building, I remembered the discussion we’d had on how the assailant had known Dearman was going to be alone in the office.”

“That’s why she went there,” Wiggins said excitedly. “She ’ad to make sure the office was empty, and the only way to know that was by watchin’ who came in and out every day. That way, she’d know everyone and she’d be able to tell who might be still inside.”

“But why not just ask Lucretia Dearman how many people worked there?” Mrs. Goodge asked.

“She wouldn’t have known,” Mrs. Jeffries explained. “She had no interest in the company, and Antonia didn’t want to draw attention to herself by asking questions
about Sutcliffe’s. That was the heart of her plan, and it almost worked. Besides, she had to know who came out of the building, not how many worked for the company. She memorized faces. If someone she’d seen leaving at six o’clock didn’t walk out that front door, she wouldn’t go ahead with her plan. She knew she had only a short time between when the office emptied out and the porter arrived.”

Ruth added, “It was also common knowledge that it was either Henry Anson or Dearman who locked up at night, so once she saw Anson come out, if Dearman was still inside, she could go ahead with it, providing of course, she’d seen the other familiar faces from the building come out. It still seems like a very odd way to plan a murder.” She reached for the teapot and poured herself another cup

“Odd, perhaps, but effective,” Hatchet said. “Watch the place till you’re familiar with the comings and goings, make sure your victim is alone inside, walk in, do the deed, lock the door, walk out free and clear. She must have stood there with that gun for several days before the circumstances were right.”

“She took a big risk.” Ruth stirred her tea. “She must have stolen the gun days ago. What if someone had noticed it was missing?”

“That weren’t likely,” Luty said. “How often do ya check to see if somethin’ is where it’s supposed to be?”

“True.” Ruth took a sip. “Lord Cannonberry had an Enfield revolver. It’s in one of the drawers of his old desk in the study, but I’ve not looked at it in ages.”

“The smartest part of her plan was no one findin’ the body till the next morning,” Luty said. “It gave her plenty
of time to figure out how she was goin’ to frame Fiona Sutcliffe. She needed Dearman’s keys to lock his office, but she could have chucked ’em in the river on her way home; instead, she planted them at the Sutcliffe house.”

“In Mrs. Sutcliffe’s morning room,” Phyllis added eagerly. “She wanted her to be arrested for the murder. She must have hated her.”

“She did,” Mrs. Jeffries said with certainty. “She blamed Fiona for all the years she was in that miserable marriage to Thaddeus Meadows. She probably never forgave her the humiliation of losing John Sutcliffe, either.”

“She almost got away with it.” Mrs. Goodge pushed the almost empty sandwich plate toward Wiggins. There was only one left. “Take the last one. These don’t keep well, and we don’t want it goin’ to waste.”

“Ta, Mrs. Goodge.” He scooped up the food. “Guess Mrs. Meadows didn’t count on bein’ noticed by anyone. But cor blimey, she must ’ave known the street boy she used to deliver the message to the police station would remember her.”

“She was counting on Mrs. Sutcliffe being arrested,” Mrs. Jeffries pointed out. “Once that happened, the police wouldn’t bother to keep looking for witnesses.”

“In other words, if it hadn’t been for us, your sister-in-law would be facin’ the dock.” Luty chuckled. “Dang, we’re good.”

“What about all the money that Dearman had been collecting?” Phyllis asked. “What happened to that? It wasn’t in his cottage.”

“Some of it might have been, and some of it might have been in the house somewhere,” Mrs. Jeffries said.
“He was seen by one of the maids putting money in a traveling bag. I think he had a hiding place somewhere in the house, and I think his widow found it as soon as she knew he was dead. I suspect he kept the rest of it at the cottage. That’s the reason Lucretia Dearman went out there the day before the funeral. She wanted to have a good hunt for any valuables she could lay her hands on.”

“But she didn’t find the lap desks with the ledger and the other bits.” Wiggins picked up a piece of roast beef that had fallen onto his plate and popped it into his mouth.

“We don’t know that,” Mrs. Goodge said. “She might have just left them there. From what we’ve heard of her, she wasn’t interested in blackmailin’ anyone, she just wanted to travel and see the world.”

They discussed the case until they heard a hansom draw up outside. Luty, Hatchet, and Ruth all left by the back door before the inspector came in the front.

Mrs. Jeffries dashed upstairs and met him in the foyer. “Did you have a successful day, sir?”

He nodded cheerfully. “Absolutely. We made an arrest in the Dearman murder, and I’m delighted to tell you that it wasn’t Mrs. Sutcliffe. It was Antonia Meadows.”

She pretended to be surprised. “Really, sir? You must tell me all about it. Are we going to have a sherry before dinner?”

“Of course.” He handed her his hat and coat. “She confessed everything. Apparently, Ronald Dearman was blackmailing her over the death of her husband. He had evidence that she’d murdered the poor fellow.”

“How did you know to look at her for the crime?” Mrs. Jeffries hung up his garments on the pegs.

He grinned boyishly. “One doesn’t like to blow one’s own horn, but I will say that it was my ‘inner voice’ as you call it that moved the case in the right direction. Come along, let’s go have that drink and I’ll tell you all the details.”

“Have you heard from your sister-in-law?” Mrs. Goodge asked. She and Mrs. Jeffries were alone in the kitchen.

“No,” she replied. “But there’s no reason why I should. The case is closed and we had very little to do with one another before the murder, so there’s no need for her to contact me now that it is over and done with.”

Two weeks had passed since the arrest and life had returned to normal. Mrs. Jeffries had been gratified to find out from the inspector that her ideas about the case had been proved correct. Antonia Meadows was going to stand trial, and their efforts had kept an innocent person out of the dock. Lucretia Dearman was quietly making plans to go abroad, Henry Anson had taken over the running of the office, and Sutcliffe Manufacturing hadn’t been harmed by the scandal of murder.

She’d been relieved that she’d been able to keep John and Fiona’s secret from thirty years ago, but it hadn’t set well on her conscience. Eldon Grimshaw may not have had any family, but he deserved more than a quiet burial in what to him was a foreign land. Still, what good would come of making it public? Sutcliffe’s could very well end up mired in legal issues if one of Grimshaw’s long lost relatives turned up, and that would mean that hundreds
of people both here and in Yorkshire could be out of work if things went badly in court. So despite her misgivings, she’d kept silent.

“She should have at least sent you a thank-you of some kind,” Mrs. Goodge exclaimed. “If it hadn’t been for you—”

“If it hadn’t been for
us
,” Mrs. Jeffries corrected. “Everyone helped. It wasn’t just me.”

From upstairs, they heard the mail drop into the basket on the front door. Mrs. Jeffries wanted an excuse to avoid this conversation. “I’ll go get the post. Maybe there’s a letter for us from Canada.”

She went up the back stairs. The truth was, she
was
annoyed that she’d not heard a word from Fiona. But she wasn’t going to dwell on it; she didn’t want a relationship with her anyway. Yet, still, it would have been nice if Fiona had acknowledged they’d all worked hard to keep her out of jail. She snorted delicately and stomped down the hall to the front door.

There were two letters in the post basket. She opened the latch and pulled them out. One letter was for Inspector Witherspoon, and the second was for her. The heavy, cream-colored envelope, clearly of expensive stationary stock, displayed her name in bold, elegant strokes above the address. She ripped it open and yanked out the enclosed paper.

It was from Fiona. She scanned the contents and laughed out loud.

She ran back downstairs. “Mrs. Goodge,” she called as she hurried into the kitchen. “We’ve all been invited to the Sutcliffe house.”

“What?” Mrs. Goodge looked quite alarmed. “What do you mean, we’ve been invited to the Sutcliffe house?”

“Fiona and John want us all to come for a thank-you luncheon.” She held out the letter. “Take a look.”

Mrs. Goodge took the paper, read it, and then looked up. “Well, what do you know about that. It’s considerate of her to make it a luncheon and not a dinner. She said here that she didn’t want to put us in the awkward position of mentionin’ it to the inspector.”

“That was thoughtful of her,” Mrs. Jeffries said.

Mrs. Goodge smiled tightly. “It sounds like she not only wants to thank us for our help, but also to establish a better relationship with you.” She handed the letter back. “That’s nice. You’re family. You should be part of one another’s lives.”

Mrs. Jeffries took it and eyed her friend curiously. “Was there something in this that offended you?”

“No, no don’t be silly. It is a lovely letter, and I’m glad she wants you to come to tea once a week. Now that you’ve gotten to know each other, you can be family.”

She’d expected the cook to be delighted by the invitation. But she could tell by the strained smile and the false note of cheer in her voice that she was upset. It took Mrs. Jeffries a moment before she understood what was happening. Mrs. Goodge had spent her life as an outsider, always in someone else’s home, cooking for someone else’s children, and living at the mercy of others. Until she’d come here. They’d forged a family together, and Mrs. Goodge was worried that a new face in the mix might change that. But it wasn’t going to happen.

“Don’t be silly, Mrs. Goodge,” she said softly. “My
real family is right here at Upper Edmonton Gardens. I love and cherish all of you. Fiona Sutcliffe is part of my late husband’s family, and all she’ll ever be to me is an in-law. The people in this household will always come first with me.”

Mrs. Goodge looked at her for a long moment and then a real smile spread across her face. “Just as you’ll always come first with me.”