Mrs. Jeffries Takes the Stage (23 page)

Witherspoon was totally at a loss. Questioning people who’d just announced wedding plans seemed a tad churlish. “Er, congratulations—to both of you. When is the happy event taking place?”

“As soon as possible, Inspector,” Theodora replied, smiling broadly. “We’ve waited long enough. But I’ve just had word that the difficulties surrounding my divorce from Trevor Remington have been resolved. By the time Edmund and I can get a license and make the arrangements, I’ll be free to marry him.”

“All the very best to both of you,” Barnes muttered. He cleared his throat and looked pointedly at the inspector, who was staring at Theodora Vaughan.

“Excuse me, Miss Vaughan, did I just hear you say you’re married to Mr. Remington?” Witherspoon asked incredulously.

“
Was
married to Mr. Remington,” she replied. “I received word from my American lawyers while I was at my country house that our divorce had finally been obtained.” She got up, walked over to Delaney and linked her arm with his. “We’ve waited a long time, Inspector.”

Barnes’s head was spinning, but spinning or not, he had a few more questions to ask. Especially since it looked as if the inspector was too shocked to do anything but stand there gaping at the happy couple. “Mr. Delaney,” he said quietly, “is it true you threatened to kill Hinchley?”

Delaney gasped. “For God’s sake, that was over a year ago.”

“Nevertheless, you admit you did it?”

“I lost my temper, Inspector,” Delaney cried. “He accosted us in public. I tell you, he was out of his mind with rage and jealousy. He went on and on about how he was going to ruin us. Kept screaming that I’d never see one of my plays on the boards and that he’d make Theodora a laughingstock. I didn’t mind so much him having a go at me, but when he turned his venom on her, I lost my temper and told him if he came near her, I’d kill him. But I hardly think you ought to put any credence in something that happened so long ago. If I was going to kill the man, I’d have done it then, when I was good and angry.”

As they’d planned, Wiggins met Mrs. Jeffries by the Serpentine in Hyde Park. “How did it go?” she asked.

“I found out the name of Parks’s ’ousekeeper,” Wiggins replied. “Mind you, it weren’t easy. Annie was lookin’ at me funny when I started in askin’ all them questions again.”

“It’s never easy, Wiggins.” Mrs. Jeffries patted his arm. “But you are very good at it. Now, what’s the housekeeper’s name and where does she live?”

Wiggins grinned broadly, delighted by the praise. “Her name is Roberta Seldon and she lives with her sister in Clapham. Number six, Bester Road.”

“Excellent.” Mrs. Jeffries already had an idea about how to approach the woman. “And did Annie know where Parks had gotten the loan on his house?”

“No,” he said. “She said Parks never told her and she never asked. So what do I do now?” After his success with Annie today, he was raring to have at it again.

The housekeeper thought for a moment. She still had no real idea about the solution of this case, but she felt that keeping everyone busy was very important. “I think you ought to have another snoop around the victim’s
neighborhood,” she said. She didn’t think there was much more to learn there. The police had questioned the neighbors thoroughly and no one had seen anything that night. But it was something for the boy to do and one never knew—sometimes the police overlooked things.

“Sounds fair enough.” Wiggins grinned. “You takin’ off for Clapham now?”

“Yes, I want to find out precisely why this Mrs. Seldon left Parks’s employment.”

“But Annie said it was because they ’adn’t been paid.”

“I know, but sometimes there’s more to a situation than meets the eye.”

Betsy couldn’t believe her eyes. What was Smythe doing with someone like that? She dodged behind the oak tree in the center of the communal gardens behind the inspector’s house and peeked out. Smythe, his back to her, was standing at the far end of the garden talking to a short, chubby man in a checkered coat and a porkpie hat.

She wondered if she ought to call out, to let him know that she was here. But there was something about the way the two men stood close together in the shadows of the wall, almost like they were hiding, that kept her silent.

Besides, she told herself firmly, it wasn’t like she was spying on him deliberately. Could she help it if just when she’d followed him out here to tell him the truth about her trip to the East End, he’d decided to have a visitor?

Guilt pierced through her like an arrow. She ought to call out and let him know that she was here. Or better yet, she ought to nip out from behind this tree and go back into the house. Smythe had a right to his privacy. Goodness knows, she’d harped on that subject herself to know enough to respect it for others.

But she couldn’t bring herself to move.

As she watched, she saw the fat man’s mouth moving a mile a minute, his hands punctuating the air as he talked. Smythe was leaning towards him, like he was listening with his whole body.

From his vantage point at the other end of the garden, Blimpey Groggins had seen the girl slip behind the tree. He grinned.

“You took a chance on comin’ ’ere,” Smythe said. “Cor blimey, I only give ya the job this mornin’.”

“I ’appened to be passin’ this way,” Blimpey said conversationally. “And as I’d learned a thing or two, I thought I’d stop round. You said you needed this information right quick. Make up yer mind, man. Do you want it or not?”

“’Course I want it.” Smythe cast a quick glance over his shoulder. “I just didn’t expect to open the back door and find you standin’ there like a ruddy statue. What’d ya find out?”

“A couple of things.” Blimpey decided to wait until after he’d finished and gotten some of his pay before telling Smythe about the girl spying on them from behind the tree. No point in making the big man angry over trifles that couldn’t be helped. “First of all, the servants left at the Hinchley ’ouse is doin’ fine now that the old geezer’s gone to his reward. Hinchley’s solicitors ain’t inventoried the estate yet, so the two of ’em are ’aving a fine old time sellin’ off some of his smaller treasures.”

“They’re stealin’ from the dead man’s ’ouse?” Smythe asked incredulously. “Cor blimey, that takes a bit of nerve.” But it was hardly a motive for murder.

“Not really.” Blimpey figured the dead man was probably getting what he deserved. Not that it mattered now. “If there’s no family about to see to things, you’d be surprised how often things like that ’appen.”

“But won’t the solicitors notice that things is missin’?”

“So what if they do?” Blimpey shrugged. “By then the maid and the butler will be gone. The solicitor went round there yesterday and told them to start lookin’ for other positions. The maid was right annoyed about that too. Ranted and raved about what bastards lawyers are to every shopkeeper on the ruddy ’igh street.” He chuckled. “Mind you, she were also narked that they weren’t gettin’ anythin’ from the dear departed, the solicitor made that clear enough. She’s started lookin’ for another place. God knows where she’ll end up. And the butler’s already booked passage on a steamer for America.”

Smythe’s brows drew together in a fierce frown. Stealing from the dead just didn’t seem right.

Blimpey, correctly interpreting the coachman’s expression, quickly said, “Look, don’t you be gettin’ on yer ’igh ’orse because two servants is ’elpin’ themselves to a few bits from the old bastards ’ouse. From what I ’eard about Hinchley, ’e’s gettin’ what ’e earned in life. As ye sow, so shall ye reap; that’s what my old gran used to say.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not goin’ to be blatherin’ to the police about what you’ve told me,” Smythe said. “Anythin’ else?”

“I found out where that Swinton fella was on last Saturday night,” Blimpey said. “Fella’s got a nasty ’abit.”

“How nasty?”

“Likes to smoke opium.” Blimpey scratched his nose.

“Showed up at a den down by the river at around midnight and stayed until almost three in the morning.”

“Swinton was in an opium den?” Smythe knew such places existed, but he’d never actually known of anyone who frequented them.

“That’s right. Accordin’ to my sources, Swinton’s a real regular. That’s why ’is business ’as gone to pot, so to speak. Spends what money ’is theatre brings in on blowin’ smoke up ’is nose.”

No wonder Willard Swinton claimed to be in the office, counting receipts on his own, Smythe thought. That was a better alibi than admitting you were in an opium den. “Anything else?” Smythe pressed. He was beginning to get nervous about being out here with Blimpey. Mrs. Jeffries or Wiggins or even, God forbid, Betsy might come home any minute and come looking for him.

“Not much. I’ll keep workin’ on them other names you give me,” Blimpey said.

“What about the theatre?” Smythe pressed. He’d asked Blimpey to see if anyone had seen anything suspicious at or around the Hayden on Saturday evening. “Did any of yer sources ’ave any luck there?”

Blimpey made a face. “Nah. Most of ’em was pickin’ pockets that night, not watchin’ the crowd.”

“So that’s it, then?” Smythe started to reach in his pocket for his roll of bills.

“’Ang on a minute,” Blimpey warned, his gaze fixed on a point over Smythe’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t be flashin’ that wad of yours unlessin’ you want people to see it.”

Smythe dropped his hand. “Are we bein’ watched, then?”

Blimpey grinned broadly. “Right, mate. And she’s a pretty little snoop, she is. Blond ’air, slim, got a right graceful way of dodgin’ behind a tree, she ’as. Been there ever since you come out. Matter of fact, I’d say she followed ya out ’ere.”

Blast, Smythe thought. Betsy. “All right, then, Blimpey.
You go on and keep yer ears open. I’ll meet ya at the pub tonight around ten to see what else you’ve got for me and to pay ya.”

Blimpey tugged nattily on his filthy porkpie hat and, whistling a merry tune, sauntered off toward the gate.

Smythe whirled around. From the side of the tree he could see a bit of light blue fabric sticking out.

Betsy froze. She hadn’t had the wits to make a run for the house when she had the chance and now she didn’t dare move. Smythe was charging toward her hiding place. Lifting her chin, she stepped out from behind the tree before he got there and caught her hiding like a thief in the night.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said boldly. “And who was that funny man you were talking to?” She’d decided it would be best just to brazen it out.

Surprised, he stopped. Then he put his hands on his hips. “Seems to me that you’re askin’ a lot of questions,” he said, remembering how she’d refused to tell him about her mysterious errand the other day. “Aren’t you the one that’s always goin’ on about ’ow everyone has some things that are private?”

“It couldn’t be too private with you and him out here in broad daylight,” she sputtered. “Besides, I was just asking. It’s none of my business. I was only bein’ friendly.”

“Friendly? You was hidin’ behind a ruddy tree and spyin’ on me,” he yelped.

Embarrassed, she took refuge in anger. “I wasn’t hiding, I was waiting for you,” she snapped. “I wanted to talk to you, but if you’re too busy, I won’t bother.” She started to stomp past him but he caught her arm.

“Betsy,” he said. “Let’s stop this. We’ve been pickin’
at each other for days now and I can’t stand it.”

“I don’t like it either,” she admitted, relieved that he wasn’t going to be angry over her watching him. “And that’s why I followed you out here. I wanted to tell you about why I had to go to Whitechapel.”

“Go on,” he urged.

She glanced back at the inspector’s house. “This might take a few minutes, and I don’t want the others coming back and interrupting us.”

“They’re not due for a bit yet,” he said soothingly. “We’ve got time.” It was ten minutes until one o’clock. Smythe hoped that, for once, everyone would be late.

“Let’s sit down.” She nodded toward a wooden bench under one of the other trees. “I’d feel better talkin’ about this if I was sitting down.”

Taking her arm, Smythe led her to the bench, waited till she was seated and then dropped down next to her. He wanted to reach for her hand, but she was holding herself as stiff as one of them mummies at the British Museum, so he merely waited.