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Authors: Emily Brightwell

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Everyone laughed. “We’ll have to find out if Mr. Dearman was in the same situation,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “But whatever the reason the alarm wasn’t raised when he didn’t come home, that bought the killer additional time before the body was discovered.”

“What I don’t understand is how on earth we’re goin’ to find out what the police know,” Luty complained. “Let’s
not fool ourselves. A lot of our information about our murders comes directly from Inspector Witherspoon. He talks freely to Mrs. Jeffries, and between that and Constable Barnes tellin’ us bits and pieces, we know what’s what. There ain’t no way this side of Hades that Inspector Nivens is goin’ to tell us one darned thing.” She fixed her gaze on the housekeeper. “Do you reckon you can suss out who the killer is without the information we get from the police?”

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Jeffries admitted honestly. “You’re right, of course, Inspector Nivens would never in a million years share anything he learned with us.”

“And that ain’t all,” Luty continued. “With Betsy and Smythe gone, we’re shorthanded. That’s somethin’ else we’ve got to consider.”

“Madam, are you suggesting we’re not up to the task?” Hatchet folded his arms over his chest and stared hard at his employer.

“’Course we’re up to it,” Luty shot back. “I’m just pointin’ out that it might not go as fast or as smooth as other times, especially as it seems like Hepzibah and her sister-in-law don’t much like each other.”

Everyone was used to Luty’s blunt manner, but nonetheless, there was a moment of stunned silence. Then Phyllis giggled, and a second later, everyone else, including Mrs. Jeffries, joined in the laughter.

“You’re right, Luty,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “We don’t much like one another, but for my late husband’s sake, I’m going to try my best to help her. However, everything you’ve pointed out is true. This will be a very, very difficult case, and I won’t hold it against anyone if they wish to bow out.”

Everyone spoke at once.

“’Course we’re not bowin’ out,” Wiggins cried.

“I should think not,” Mrs. Goodge exclaimed.

“Working for justice is what we do,” Ruth declared.

“We ain’t givin’ up just because this one might be harder than the others,” Luty said fiercely.

“Really, Mrs. Jeffries, do you think we’d ignore our duty simply because it might be difficult?” Hatchet sniffed disapprovingly.

Everyone fell silent, and then Phyllis said, “At first I was scared to help out because I was afraid of losing my job and I didn’t think I could do it. But then I saw that I could. What’s more, I realized that what we was really doing wasn’t so much as catching the guilty as it was protecting the innocent.” She stopped and stared at the faces around the table. “That’s what is really important. All of you have kept the police from arresting innocent people just so they could get the murder off the front pages of the newspapers. There’ve been times in my life when I wish there had been people like you about—times when me and my lot needed someone to protect us and there was no one there. That’s why I’ll do anything you ask of me, no matter how scared it makes me.”

For a moment, the room was quiet except for the faint ticking of the clock. Each and every one of them was deeply touched. The maid had come to them beaten down by life and so grateful to have a roof over her head that she wouldn’t say “boo” to a goose. She was still fearful, but despite that, she was willing to get out in the world and try to help others.

“Thank you, Phyllis.” Mrs. Jeffries smiled kindly at her. “We’re glad you feel that way, and we all understand
how difficult it sometimes is to put the interests of justice over our own survival.”

Phyllis shyly returned the smile and reached for her teacup.

“Now, as we’re all agreed we want to move forward, there are some very practical matters to consider,” Mrs. Jeffries said.

“You’re right about that.” Mrs. Goodge sighed. “We’ll not have anyone inside the police helpin’ us.”

“Maybe that ain’t so.” Luty tapped her finger on the tabletop. “Can’t we see if Constable Barnes will give us a hand?”

“That’s an idea,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “But he’s not on the case—”

Luty interrupted. “That don’t matter. Barnes has been a copper long enough to know how to finagle the system. Even if he ain’t on the case, he can probably pick up enough information to lend us a hand. I’ll bet he’s bored stiff workin’ on that fraud case with the inspector.”

Mrs. Jeffries nodded in agreement. “We’ll need to get a message to him right away. I’ll send him a note this evening and ask him to stop in tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll take it,” Wiggins offered.

“We’ll drop you there when we leave here,” Luty said. “I’d offer to bring you back, too, but we’ve got another engagement tonight and as we’re on a case now, I don’t want to miss a chance to see if we can pick up anythin’ useful.”

“That’s alright, the constable doesn’t live far, just across the river, so I can be ’ome in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” he replied.

“We’ll need names,” the cook blurted. “Your sister-in-law will have to give us a list of people who might have hated Ronald Dearman enough to want him dead.”

“And we’ll need their addresses as well,” Phyllis added. “We can’t find out about these people unless we know where they live.”

“Oh dear, you’re right.” Mrs. Jeffries glanced at the clock and frowned. “How stupid of me, I shouldn’t have let Fiona leave without getting that information. It’s too late to go to her house now. The inspector will be home soon.”

“What are we goin’ to do about that?” Wiggins crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s like ya said, he’s only workin’ on that fraud case now and that means he’s spendin’ most of ’is time goin’ over ledgers and invoices. He’s no reason to be stayin’ at the station when it’s just figures he’s dealin’ with, so he’ll be comin’ ’ome early most days.”

“He’ll want to know where we are if we’re not here,” Phyllis agreed anxiously. “And I don’t want him angry at us.”

Gerald Witherspoon was the kindest and most considerate of employers. He’d not been raised in a household filled with servants, and consequently, he actually treated his staff as human beings. However, even the best of masters would wonder what his household was doing if they were never there when he came home.

“I can help with that,” Ruth offered. “The inspector and I have been wanting to spend more time together and this is the perfect opportunity. As a matter of fact, we can start right now.” She glanced at the housekeeper. “If you’ll loan me a piece of paper, I’ll leave a note inviting him to an early dinner tomorrow evening.”

“But what about your investigatin’?” Luty asked. “Won’t that be hard on you if you’re keepin’ him occupied?”

“I can easily manage,” Ruth replied. “Much of my information comes from my women’s suffrage club meetings or ladies’ luncheons, and he’s at work then. In the evenings, if I happen to be invited to a dinner party that might be useful while we’re on the hunt, I’ll ask Gerald to escort me.”

“Can you speak freely if he’s with you?” Hatchet asked.

“Of course.” She laughed. “People gossip about murder all the time, and as he’s not even on the case, he won’t be put in any sort of compromising position.”

“Excellent,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “We’ve made a good start, and we do have some names to work with. There’s our victim, Ronald Dearman. I know he lived in the same neighborhood as Fiona and her husband, but I don’t know the street name nor the address.”

“What is the Sutcliffe address?” Mrs. Goodge asked.

“Number seventeen, Whipple Road, Mayfair,” she said. “We’ll meet tomorrow morning at our usual time. The inspector will have gone to the station by then. If all goes as planned, I should have had an opportunity to speak to Constable Barnes and see if he’s willing to help us.”

“Let’s hope I can find out somethin’ tonight at the Verlanes’ dinner party,” Luty said. “I’m sure the killin’ will have made the evenin’ papers, so there’s bound to be some gossip.”

“Good,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “Let’s hope that solving this one won’t be as difficult as we feared.”

“I’m so glad you were able to come this morning,” Mrs. Jeffries said to Constable Barnes as she ushered him down the back hall to the kitchen. “Wiggins said you weren’t home when he dropped the note off, so he wasn’t sure if you were free this morning.”

They stepped into the kitchen, and Mrs. Goodge, who had just put a pot of tea on the table and sat down, looked up and gave him a broad smile. “Good morning, Constable. I see you got Mrs. Jeffries’ note.”

“I did, but funnily enough, I’d planned on coming by anyway.” He smiled at the housekeeper. “I have something to ask you.”

Mrs. Jeffries waved him into a chair as she took her own seat. The cook poured out three cups of tea and handed them around. She waited for him to take a sip before she spoke. “Why were you coming to see me?”

Barnes put down his cup. “Did you hear about that murder near the Southwark Bridge? The deputy manager that was shot in his office?”

“We heard about it, but we also heard that the case was given to Inspector Nivens, not our inspector.”

“That’s the reason I’ve come. Late yesterday afternoon, I went to the Yard. That’s why I wasn’t home when young Wiggins called round. Chief Inspector Barrows sent me a message that he wanted to speak to me about a lecture I’d given there that day to new recruits. I was more than a little annoyed seeing as how I’d been there earlier that day and I wondered why he couldn’t have spoken to me then. As it turns out, he wasn’t there, but that’s beside the point—” He broke off and looked down
at the tabletop. A dark flush crept up his already ruddy complexion.

Mrs. Jeffries looked at Mrs. Goodge, who shrugged as both women realized the constable was embarrassed.

Barnes took a deep breath, looked up, and said, “I probably shouldn’t admit this, but as I waited in his office, I saw that Nivens had already sent over his first report on the murder. The file was sitting on Barrows’ desk and as I could hear Barrows out in the hall tearing a strip off some poor lad, I flipped it open and had bit of a read. I didn’t get a chance to read the whole thing, but the reason I’ve come to see you is because I noticed that one of the names listed in the report”—he turned to Mrs. Jeffries—“was given as Mrs. John Sutcliffe, but in parentheses, her full name had been written and it was Fiona Abigail Jeffries Sutcliffe. Then I noticed that the Sutcliffes were from Yorkshire.”

“She’s my sister-in-law,” Mrs. Jeffries said softly. “And that’s how we knew that Inspector Nivens had gotten the case. She came to see me yesterday afternoon. She’s terrified that she’s going to be under suspicion for the murder.”

“I see.” The constable fingered the handle of his teacup. “Then if she’s a suspect, I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to finish reading the report.”

“I am, too. I wonder if Inspector Nivens made the connection between the names,” she mused.

“I doubt it.” Barnes laughed. “Nivens didn’t write the report. He never does—he always gets one of the better-educated rank-and-file lads to do it for him. I imagine it was Constable Morehead that did it. He’s a grammar school boy, and the gossip is that he’s hitched his wagon to Nivens’ star.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” the housekeeper muttered.

Constable Barnes shifted in his seat. “Mrs. Jeffries, I have to ask this. Your sister-in-law, did she kill him?”

She gave him a wry smile. “She told me she had nothing to do with his murder. Mind you, we’re not close and I’ve had almost no contact with her for years. But I do know this: Fiona Sutcliffe would walk over hot coals in her bare feet rather than do anything that would endanger her position in society, and being arrested as a murderess would most definitely put her beyond the social pale.”

CHAPTER 3

Ruth was the last one to arrive for their morning meeting. She rushed in, shedding her cloak as she crossed the room. “I do hope I haven’t held us up too much,” she apologized as she hung up her damp garment.

“We’ve only just sat down,” the cook said. “The inspector was late getting out the door. But we’ve had a bit of luck already: Constable Barnes came by and he’s going to help us.”

“As much as he can,” the housekeeper added. “He did warn us that his finding out anything useful might be difficult as he has no official reason to read the reports.”

BOOK: Mrs. Jeffries Defends Her Own
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