12- Mrs. Jeffries Reveals Her Art (7 page)

“So what do we do now?” Mrs. Goodge asked. She glanced anxiously in the direction of her larders. Her provisions were low and she had to do a bit of baking to feed her sources. People loosened their tongues better over a slice of cake or a good currant bun.

“Well,” Mrs. Jeffries said slowly, “I think we ought to proceed as we usually do. Though there is something we must keep in mind.”

“What’s that?” Wiggins asked, picking up his mug and taking a sip.

“We did promise Nanette we’d find her friend.”

“But you said they was probably connected,” Smythe declared.

“Might be connected,” she corrected. “Then again, one thing may have nothing to do with the other. We did make a promise. We must honor our word.”

“Does that mean we can’t get crackin’ on this ’ere murder?” Wiggins asked the question that all of them were thinking.

“It means,” Mrs. Jeffries said firmly, “that we might have to do both.”

“We’d best take statements tonight,” Inspector Witherspoon said to Barnes. “I think we’d better have a quick word with the members of the household.”

“Right, sir,” Barnes agreed. He stifled a yawn and cast a longing glance at the loaded tea trolley. Tea would be nice right about now. Then he remembered the victim might have been poisoned and suddenly he wasn’t quite so thirsty. “Do you want to speak to everyone together or should I bring them in one at a time?”

“One at a time, I think,” Witherspoon said. “This is, after all, a suspicious death. Start with the elderly gentleman. We might as well hear what he’s got to say so he can get to bed. People that age need their rest. Have the police constables take statements from the servants.”

“Yes, sir,” Barnes said, moving smartly toward the door. As soon as he’d disappeared, the inspector took a few moments to study his surroundings. No shortage of money here, he thought, as his gaze flicked about the huge room.

An elegant crystal chandelier, ablaze with light, cast a bright glow over the exquisite furnishings. Oil paintings in ornate gold frames and family portraits were beautifully set off by the pale, wheat-colored walls. Dark panelling, its wood shining in the reflected glow of the chandeliers, covered the lower half of the walls. The furnishings were as elegant as the house itself: settees in heavy blue and gold damask, two groupings of high-backed upholstered velveteen chairs and tables covered with silk-fringed shawls. Heavy royal-blue curtains were draped artistically across the windows.

His gaze came to rest on the tea trolley. He wondered if he ought to take it into evidence.

“What’s all this nonsense, then?”

Witherspoon whirled about just as Barnes and the elderly gentleman entered the drawing room. “What’s the matter?” the man snapped at the inspector. “Cat got your tongue? Why are you still here and why does this person”—he pointed his cane at Barnes—“insist I make a statement like I’m some kind of a criminal? Underhill choked on one of those wretched mints he was always popping in his mouth. That’s all I’ve got to say on the subject.”

“And you are?” Witherspoon asked politely.

“Neville Grant. I own this house.”

“I’m sorry to inconvenience you, Mr. Grant,” the inspector said apologetically, “but there is some question as to how Mr. Underhill met his death.”

“What do you mean?” Grant sputtered. “There’s no question as to how he died. He choked to death. I saw it with my own eyes.”

“Then you’ll make an excellent witness, sir,” Witherspoon
assured him. “Now, I suggest we all sit down. Constable, will you be so kind as to take notes?”

“That’ll not be so ’ard,” Wiggins said cheerfully. “We can keep a lookout for Miss Lanier’s friend while we’re sussin’ out who killed this Underhill bloke.”

“Seems to me if the two things are connected,” Betsy added thoughtfully, “we shouldn’t have any problems getting information about Irene Simmons while we’re digging for clues on the murder.”

“Should be dead easy,” Smythe agreed.

“Could be the girl’s run off with some artist,” Luty put in. “Could be she ain’t missin’ at all.”

Mrs. Jeffries was afraid she wasn’t making her point. “It could be that the two events aren’t at all linked,” she said firmly, “and it might be quite difficult to do both investigations at once. I must remind you, we did agree to help Nanette find her friend.”

A heavy, guilty quiet descended on the kitchen. Everyone tried to pretend they didn’t really understand what Mrs. Jeffries was trying to tell them. Finally, Smythe cleared his throat. “What are ya tryin’ to tell us?”

“I’m simply trying to point out that we have a prior obligation.”

“You want us to find out who snatched Miss Simmons before we can start trackin’ Underhill’s killer?” Wiggins asked incredulously.

“I didn’t say that,” Mrs. Jeffries objected. “But it may be necessary for us to divide our resources. Some of us might need to work on the Underhill matter and some of us might need to investigate Miss Simmons’s disappearance. There’s no reason we can’t do both at the same time. There are”—she swept her arm out in an arc, a gesture
that encompassed the entire group—“rather a lot of us. We can easily handle both tasks.”

Again, no one said anything. The silence spoke volumes about what they were thinking. The mystery surrounding Irene Simmons’s disappearance was definitely second fiddle to a possible murder case. Everyone wanted to investigate the murder. But no one wanted to be the first to admit it.

Hatchet broke the impasse. “I’ll be quite happy to lend my efforts to locating the girl,” he volunteered. “After all, Underhill is already dead. This young woman may still be alive.”

“I’ll help find Irene too,” Betsy added. Her conscience had gotten the best of her as well. “I mean, I like investigatin’ murder and all, but Hatchet’s right. Irene Simmons might be alive and needing help.”

Satisfied, Mrs. Jeffries smiled. She’d been fairly sure they’d do what was right. If need be, she’d been quite prepared to take on the task of locating Irene Simmons herself. “Excellent. I, of course, shall be assisting in both matters. Now, let’s see what we can come up with for tomorrow. Betsy, why don’t you use your resources to find out if anyone in the Grant household knew the girl.”

“All right,” Betsy replied brightly. While she was at it, she’d suss out a few things about this murder too. “I’ll have a go at the local shopkeepers tomorrow as well. Perhaps one of them saw Irene.”

“There ain’t no shops on Beltrane Gardens,” Wiggins told her, trying to be helpful.

Betsy shot him a frown. “Well, someone might have seen her walking on Holland Park Road. There’s shops along there. Just because Nanette claims the girl never came out of the Grant house, that doesn’t make it a fact.
Someone might have seen her and we won’t know for certain unless we ask.”

“You’re right, Betsy,” Mrs. Jeffries interjected. “As we’ve learned from our past cases, we mustn’t take everything we’re told at face value. Nanette Lanier could easily be mistaken about the real facts surrounding Irene’s disappearance.” She knew good and well that Betsy wasn’t one to let a chance pass her by. The maid would do her utmost to find the missing girl, but while she was at it, Mrs. Jeffries knew she’d get as much information as possible about the Grant household and James Underhill.

“As I shall be using my rather considerable resources to locate the girl,” Hatchet declared, “and Miss Betsy will be using her own exceptional detecting and observation skills, I’m sure we’ll have the young woman home safe and sound in no time.” He beamed encouragingly at the maid, who smiled in return.

“What do ya mean, ‘resources’?” Luty demanded suspiciously. It galled her that her own butler constantly got the jump on her when it came to hunting down clues. The man had more sources to tap for information in this city than a dog had fleas. She wasn’t fooled for one minute by his pronouncement, either. She knew good and well he’d be snooping about looking for Underhill’s killer at the same time he was trying to find the Simmons girl.

Hatchet allowed himself a small smirk. “I believe, madam, we agreed on a previous occasion that some of our resources were to be kept secret. Even from one another. If you don’t mind, I’d rather not say what or who I’ll be using in my investigations.”

“Use whatever means you have at your disposal,” Mrs. Jeffries said quickly. Luty and Hatchet, despite their devotion to one another, were fierce competitors when it
came to investigations. “And the rest of you, please, don’t feel that because Betsy and Hatchet are taking the primary responsibility for locating Miss Simmons that the rest of you won’t be expected to do your fair share. All of us must do our best to find her.”

“Of course we will,” Mrs. Goodge agreed stoutly. Mentally, she made a list of people she could drag into her kitchen tomorrow. It wouldn’t hurt to ask a few questions about missing models while she was at it.

Hatchet leaned forward on one elbow. “Before I forget, Mrs. Jeffries, would you please give me a brief description of Miss Simmons?”

Mrs. Jeffries cringed, disgusted at herself for over-looking such an important detail. “Oh my goodness, I never thought to ask Nanette Lanier. Gracious, how silly of me.”

“None of us thought of it, either,” Smythe said, seeing the housekeeper’s stricken expression. “Don’t be so ’ard on yerself. Guess we was all so excited about gettin’ somethin’ to do, we forgot one of the most important bits. Findin’ out what she looked like.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“I know what she’s like,” Wiggins announced cheerfully. “She’s got dark brown hair, green eyes and she’s about my height.”

“Cor blimey, ’ow’d you know that?” Smythe demanded.

“I asked Miss Lanier when I walked ’er out to get a ’ansom,” he explained. “She told me Miss Simmons was wearing one of her old dresses too. It were a dark blue wool with white piping on the jacket.”

“Excellent, Wiggins,” Mrs. Jeffries congratulated him.

“I thought it might be important,” he replied modestly.

“And it is important.” Hatchet clapped the footman on the back. “Well done, lad. Well done. Armed with that pertinent information, Miss Betsy and I will really be able to get cracking on finding our missing lady.”

“Humph.” Luty contented herself with giving Hatchet a good frown and then turned her attention to Mrs. Jeffries. “What do ya want me to start on?”

Mrs. Jeffries had already thought about that. Luty was one of the wealthiest women in London. She socialized with stockbrokers, bankers and industrial leaders. Her contacts in the city were legendary, and, most important, Luty knew who would talk and who wouldn’t. “Find out what you can about the victim’s financial situation.”

“What about this Neville Grant feller?” Luty queried. “Underhill was killed at his house.”

“By all means, Luty,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “Find out what you can about all of them.”

“Includin’ the visitin’ Americans?”

“Oh yes, we mustn’t leave anyone out,” she replied.

“Do ya want me to start on the pubs and the cabbies?” Smythe asked.

“Actually, I’d prefer you find out what you can about the victim. It’s too bad we don’t know where he lived or anything else about the man, but I think it’s important we find out as much as possible.”

Smythe drummed his fingers lightly on the table, thinking. “I can nip out tonight and find out a bit about ’im from the locals. Believe me, the news of a suspicious death like that’ll already be makin’ the rounds of the local pubs.”

“You just want an excuse to go out drinking,” Betsy charged. “It’s not fair, either. The women in the household can’t go out looking for information at night—”

“Oh yes, we can,” Luty declared. “I’ve got my peacemaker out in the carriage—”

“Really, madam,” Hatchet interrupted. “I do wish you’d leave that wretched gun at home. We’re not in the Old West. Carrying a weapon is illegal here. This is a civilized country.”

Luty snorted. “Civilized? Cow patties! If you’re so dang blasted civilized, how come we always got murders to solve? You ain’t any more civilized than I am. You’ve just got a fancier accent.”

“That’s not true, lass,” Smythe said earnestly, paying no attention to anyone but Betsy. “I only ’ave a pint or two when I go out. But it’s important we get started on this—”