Mrs. Jeffries Defends Her Own (4 page)

“That’s nonsense,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. She felt a tremor of apprehension race up her spine. “What’s the name of this policeman?”

“It’s Nivens, Inspector Nigel Nivens,” Fiona replied.

Mrs. Jeffries heart sank as her worst fears were realized. Nivens had been trying to prove that Witherspoon was essentially a fraud since those horrible Kensington High Street murders. He’d only ceased his nasty snooping into the household’s activities because he’d found himself beholden to Witherspoon over a little matter of withholding evidence a few years back. But she’d always known it was too good to last, that one day, he’d reappear in their midst and show his true colors. He was an incompetent bully who’d only made it up the chain of command because of his family’s social status and political connections.

For a brief moment, she was tempted to tell her sister-in-law that it was all a silly mistake and that Nivens was a jealous fool who couldn’t accept that another policeman was better at solving crimes. She owed Fiona nothing.

She looked up and studied her guest’s face. Fiona was staring at her with an expression of mingled hope and fear. “Fiona, perhaps it would be better if—”

Fiona interrupted. “I know that you’ve no reason to help me, Hepzibah.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I know I’ve treated you shamefully, and I’m deeply sorry for it.”

“It wasn’t me you treated shamefully, it was your brother,” Mrs. Jeffries snapped. A wave of anger washed over her. “He loved you, but once you ‘married up’ as the locals in Yorkshire called it, you didn’t have much time for him, did you? You knew how much he loved you, you knew how much he cared about you, but you were so hell-bent on moving up in life that you pretended he didn’t even exist. You were his baby sister, and he worshipped the very ground you walked on, but did that matter to you? Not in the least.”

“Please, Hepzibah, stop.”

“No, I won’t stop. I’ve held this inside for years, and now you’ve the nerve to come here and ask for my help? When I think of all the times David made me send you notes inviting you and your new husband to dinner, I get sick to my stomach. If you could have seen the disappointment in his eyes when you never came. You never once set foot in our house after you married, and that cut him to the quick. For goodness’ sake, we weren’t half-wits that you needed to be ashamed about. We were both perfectly respectable people. We just didn’t happen to be rich.”

Fiona was out and out crying now. “Dear God, have pity. Ever since his funeral I’ve been haunted by how badly I behaved. I didn’t mean to push the two of you aside. It simply happened that way, and then when John moved the company to London, I thought I’d have plenty of time to go back to Yorkshire on visits and make it up to him. I thought the two of you would live there forever. I didn’t expect him to die so young.”

“Fifty-two isn’t so young,” Mrs. Jeffries said archly. She took another sip from her glass, and then a great sense of weariness came over her. She closed her eyes and an image of David’s face flashed into her mind. Her beloved husband had been gone for years now, and in that instant she realized that no matter how hurt he’d been by his sister’s behavior, he’d have wanted her to help. Mrs. Jeffries opened her eyes.

Fiona’s sobs had subsided into a sniffle. She’d pulled a handkerchief out of her mantle pocket and was dabbing at her eyes. She took a deep breath and got up. “Apparently, my coming here wasn’t a good idea. I’m sorry to have bothered you …”

“Sit down, Fiona,” Mrs. Jeffries ordered. “And while you’re at it, take off your wrap. I apologize for not taking it earlier and for losing my temper.”

“You have a right to be angry.” Fiona sat back in her seat.

“I know I do, but the past is the past and David would want me to do whatever I could to help you. Now, tell me what happened and why you’re so very frightened about this man’s death.”

Fiona began to unbutton her mantle. “Thank you, Hepzibah. I’ll never forget this.”

“I’m not making any promises, and I’m certainly not admitting that Inspector Nivens was right. Inspector Witherspoon is a very talented detective, and his success isn’t necessarily because of me or anyone else in his household. Now, how was Ronald Dearman killed and when? I need details, and don’t leave anything out, no matter how insignificant.”

“He was shot.” She slipped the garment off her shoulder and tossed it over the back of the settee, waving Mrs. Jeffries back to her chair when she started to reach for it.

“I know, you’ve already told me that. But do you know how many times?”

“How many times?” Fiona looked confused by the question. “Oh, you must mean how many times was he shot. I don’t know. I didn’t look closely when Lucretia started screaming. It was obvious he was dead, so I pulled her away and sent the porter for the police.”

“I’m getting ahead of myself. Tell me in your own words what happened. Start at the beginning, please.”

“It began this morning. I’d just finished breakfast and was going downstairs to speak to Cook when I heard
this awful banging on the front door. As none of the servants were anywhere in sight, I went to the door myself.”

“That’s not like you,” Mrs. Jeffries said.

“I know, but John is away in Birmingham on business, and for some reason, I suppose because they were making such a racket, I was alarmed. So instead of waiting for the butler, I opened the door myself. Lucretia was standing there. She was upset. She said that Ronald hadn’t come home the night before and she wanted John to take her along to the company offices to see if he was there.”

“What time was this?”

“About seven fifteen,” Fiona smile faintly. “When John’s gone, I breakfast very early.”

“Why didn’t she just wait until the office had opened and go along herself?” Mrs. Jeffries asked.

“The office doesn’t open until half past eight, and she claimed she was too worried to wait. Frankly, I think she wanted to get there before the office opened because she was frightened of what she would find. She didn’t want to be humiliated in front of the staff. There have been rumors that Ronald drinks more than he should.” Fiona couldn’t keep the note of contempt out of her voice.

Mrs. Jeffries glanced at the glass in her hand. “I take it Mr. Dearman had been working late the prior evening?”

Fiona nodded. “That’s what Lucretia told me. I told her that John was out of town and I’d no idea where his keys were. To be honest, I wasn’t sure what to say. We’re not the best of friends, and there’s been gossip about their marriage, so I thought it perfectly possible that he’d decided not to come home for reasons of his own. But I
could hardly say that. She insisted that we get into the building, so I told her I’d go with her and have the porter let us. She was satisfied with that, and we took a hansom cab to the office.”

“Where exactly is the office?” Mrs. Jeffries asked.

“On Queen Street Place by the Southwark Bridge. Lucretia seemed to get more and more nervous as we made our way there—she kept yelling at the driver to hurry. We went into the building, and I told the porter that I needed to get into our suite of offices on the second floor.”

“Had the porter let you in on other occasions?” she asked. Their previous cases had taught her to question people carefully about the details.

“He knew who I was. Last week, John had left his spectacles at home and as I was going to be shopping close by, I came in to give them to him. He can see without them, but it does cause a great strain on his eyes.”

“So the porter took you right up,” Mrs. Jeffries pressed. She wanted to understand the exact sequence of events.

“We had to wait for a few moments,” she replied. “It’s a large, modern building, and several of the other businesses were already open for the day. When we arrived, the porter was busy helping another gentleman. When it was our turn, I explained what we needed, and then we waited while he went to his kiosk in the back to get the spare keys.”

“Did he give you the keys, or did he accompany you?” she asked.

“He accompanied us and unlocked both the outer door and the door to Ronald’s office.” Fiona closed her
eyes and took a deep breath. “I was certain he’d be in the room asleep or drunk, and not wanting to witness a scene, I hung back a bit so that Lucretia could have some privacy. The porter opened the door and stepped back to let her enter. She went in and then I heard her screaming. Both the porter and I raced into the office. That’s when we found him. I knew right away that he was dead.”

Mrs. Jeffries regarded her curiously. “How did you know?”

“There was blood all over the top of his desk.” She swallowed convulsively. “And Lucretia was standing there, holding his head up and … I … I could see the hole in his forehead. Oh God, it was awful. I wasn’t fond of Ronald, but I’ll never forget that sight as long as I live.”

“What did you do then?”

She grimaced. “I forced Lucretia to let go of him, and then I eased his head back down as gently as I could.” She shuddered. “Then I pulled her out of the room and yelled for the porter to fetch the police. After that, everything is a blur. Suddenly there were policemen everywhere. I overheard one of the constables say that it wasn’t a suicide as there was no gun near the body so it had to be a murder. Unfortunately, Lucretia heard him as well and started having hysterics.”

“What did you do?”

“I took her into John’s office and poured her a drink. He keeps a bottle of whiskey in his desk. Then I told her to lie down. I was going to stay with her, but the constable came and said the inspector wished to speak with her. As she was in no condition to speak to anyone, I
went and told him that she was incoherent and wouldn’t be much use until she calmed down.”

“So she was alone in John’s office when you went to speak to Nivens?”

Fiona nodded. “Yes, why? Is that important?”

She ignored the question. “Did you go right back to Lucretia?”

She shook her head. “No, I stayed in the outer office. I could see John’s office door from where I stood, and I wanted to make sure they left her alone. I’m not fond of Lucretia, but she was in a state. It was when I was standing there that I heard your name so prominently mentioned.”

“Do you want my help because you’re going to be a suspect?” Mrs. Jeffries watched her carefully as she asked the question.

Fiona smiled briefly. “You always did get right to the point. Yes, that’s precisely why I need your help. I imagine it won’t take that policeman long to find out the worst.”

Downstairs, Phyllis drummed her fingertips on the tabletop as she waited for Mrs. Goodge and Wiggins. She’d brought the tea tray down to find the kitchen empty. She was about to get up to go look for them when she heard Mrs. Goodge’s door squeak open just as Wiggins came in from the communal gardens.

“Mrs. Jeffries didn’t want tea,” she said, keeping her voice low. “She said she and her visitor would have a drink instead.”

Mrs. Goodge’s eyes narrowed behind the frames of her wire-rimmed glasses. “Are you certain? I’ve never
known Mrs. Jeffries to drink at this time of day. It’s barely past lunchtime.”

Phyllis nodded eagerly. “She told me herself and bid me bring the tea back downstairs. I’ve put the pot over there in case anyone wants another cup and put the rest of the things away. But she and her visitor were going to have sherry.”

“I wonder if there is something wrong,” Mrs. Goodge murmured.

“Maybe she just wants a sherry.” Wiggins sat down next to the maid. “The rain ’as let up a bit, but it’s still a right miserable day out there and maybe she wanted a quick drink to warm up her guest. I got cold just takin’ them bread crumbs out the birds.”

“Did she mention the woman’s name?” the cook asked him as she sat down.

Wiggins thought for a second. “I think I ’eard her call her Fiona. That’s right, she said,
‘Come right in, Fiona.’
”

“Fiona,” Mrs. Goodge repeated. “I’ve never heard her mention anyone by that name. I wonder who she is.”

“Well, whoever she is, she’s upset Mrs. Jeffries,” Phyllis declared.

“Upset her? What on earth do you mean?” Mrs. Goodge was beginning to get a bad feeling about this visitor.

“Because of the way her voice sounded,” she explained. “There was a funny note in it when she told me to bring the tea things back. You know what I mean, she was pretending to be cheerful and all like that, but I heard that she didn’t sound right, and she’d gone a bit pale as well.”

Back upstairs, Mrs. Jeffries stared at her guest.
“That’s a very odd statement to make, Fiona. What are you talking about? What is the
worst
that it won’t take him long to uncover?”

Fiona smiled bitterly. “I meant that it won’t take him long to find out that a few days before he was murdered, I had a dreadful argument with Ronald Dearman. As a matter of fact, I threatened to kill him.”

“Has the body been moved from its original position?” Dr. Bosworth, police surgeon for the Southwark District, asked the constable standing guard at the door.

The young constable looked embarrassed. “I’m afraid it has, sir. Inspector Nivens ordered us to move him so that he could look around under the desk for a gun. He wanted to rule out suicide.”