Mrs. Jeffries Speaks Her Mind (26 page)

“Cor blimey, what are you two grinnin’ about?” Wiggins asked as he slipped into his place at the table. “Did Mrs. Jeffries figure out who our killer is? Which reminds me, there’s a few bits that I forgot to tell yesterday. But it weren’t really my fault because the inspector come home and we didn’t get to finish our meeting properly.”

“What did you forget?” Luty asked. “Somethin’ important?”

Wiggins frowned and swiped at his shoulder to remove a cobweb that he’d picked up in the attic. “I’m not sure. You remember when I was tellin’ ya about Rosemarie Lewis. She mentioned that Susan Edwards—she’s the scullery maid at the Kettering house—”

“We know who she is,” Mrs. Goodge said quickly. “Go on, we’ve not got all day and we need to save a bit of time for Mrs. Jeffries to tell us about Constable Barnes.”

“Susan told Rosemarie Lewis that she’d felt bad when Miss Kettering had been murdered so she’d told Mrs. McAllister about how the cook had switched the cocoa. Mind you, in her next breath, Rosemarie said Susan complained that the cook hadn’t shared the good drinking chocolate with any of them, she’d kept it all for herself. Rosemarie told her to stop being a ninny, that bein’ as someone had murdered Miss Kettering, she didn’t think anyone would care much about the stupid tricks the cook might have played.”

“That’s very interesting,” Hatchet murmured.

“I’m not finished,” Wiggins said. “Susan was worried she was going to get the sack because when she turned around, Mrs. Fox was standing there and Susan thought she might ’ave heard her.”

“What does Mrs. Fox have to do with it?” Luty demanded. “She don’t own the place. Besides, all of the servants are probably goin’ to be let go when Richards and his bunch take over.”

“But that’s not goin’ to be for a while,” Wiggins argued. “And I think that the scullery maid was hopin’ to get a few more weeks in her pay envelope before she was let go. Accordin’ to what Susan told Rosemarie, the family is lettin’ Mrs. Fox run the house.”

“Mrs. Fox is right there, almost on the premises,” Ruth commented. “It seems a sensible way to proceed. But why would the scullery maid fear getting let go because of the actions of the cook? That’s what I don’t understand.”

“Because it was Mrs. Fox that sent the cocoa to Miss Kettering in the first place.”

“Susan knew about the switch and she was probably frightened that Mrs. Fox would take her anger about the deception out on her,” Mrs. Jeffries murmured. Suddenly, everything became crystal clear in her mind. She could see it all now. She knew exactly who the killer was.

What she didn’t know was why.

But what if she were wrong? Oh dear, she’d been so distracted this morning by Betsy’s wonderful news she’d only half listened to Wiggins. Drat. More importantly, what was she going to do about it? But perhaps she wouldn’t have to do anything. She’d told Barnes what she suspected about the house. Surely that might yield some evidence. But what if it didn’t? What if her original supposition was completely wrong?

“Right, then, are you through?” Mrs. Goodge asked Wiggins. “Because if you are, we need to hear what Mrs. Jeffries learned from the constable.”

“I’m done.” He grinned broadly, glad to have gotten that last bit of information off his chest. He, along with everyone else at the table, looked at the housekeeper expectantly.

Lost in thought, Mrs. Jeffries didn’t notice she was now the center of attention. She stared off into space, her gaze unfocused as she tried to connect the pieces together. It made sense, yet it didn’t make sense.

Hatchet cleared his throat. “Uh . . . Mrs. Jeffries, is everything alright?”

“Huh?” she muttered. “Uh, yes, I’m fine. I was just thinking.”

“Do you know who the killer is?” Luty asked eagerly. “Usually when you go off all starry-eyed like that, you’re getting ready to figure it out.”

“Not as yet.” Mrs. Jeffries smiled apologetically. She felt a bit bad about lying, because she had figured it out, but she wasn’t sure. Oh dear, that didn’t make sense. “But Constable Barnes came by with some very interesting information this morning and I think we’re moving forward with this case.” She hesitated and then plunged ahead with her idea about the Kettering house. She was relieved that none of them laughed. After all, secret staircases and hidden passages sounded so very melodramatic when one actually said them out loud.

Smythe leaned over and whispered in Betsy’s ear. “Are you alright, love? You look pale.”

“It’s the light in here,” she replied. “And I’m fine. Mrs. Jeffries, what did the constable tell you?”

Mrs. Jeffries told them what she’d learned. She paused for a breath and Wiggins interrupted. “Do you think the ’ouse is haunted, then?”

“No, of course not,” she replied. “As a matter of fact, I think there’s a very rational explanation for those footsteps and I said as much to the constable.” She stopped as she realized the full implications of what Wiggins had said just a few minutes ago.

“She’s doin’ it agin.” Luty leaned toward the housekeeper. “See, she’s gettin’ all dreamy-eyed. If she was younger, I’d say she was in love.”

Mrs. Jeffries snapped out of it. “Wiggins, please go to the Kettering house straight away. You need to find Constable Barnes and tell him that it’s imperative he search the cook’s room.”

“What’s he lookin’ for?” Wiggins was already on his feet. “And what if the inspector sees me? What do I say?”

“Tell Barnes to find the cocoa—that’s the key to this whole case,” she replied.

“Wiggins can’t go,” Smythe said. “’E’s already talked to half the people that work there. I think I’d better go. No one has seen me before.”

Wiggins started to protest and then realized the coachman was right. He sat back down. Then he leapt back up. “But I can go in case there’s a message to bring back ’ere,” he pointed out. “I don’t ’ave to go to the ’ouse. I can lolly about on Brook Green and if Smythe needs something done, he can nip out and tell me.”

Mrs. Jeffries agreed. “We’ve often had to dash about when we’re at this point in a case. Having you on hand there is a very good idea.”

“Should I go as well?” Hatchet offered. “Young Wiggins can stay on the green and I can take Madam’s carriage to one of the side streets to have at the ready if we’ve a need to get somewhere quickly.”

“What about me?” Luty demanded. “Shouldn’t I go? It’s my carriage.”

“Of course it’s your carriage, madam,” Hatchet said soothingly. “But if circumstances get a bit rough-and-tumble, I want you safely away from any danger.”

“We can stop in Knightsbridge and I’ll get my Peace-maker,” Luty declared.

“That won’t be necessary, Luty,” Mrs. Jeffries said quickly. “I don’t think anything is going to happen today. As a matter of fact, I’m sure of it. But I do think Hatchet’s suggestion is a good one. It wouldn’t hurt to have your carriage at the ready.”

“Right, then, we’ll be off.” Smythe dropped a kiss on Betsy’s forehead, pushed to his feet, and grabbed his coat. Wiggins and Hatchet followed suit.

As soon as the men had gone, Mrs. Goodge crossed her arms over her chest and focused her attention on Mrs. Jeffries. “You goin’ to tell us who you think is the killer?” she demanded. “Or are you goin’ to be like you usually are and keep us all in suspense until the last possible minute?”

“I only do that because I’m never sure of my conclusion,” Mrs. Jeffries said defensively. “Honestly, I don’t try to keep you in the dark deliberately.” She winced inwardly. She was keeping a secret, a wonderful secret that would delight everyone in the household, but she couldn’t say a word. Blast.

“I’m going to stay busy. It’s the only way to make the time pass,” Betsy announced as she pushed back her chair and stood up. “I’m going to polish the furniture in the drawing room and the inspector’s study. Besides, Phyllis will be here soon and it won’t do to have her finding all of us sitting here chatting.”

Luty sighed heavily and turned her attention to the housekeeper. “How long do you think this idea of yours is goin’ to take to bear fruit? Should I go home or should I stay here? I don’t want to miss anything.”

Betsy, who’d bent down to pull the polishing oil out of the bottom of the pine sideboard, straightened and looked at Mrs. Jeffries.

“I don’t want to miss anything, either,” Ruth stated. “But on the other hand, if you really don’t think something is going to happen, I’ve some correspondence to finish. My women’s group is soliciting funds from our sisters in America.”

Mrs. Jeffries wasn’t sure what to tell them. On the one hand, her idea could be completely wrong, in which case sitting around the kitchen would be a waste of everyone’s time. On the other hand, what if Barnes found something? “I don’t think anything is going to happen. What we could do is go about our business and meet here this afternoon for our usual time.”

Luty got up. “Fine then, I’ll go out and flag down a cab. I’ve got a couple more people I want to speak to about our case. No sense in stopping now if you ain’t sure you know who did it.”

“I’ll walk you to the corner,” Ruth offered. “And if you’re going to keep at it, so will I. I’ve another source I can tap after I’ve written my letters.”

A tall, wiry man stepped in front of Witherspoon as he and Barnes got out of the hansom in front of the Kettering house. “Are you the policeman trying to find who killed Miss Kettering?”

“I am. I’m Inspector Witherspoon and this is Constable Barnes. Who might you be, sir?”

“I’m Danny Taylor, I’m the gardener here. I was on my way in to get Mrs. McAllister, but then I saw the hansom stoppin’ out front and I had a feelin’ it might be the police. Mrs. McAllister said you’d probably be back once we laid Miss Kettering to rest.”

Witherspoon grimaced. He’d meant to interview Taylor, but to date, he’d not found the time. “Mr. Taylor, the constable and I were going to come and speak with you, we simply hadn’t gotten around to it as yet. But as you’re here, is there something you want to tell us?”

“It’s not so much telling you as showing you,” he said hesitantly. “I’ve found something you ought to see.”

Witherspoon winced. He hoped it wasn’t another corpse.

Barnes, correctly reading his superior’s facial expression, stepped forward. “Where is it, Mr. Taylor? Lead the way and we’ll follow.”

“It’s in the back of the carriage house.” Taylor pushed open the wrought-iron gate and started up the walkway. “I found it today when I was looking for some oil to keep the gate from squealin’.” He led them up the walkway, around the main house, across the garden, and around to the back of the carriage house. He stopped in front of a wide door that was swung up on hinges into the ceiling. The space inside was wide enough for at least three carriages.

“This is where the rigs were kept,” he explained. “But Miss Kettering sold all the vehicles years ago and got rid of the horses as well. Pity, really, they were nice animals. My dad was quite fond of them.”

“Your family has been in service here for a long while?” Witherspoon asked. He craned his neck to see into the interior of the gloomy space, but he couldn’t spot anything that looked like a body. Good, he hoped it stayed that way.

“Three generation of us,” Taylor announced proudly. “Mind you, most of that time the Fox family lived here, not the Ketterings, but you’ll want to see what I found this morning. It’s this way.” He went inside and they followed. The floor was swept clean and there were shelves along one side of the room. The other half appeared to have been partitioned off into two rooms. “This side is where the stable used to be. When I was a lad, the family had six horses, but they built up the stalls and turned them into rooms.” Taylor stopped by the door nearest them. “This used to be mine. It was right nice.”

“Your family lived there?” Barnes asked.

He shook his head. “We lived in a set of rooms in the main house when I was growing up, but when my parents died, I moved out here. But I’ve not lived here for a year. Miss Kettering asked me to leave. She didn’t like having a single man on the place.” He continued on toward the end of the corridor and stopped at the last door. “But what you need to see is in here. This is used as a storage shed.” He opened the door and then stepped back. “Take a look in there, sir.”

Witherspoon steeled himself and moved toward the opening. But Barnes moved faster. He stuck his head inside first and then disappeared into the small room. A moment later, he reappeared holding a burlap bag that had been tied at the top with a piece of thin rope. “Is this it?”

Taylor nodded. “Open it up, sir.”

Barnes put the bag on the ground and untied the rope. He spread the sides open, revealing two silver candlesticks, a Dresden shepherdess figurine, a silver bowl, three spoons, a carved wooden box, and a stuffed parrot missing most of its tail feathers. Barnes looked at the inspector. “I think we’ve found the missing knickknacks Mrs. McAllister told us about.”

“I concur, Constable. Let’s take them inside and see if she can identify them.” He glanced at Taylor. “When did you notice this was here?”