02 - Mrs. Jeffries Dusts for Clues (20 page)

Fiona Lutterbank, a plump, brown-haired girl who reminded Witherspoon of a pigeon, gave a short, high-pitched bark of laughter. It was not a pleasant sound.

“Oh, yes,” Fiona said as they all looked at her. “Mary left without giving notice. Mama was so upset.”

The inspector suspected that might be a fabrication. He couldn’t see that anything short of a blast of fireworks would upset Mrs. Lutterbank. Why, the woman had barely blinked since he’d been there. “But our information is that Miss Sparks left because she’d been let go.” The inspector addressed his question to Edgar Lutterbank. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Fiona turn her head sharply. He quickly shifted his gaze to the other side of the room and saw Fiona openly smirking at her brother, Andrew.

“Nonsense,” Mr. Lutterbank snapped. “I don’t care what kind of ridiculous tales you’ve heard, it isn’t true. Mary was a good worker. Why would we let her go? She just up and took it into her head to leave.”

“And you’ve no idea why?” the inspector asked.

“I think I know why,” Fiona said slyly. She giggled again. “Mary must have overheard Mama and me talking about the Everdenes needing a parlormaid. They’re acquaintances of ours because Papa does business with them. I suppose the girl must have thought she wouldn’t have to work so hard at a minister’s house. Don’t you think so, Andrew?”

Again she smirked at her brother. He gave her a tight smile, then looked at Witherspoon. Like his father, he was impeccably, if somewhat foppishly, dressed. He was a tall, thin man with a sharp aristocratic nose and weak chin. He smiled coolly at the inspector and said, “I’ve really no idea. I don’t make it a habit to concern myself with the servants’ business.”

Despite his calm voice and the arrogant tilt to his head, Witherspoon had the impression Andrew Lutterbank was nervous. The chap was trying a bit too hard. His lazy posture seemed posed, his face too carefully blank. And the inspector had noticed that when the young man thought no one was looking, he nervously rubbed his chin.

“I’m sure you don’t, Mr. Lutterbank. But surely, you must have some idea why Miss Sparks would simply leave? According to witnesses, you were seen having a rather prolonged discussion with the girl on the day she left.” Witherspoon hoped he remembered that tidbit of gossip correctly, but he wasn’t quite sure. Perhaps it had been someone else Andrew Lutterbank had been talking to that day. Drat, there were times when it was so difficult to keep facts straight in one’s head.

“I don’t care what you’ve been told,” Andrew said loudly. Too loudly. “Mary was a servant here. If I was seen talking with her, it was probably because I wanted her to take better care in dusting my things. Except for giving her an occasional reprimand about shoddy work, I had nothing to do with her.”

Witherspoon noticed that he didn’t deny he’d been speaking to the girl. “Then why did you give her a broach?”

Edgar Lutterbank leapt from his chair. “Now, see here, Inspector.”

But Witherspoon ignored the outburst. He was too busy watching Andrew Lutterbank’s face go utterly white. He had no idea if the young man had given Mary Sparks that broach, but from his reaction, Witherspoon knew his shot in the dark had hit the target. His spirits soared. At last he was on the right track. Now perhaps they’d get somewhere in this case.

But the inspector’s hopes were immediately dashed. For it wasn’t Andrew Lutterbank who answered his question; it was his sister.

“Andrew didn’t give Mary that broach,” Fiona yelped. “I gave it to her.”

“Really?” Witherspoon was terribly disappointed. “Why?”

Fiona stared at him like a stricken rabbit. She swallowed convulsively. “Because I felt sorry for her,” she mumbled.

“You felt sorry for the young lady?” The inspector had found that repeating an answer as a question often got results, and he was desperate enough to try anything.

Fiona’s head bobbed up and down. “Yes, her fiancé was away at sea, but he was due home in a couple of months. Mary didn’t have anything nice, no trinkets or jewelry. She wanted to look pretty for Mark, and I didn’t particularly like that old pin anyway, so I gave it to her.”

“Let me see now. You gave an expensive silver broach to a servant because she didn’t have any jewelry to wear for her sweetheart.” Inspector Witherspoon’s brows rose. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

“My daughter speaks perfect English, Inspector,” Edgar Lutterbank said testily. “If she says she gave the girl the trinket, then she did. Besides, what’s this pin got to do with anything?”

“As the victim had the broach pinned to her dress,” the inspector replied, “we’d like to know precisely how a rather impoverished young woman went about acquiring it.” He turned back to Fiona. “You didn’t by any chance happen to give the girl a betrothal ring as well?”

Fiona blinked in surprise and shook her head. Mrs. Lutterbank continued to stare at the wall, and Andrew slumped back against the settee.

“Really, Inspector.” Edgar Lutterbank’s gaze narrowed suspiciously. “Isn’t that a rather ridiculous question? Come now, do ask something that makes sense. You’re wasting all our time. Out of the kindness of her heart, my daughter gave the girl a trinket, and that’s all. Why should any of us know anything about some betrothal ring?”

“The betrothal ring in question was purchased by a Mr. Malcolm Farnsworth to give to his fiancée,” Witherspoon explained. “The gentleman is, I believe, acquainted with the family.”

“Certainly. Both young Malcolm and Emery Clements are frequently guests of my son. But I assure you, sir, we’re not in the habit of relieving them of their valuables and passing them on to the servants.”

“I certainly didn’t mean to imply any such thing.” The inspector wasn’t sure what he had meant to imply, but he did think this line of questioning was producing some interesting results. He glanced at Constable Barnes and found the man gazing at him in admiration. “So you’ve no idea how Mary Sparks happened to be wearing an expensive pin and betrothal ring when she was murdered?” He slowly turned his head, gazing expectantly at the four Lutterbanks.

“I believe I can solve that particular mystery,” Andrew Lutterbank drawled. “Malcolm happened to lose the ring the very day he bought it. We’d been out in the gardens having tea. Mary obviously found it and picked it up.”

Inspector Witherspoon deliberately kept his expression blank. How on earth did Andrew Lutterbank know the ring had been lost when Malcolm Farnsworth didn’t? But he wasn’t going to show his hand now. Oh no, the inspector thought craftily. Before he pursued any more questions about that ring he’d have another word with Mr. Farnsworth. Nodding to the young man, he turned to Edgar Lutterbank. “Are you a shareholder in Wildwoods?”

One of Mr. Lutterbank’s heavy gray eyebrows rose. “Yes. Not that it’s any business of the Metropolitan Police.”

Witherspoon looked at Fiona and quickly asked, “Other than her fiancé, was Mary Sparks seeing any other men?”

Fiona’s mouth gaped in surprise for a split second before she recovered. “Well, yes,” she said, giving the inspector a knowing smile. “Actually, Mary was a flirt. I believe there were several young men who were smitten with her. And she encouraged them all.”

Mrs. Lutterbank suddenly straightened. “Oh yes,” she chirped brightly. “Oh yes, there were always men. She was a tart. Men all the time. Why in this very house, I’ve had to speak harshly…”

As Mrs. Lutterbank rambled on about harlots and tarts, Edgar Lutterbank’s face darkened to crimson. Suddenly he leapt to his feet. “That’s enough,” he roared, and Mrs. Lutterbank jumped and ceased her muttering. He turned to the inspector. “My wife’s not well, sir. These questions have upset her terribly. Fiona, take your mother to her room.”

A swell of sympathy filled Witherspoon as he watched Fiona lead the poor woman away. He realized now that the reason she’d been sitting quietly and staring at the wall was probably that she was a tad touched in the head. Really, it was such a shame.

He waited until the two women had gone and then turned to Mr. Lutterbank. “About Wildwoods, sir. I’m afraid your association with that company is very much the business of the police. Mary Sparks’s body was discovered in one of Wildwoods’s properties.” He looked quickly at Andrew. “Would you mind telling me, sir, where you were on the night of September 10th?”

Edgar Lutterbank quickly stepped between the inspector and his son, blocking the policeman’s view of Andrew’s expression.

“He was at home,” Edgar supplied hastily.

Witherspoon studied the older man for a moment. “You must have a remarkable memory, sir.”

“Not at all, Inspector,” Lutterbank retorted. “I don’t need a remarkable memory to know where my son was on that particular evening. He was at home every evening in September.”

“Surely that’s unusual.” Witherspoon tilted his head to one side and tried to give Andrew a disbelieving smile. “A wealthy bachelor spending all of his free time at home…” He let his voice trail off meaningfully.

“There’s nothing in the least peculiar about my staying home,” Andrew said, getting up from the settee and coming to stand beside his father. “My mother wasn’t well in September. I wanted to be close by in case she took a turn for the worse.”

“I see.” The inspector tried to think of something else to ask. Unfortunately, nothing occurred to him. “Well, if you can think of anything else which might shed some light on this matter,” he said, “do please contact me at the Yard. I take it none of you have any plans to leave London? We may need to ask a few more questions.”

“Now, see here, Inspector,” Edgar Lutterbank protested. “Don’t you think you’re being unreasonable? Are you telling us we can’t leave the city?”

“No, no, of course not,” Witherspoon answered.

“Well it’s a jolly good thing. Leave London, indeed!” Lutterbank snorted. “I’m going to the continent in a few days, and I’m taking my son with me. Business trip. Now, if you’ve an objection to that, perhaps I’ll have a word with your superiors.”

“That won’t be necessary,” the inspector replied wearily. “You’re free to go where you please.”

He signaled Constable Barnes to put away his notebook and took his leave of the Lutterbank family. He couldn’t wait to get home and have a nice, quiet cup of tea. Thank goodness this tiresome day was almost over.

* * *

Mrs. Jeffries listened carefully to the details of Inspector Witherspoon’s day. She clucked her tongue sympathetically, ladled more potatoes onto his plate and gently asked a few
questions. Tense herself because of what she and the others would be doing later, she barely listened as he repeated the facts of the interview he’d had with the Everdenes. Mrs. Jeffries wasn’t worried overmuch by missing any of that tale—she’d already heard the entire story from Betsy.

“I believe I’ll turn in early, Mrs. Jeffries,” Witherspoon announced as he pushed his plate aside and stood up. “Perhaps a good night’s sleep will help rid me of this dreadful headache.”

She quickly assured him that that was precisely what he needed. As soon as he disappeared up the stairs, she hurried to the hall closet, grabbed her hat and cloak and raced to the kitchen.

Betsy and Mrs. Goodge were waiting at the kitchen table.

“Smythe should be back any minute now,” the maid told her. “He’ll have had time to get to Luty’s and back.”

“Good. Did Smythe have time to tell you what he’d learned today?” She looked expectantly at the two women. They both shook their heads.

“He only had time to snatch a bite to eat,” Mrs. Goodge explained. “Before he left to get the carriage and Luty Belle.”

As they waited for the coachman to return, she told them everything she’d learned from the inspector over dinner. “We must be sure and tell Smythe everything too,” she finished, cocking her head toward the street as her sharp ears picked up the distinctive sound of a carriage turning the corner.

“I’ll ride up front with ’im and let ’im know,” Betsy volunteered eagerly. As the coach drew up out front, she picked up her cloak. “Hope the inspector stays abed tonight. Wouldn’t look right for ’im to ring for something and find us all gone.”

“Not to worry,” Mrs. Goodge said calmly. “I can hear his bell from me room. I’ll take care of the dining room too. Give me somethin’ to do while I’m waiting for you to get back. If’n the inspector wants something, I can fetch it. Besides, all I have to do is ’int that you and Mrs. J are feelin’ poorly, and he wouldn’t think of askin’ where you be. He’ll think you’re abed.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Goodge,” Mrs. Jeffries said to the cook. “I don’t know how we’d manage without you. We don’t like leaving you to cope, but it’s vitally important we confront Mary Sparks.”

* * *

By the time they arrived outside the brick house on Dunsany Road, Luty Belle was quivering with excitement. “I still can’t understand why Mary didn’t come to me,” she said, pulling her bright purple cloak tighter against the cool chill of the night.

“Yes, that’s very curious, isn’t it?” Mrs. Jeffries reached for the door latch as soon as the horses stopped. “And that’s why we want you with us when we talk to her. I’ve a feeling that whatever it is she’s hiding, she’ll be more apt to tell the truth if you’re there.”

“Stop frettin’, Hepzibah,” Luty ordered as she spritely leapt from the carriage. “Mary will tell the truth.”

“It’s about time you got ’ere,” Wiggins whispered. He’d come from his hiding place in the bushes when he’d seen the coach round the corner.

“Is she still there?” Mrs. Jeffries asked.

“Yeah. No one’s gone in or out since the last lodger got home at half past six.”

“Come on.” Luty headed for the house. “Let’s git this over with.”

With Luty Belle in the lead, they marched up the walkway and banged the knocker. A moment later the door opened and a tall middle-aged woman with black hair peered out.

“Yes, what is it?” she asked sharply. “I’ve no rooms to let now—” She broke off as she became aware of the small crowd littering her stoop. “Here now, what’s all this? What do you lot want?”

Luty Belle stepped forward. “We’ve come to see Mary Sparks. We knows she’s here, and we’re not leavin’ until we see her.”