Mrs. Jeffries in the Nick of Time (5 page)

“I don’t usually drink in the afternoons,” Cooper said defensively. “But I tell ya, seein’ the old man all slumped over like that was such a shock. The only dead body I’ve ever seen before was my old gran, but that was at her funeral. This was different. It was strange, if ya know what I mean. Especially when we heard they was sending for the police and that it was murder been done. None of us knew how to act or how we was supposed to feel.”

“Were you the one that found ’im?” Wiggins asked.

“No, I only got a glimpse from the doorway, but that was enough.” He shuddered slightly.

Wiggins took a sip of his beer and stared at Johnny over the rim of his glass. He was a lanky fellow with wispy blond hair and a long, narrow face. He claimed he was the gardener at Humphreys House, but Wiggins suspected Cooper was more a lad-of-all-work rather than a proper gardener. Even with the color back in his face, he didn’t have that rough complexion that spoke of hours outside in the weather.

“Must ’ave been awful,” Wiggins muttered. He wasn’t sure how many questions to ask. He didn’t want the lad accidentally telling the police that someone had shown an unnatural interest in a local murder. A bit of gossip was one thing, but asking too much could arouse suspicion. It was a fine line he walked. “But aren’t you supposed to stay close and wait for the police when there’s been a murder in the ’ouse?”

“No one said anything when I left and there was police hanging about everywhere,” Cooper said defensively. “There were two constables standing right there on the back terrace when Mrs. Eames told me to go about my business and take the second coal cart down to Mrs. Bowden’s house. If the police wanted me to stay on the premises, one of the coppers should have said something. I weren’t hiding what I was doin’. It’s a ruddy great cart and both them coppers watched me wheel it down the path and off the property. I’ve done nothin’ wrong.”

“Course you ’aven’t,” Wiggins assured him.

Cooper pursed his lips and glanced down at his drink. “Mind ya, I probably should have gone back to the house instead of comin’ here. Mrs. Eames is goin’ to have my guts for garters if I don’t get back soon.”

“Who’s Mrs. Eames?”

“Who do ya think she is, she’s the housekeeper.” Cooper took another drink.

“If the police are still there, not even your Mrs. Eames will notice you’ve not come back,” Wiggins retorted. The fear had faded from Cooper’s eyes and his color was back. “ ’Ave another one. It’s not often I get to talk to someone who’s been close to a real live murder. It’s ever so excitin’. Did ya hear the gun goin’ off?”

“You’d had to have been deaf not to hear.” Cooper relaxed. Wiggins could see he was starting to enjoy himself. “I’d just come out of the small shed at the back of the garden when there was a crackin’ sound loud enough to raise the dead. Course I knew right away that it was a gunshot.”

“Done a lot of shootin’, ’ave you?” Wiggins smiled to take the sting out of the comment. But it was important to know if the lad was just talking or if he actually had known the noise was indeed from a weapon. Over the years, everyone in the Witherspoon household had learned that understanding the details was very important.

“I’ve never even touched a gun.” Cooper looked horrified by the idea. “But I used to go with Mr. Humphreys when he went on his hunting trips to Scotland. He wasn’t really much of a hunter. He told me once he didn’t like killin’ defenseless animals, but goin’ to Scotland was a good excuse to drink fine whisky.”

“Was your Mr. Humphreys killed with a huntin’ rifle?” Wiggins asked. Cor blimey, if that was the case, no wonder the lad had headed for a pub.

“I don’t think so.” Cooper thought for a moment. “There weren’t much blood. Besides, the shot I heard didn’t sound like it come from a rifle. Like I said, I used to go with Mr. Humphreys, and even though he didn’t hunt much he liked to practice shooting his Enfield when there was no one about.”

“What’s an Enfield?” Wiggins asked. He knew perfectly well what kind of gun an Enfield was, but he wanted to see how much Cooper knew about weapons.

“It’s a revolver. Mr. Humphreys wasn’t a very good shot, but he seemed to enjoy it. Poor fellow.”

“Was he a good guv?”

“He was no better or worse than most.” Cooper grinned. “Bit of a strange one, though. He always goin’ on about the trains and worryin’ about why they weren’t runnin’ on time. But for the most part, he treated the household decently.” He swallowed the last of his beer and put his glass down on the counter. “Mind ya, I can’t say the same for the way he treated his family.”

“What do you mean?” Wiggins asked.

“He weren’t mean or anything like that, but he could be right hard if he thought ya weren’t livin’ up to his expectations. He liked to lecture them about responsibility and obligations and behavin’ properly.”

“Did he have relations that didn’t behave properly?”

“He thought so.” Cooper laughed. “He had words with one of his nephews a couple of days ago because the fellow can’t seem to hold on to a position, but he doesn’t ever cut anyone off. He takes ’em all in but he makes ’em all dance to his tune and do what he says. None of ’em like it, but they put up with him. Guess havin’ all that money buys a lot of forgiveness.”

 

“He’s a bit surly,” Wiggins announced as he and Smythe came into the warm kitchen of Upper Edmonton Gardens. “He didn’t ’ave much luck tonight.”

“I’m not in a surly mood.” The coachman shucked off his coat and hung it on the coat tree. “I’m cold and hungry, but I’m bloomin’ well not surly.”

Betsy giggled as she poured a cup of tea and put it on the table as he slid into his seat. “Drink this while I get your supper out of the warming oven.”

Everyone had, of course, waited up for them. But no one started asking questions until both men were settled at the table with full plates in front of them.

“Was it a murder?” Mrs. Jeffries directed the question to the footman.

Wiggins nodded vigorously and swallowed his mouthful of cooked cabbage. “He was shot. I had a quick word with the gardener, not that I think he’s a proper gardener, but the lad was there when it happened and heard the gun go off.”

“I didn’t ’ave a word with anyone except a right miserable publican,” Smythe complained. “It’s no wonder his pub is empty.”

“You were at the same pub?” Mrs. Goodge asked, her expression confused.

“There was no place to hide near Humphreys House,” Smythe explained. “So we each went off in different directions to the closest pub to see if the news had gotten around the neighborhood. Wiggins got lucky, I didn’t.” He glanced up and looked toward the window as they heard the distinctive rattle of a hansom cab pull up outside. “Cor blimey, looks like the inspector is home already.”

“We’ll continue this in the morning,” Mrs. Jeffries said as she got up.

Betsy was already on her feet and moving toward the cooker. She grabbed a thick tea towel from the work table, opened the warming oven and took out the covered plate that held the inspector’s dinner. She put the plate on the serving tray that the housekeeper had at the ready.

Mrs. Jeffries grabbed the tray and started for the back stairs. “Everyone go on up and get some sleep. Wiggins, you’ll need to get up extra early to go fetch Luty and Hatchet. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day.”

“Don’t you stay up too late yourself,” the cook called as Mrs. Jeffries disappeared up the stairs.

Inspector Witherspoon had already shed his coat and hat by the time she reached the front hallway. She stopped by the open dining room door. “Good evening, sir. I took the liberty of bringing your supper up, sir. I thought you might be hungry.”

“Bless you, Mrs. Jeffries.” Witherspoon smiled gratefully. “I’m famished. But I certainly didn’t expect the household to wait up for me. I could have easily made myself a bite to eat.” He took a deep breath, inhaling the rich aroma of the food as he came to the dining room and stepped inside.

Even though he was now a rich man with a huge house, he’d been raised in very modest circumstances and consequently treated his staff like human beings. “No need for that, sir. Mrs. Goodge has kept a lovely beef and cabbage stew in the warmer for you. Sit down and eat this while it’s hot.”

As soon as the inspector was tucked into his food, Mrs. Jeffries went to the drawing room and poured two glasses of sherry. She put them on a silver tray she’d brought up from the old butler’s pantry earlier that evening. “I thought you might like a drink to ward off the chill,” she said as she returned.

“Excellent, that’s precisely what I need.” Witherspoon speared a piece of beef onto his fork. “And I’m glad you brought a drink for yourself. Do sit down and keep me company.”

“Thank you, sir, I will.” She pulled out the chair, sat down, and took a sip of her sherry. She said nothing for a moment, giving him time to get some food in his stomach before she began asking questions. She knew he would willingly tell her about the day’s events; from his very first homicide, she’d made sure that he’d gotten into the habit of discussing his cases with his very discreet and understanding housekeeper. He’d once told her that talking with her about his work helped him enormously. “It does so enable me to keep everything straight in my own mind,” he’d said. She intended to do her best to insure that he continued to feel that way.

“Was it dreadful, sir,” she asked sympathetically. She was one of the few that knew how squeamish he was about dead bodies.

“It wasn’t pretty, the man was shot in the head. But as head wounds go, it wasn’t as nasty as it could have been.” He picked up his glass and took a quick sip. “The fatal wound was directly in the center of his forehead, but luckily there wasn’t much blood.”

“Really?” A faint, uneasy feeling tugged at her, but she pushed it to the back of her mind. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep him up and chatting. It was late and the inspector was tired. “I thought head wounds bled profusely? Did the police surgeon have any idea why there was so little blood?”

“I didn’t have time to ask him.” Witherspoon speared a piece of potato. “There were people everywhere, and frankly we got too busy taking statements. I’ll read his report tomorrow. He’s doing the postmortem at St. Mary’s in Paddington.”

Drat. Mrs. Jeffries knew she had no right to be disappointed. But she had hoped their friend Dr. Bosworth would, by some miracle, be the one doing the postmortem. But Dr. Bosworth, who actually did know quite a bit about gunshots and the holes they made in human flesh, was assigned to another metropolitan police district and worked out of St. Thomas’ Hospital. “I see. Who was the victim, sir?”

“An older man named Francis Humphreys. He was killed as he sat at the desk in his bedroom, and what’s more, there was a houseful of witnesses but all they heard was the gunshot.” He sighed heavily. “I don’t think this is going to be an easy murder to solve.”

“Was it a robbery?” she asked.

“I don’t think so,” he replied. “The housekeeper didn’t see that anything was missing from his room and as I said, the house was swarming with people, the killer wouldn’t have had time to do anything but shoot the poor man and then make a run for it.”

“If the house was full of people, sir,” she asked, “how did the killer get in and out without being seen?”

“We’re not certain, but it was probably through the small terrace off his bedroom. It’s up a floor from the ground, but there is a good sturdy trellis the assailant could have used to climb up and get into his room. As for getting out, there’s half a dozen doors and lots of windows. It took a few moments for the rest of the household to get to his room when they heard the shot, so it’s possible the killer could have used that time to his advantage.”

She leaned back in her chair and listened as he continued with his meal. By the time his plate was clean, he’d given her every detail of the day. “Searching the house was rather awkward.” He shoved his chair back and stood up. “The constables had done a preliminary search as soon as they arrived, but Constable Barnes insisted it be done again under his direction. Odd, he usually trusts the lads to do things properly.”

She got to her feet as well. Her mind was working furiously, taking in the few facts they had so far and trying to make sense of them. “Did you find anything useful, sir?”

“We found nothing.” He yawned widely. “No open windows, no footprints, nothing that would point us in the direction of the killer. Frankly, finding the murder weapon would have been very helpful. But it’s early days yet.”

“Perhaps the killer managed to get the gun out of the house before the police arrived,” she suggested as she began to clear the table. “It did take you some time to get there.”

“That’s possible, but the first officers were on the scene within minutes, and despite Barnes’ insistence that the place be searched again, the constable in charge assured me they followed all the established procedures and secured the premises.”

“Are you sure, sir?” She smiled wryly. “Sometimes the first constables on the scene don’t realize how important it is to make sure that nothing gets taken away from the premises or that none of the witnesses leave. As you’ve said many times yourself, sir, often inexperienced police officers are very intimidated by the upper class.”

“That’s true. Tomorrow I’ll have another word with them just to be doubly sure.” He covered his mouth to hide another huge yawn. “Even though I do like to think ‘my methods’ have influenced how officers behave at a murder scene, the rule about leaving the body alone and not letting witnesses leave the premises, has actually been around for fifteen years. Gracious, Mrs. Jeffries, you must be as exhausted as I am. I suggest you leave that clearing up until tomorrow and we both retire for the night.”

Upstairs on the third floor, Betsy stood at the window of the bedroom that Mrs. Jeffries had recently converted into a cozy sitting room for the staff. The bed had been replaced by two old but comfortable armchairs they’d found in the attic and a blue velvet loveseat. In the darkened room, she stared out into the night.