Mrs. Jeffries Defends Her Own (11 page)

“What about the other sacking?” Hatchet asked.

“Fiona said it was months ago and the man had immediately gotten another, better paid position, so I doubt he’d have a motive.”

“Dearman’s own wife didn’t much like him, either,” Luty pointed out. “We can’t forget that.”

“We won’t,” Mrs. Jeffries agreed. “But I didn’t have time to speak to Fiona about her. Unfortunately, before I could finish my conversation, the housekeeper announced that Inspector Nivens had arrived. Fiona made him wait quite a while, but I was too anxious about being recognized to concentrate on everything I wanted to ask her.”

“He didn’t see you, did he?” Ruth asked.

“No, I managed to get out of the house undiscovered, but it was a rather nerve wracking, and again, I must emphasize that we need to be careful,” she said.

“Did she decide to tell you why she threatened the victim?” Hatchet asked.

“I’m afraid not. She simply insists that it had nothing to do with the murder and that she didn’t kill him,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “She told me that the other deputy director, Henry Anson, loathed Dearman and apparently the feeling was mutual. When Anson was hired, Fiona said that John told her he was grooming the man to take over the company when he retired. Supposedly, he was also going to be easing Dearman out as well; he’d not been happy with the way Dearman was running the office. But in the last few months, John had changed his mind and instead of putting Anson completely in charge, he’d only put him in control of the manufacturing operations. Anson and his fiancée, Amy Throckmorton, were at the dinner party on the Saturday before the murder. According to Fiona, they were barely polite to either of the Dearmans.”

“That must have made for a jolly old time,” Mrs. Goodge said. “Where does Henry Anson live?”

“On Hart Street, off Bloomsbury Square. Fiona didn’t know where his fiancée lives, but as she’s only met Ronald Dearman a time or two, she’s hardly likely to have murdered him.”

“Maybe she thought that Anson was gettin’ the short end of the stick,” Luty mused. “Some women are real protective of their menfolk. Could be that Anson complained about him to her and she decided to take matters into her own hands.”

“That’s certainly possible,” Mrs. Jeffries said.

“But not real likely,” Luty admitted. “Still, let’s not let her off the hook so easily. The least we can do is find out where she was when Dearman was murdered.”

“I’ll see if Constable Barnes can find that out.” Mrs. Jeffries eyed the plate of cookies. They were disappearing fast.

“Did your sister-in-law mention if her husband knew she’d threatened the victim?” Ruth asked.

“I didn’t have time to ask. Once I knew Nivens was in the house, all I could think of was getting out without being seen.” She glanced at the carriage clock on the pine sideboard. “It’s getting late and the inspector will probably be home on time tonight. We’d best get on with this. Who wants to go next?”

“Wait a minute, what about the keys?” Mrs. Goodge asked. “You were going to ask her who had keys to the office. Surely you had time to do that?”

Mrs. Jeffries cringed. “Oh dear, I am getting forgetful. I’m glad you reminded me. I asked her about them as soon as I got there today. There are only three sets of keys to the main door, and they’re held by John Sutcliffe, Henry Anson, and Ronald Dearman. Each of these men has a key to his own individual office, but not to the others’ offices.”

“So Henry Anson and Sutcliffe wouldn’t have had the keys to Dearman’s private office?” Phyllis murmured. “But we know that that office was locked, because the porter had to unlock it for Mrs. Dearman.”

“Which means that the killer must have the keys,” Luty declared.

“Not necessarily.” Hatchet helped himself to a second
cookie. “The killer might have left them somewhere on the premises, and the police may have found them.”

“We’ll have to ask Constable Barnes if he can find out,” Mrs. Jeffries said quickly. “Time really is getting on. Who would like to go next?”

“I will,” Phyllis announced. “I didn’t have any luck with the local merchants, but I found someone that used to work in the Dearman household, and she didn’t have a good thing to say about the fellow.”

“How long ago did she leave the Dearman household?” Luty grabbed another cookie and took a huge bite.

“Six months ago, so I know she’ll not be able to give us anything useful about the murder, but she did know a lot about the household. She says he was a bully and mean as a rabid dog. The servants were terrified of him and no one stayed very long. The only person he didn’t bully was his wife, but Jean said they fought all the time, even in front of the servants. The night before Jean left the household, Mr. Dearman threw a carving knife at Mrs. Dearman!” She broke off with a wide grin. “She said the mistress ducked and the knife landed on the floor, but she’d never seen the mistress move that fast.”

“Another marriage made in heaven,” Mrs. Goodge said wryly.

“Jean says she thinks that it weren’t just fighting so they could make up,” Phyllis continued as a blush crept up her cheek. “You know what I mean, some couples fight just so they can … well, you know.”

“What’s she talkin’ about?” Wiggins asked curiously. “What do you mean, ‘make up’? You mean they say they’re sorry, right?”

“I’ll explain it to you later,” Hatchet interjected
quickly. “But yes, Phyllis, we know what you’re suggesting. Please go on.”

“Jean says the squabbling was real and that they genuinely hated each other,” she continued. “She once overheard Mrs. Dearman telling her friend, Mrs. Meadows, that she’d only married Ronald to spite her brother and that it was the worst mistake of her life. If she’d not married him, she’d be free and could travel the world and do as she pleased.”

“According to what Fiona said, Lucretia Dearman was so concerned about her husband when he didn’t come home, she couldn’t even wait a half hour for the office to open,” Mrs. Jeffries said thoughtfully. “Yet we know from several different sources that the Dearmans’ marriage wasn’t a happy one.”

“Maybe she was just coverin’ up,” the cook suggested. “Pretendin’ to be worried when in reality, she might even be the one that killed him.”

“She must have been,” Phyllis said. “My source told me that they hated each other and they argued all the time over money. Mrs. Dearman would deliberately rile him up, and then when they were going at it, she’d throw in the fact that she brought a huge marriage settlement to the marriage while all he brought was a rundown old cottage in some ugly village in Essex and that if he was any kind of a man, he’d at least sell it.” She told them the rest of what she’d heard from Jean Snelling, taking care to repeat much of it word for word.

“Goodness, Phyllis.” Mrs. Jeffries smiled broadly. “You did get an earful.”

“Well done, Phyllis.” Wiggins laughed. “And you were worried you’d not find out anythin’.”

Phyllis blushed in pleasure, ducked her head, and reached for her teacup. “I got lucky today.”

“I think we ought to take a real close look at the widow,” Luty said. “I bet that she went to get one of the Sutcliffes to let her into the office so she’d have an audience willin’ to testify that she was all worried and upset.”

“That’s possible, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” the housekeeper warned. “We all know what happens when we leap to conclusions too early in a case. Are you finished?” she asked Phyllis, who nodded. Mrs. Jeffries then said, “Who is next?”

“I’ll go,” Ruth offered. “I heard something about Ronald Dearman. My source told me she’d seen him last week at a dinner party at the Kingston house. After dinner, the room got very warm and stuffy, so she went out onto the side terrace for some fresh air. That part of the terrace has a good view of the street, and she saw Dearman standing under the lamppost on the corner with a woman. They had their heads together, and then she saw him take something out of his inside jacket pocket and hand it to the lady.”

“Could she see what it was?” Luty asked.

Ruth shook her head. “Unfortunately, it was too dark. But she was certain the woman wasn’t someone from the dinner party because she went back in and had a good look around. All the ladies were present. It was a good ten minutes before Dearman came back into the room.”

“If it was that dark, was she sure it was him she saw?” Mrs. Goodge poured herself more tea.

“Because of the lamplight, she could see him clearly, but the woman was wearing a cloak that was pulled forward, covering her face.”

“Cor blimey, this is gettin’ interestin’,” Wiggins declared. “I wish we knew who this mysterious person is.”

“We need to find out,” the cook muttered. “There must be some way we can learn her identity.”

“And we will find out,” Mrs. Jeffries said hastily. “But right now, we must get on with the meeting. The inspector has been working regular hours since he’s been on the fraud case, and he might even come home early as he has a dinner engagement with Ruth. Now, who would—”

“But that wasn’t all I heard,” Ruth interrupted.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to cut you off.” Mrs. Jeffries smiled apologetically. “Go on, what else did you find out?”

“It’s not much, but as we’ve learned in the past, it’s always best to report everything.” She told them about being cornered by Edwina Hawkins. “I realize this tidbit isn’t even about the murder, but as Antonia Meadows is Mrs. Dearman’s friend, I thought I’d pass this along,” she concluded.

“So Mrs. Dearman and Mrs. Meadows were both in miserable marriages,” Phyllis said. “It puts you right off wanting to get wed, doesn’t it?”

“There’s plenty of good marriages about,” Wiggins protested. He was a romantic, and even though he’d had his heart broken any number of times, he knew there was a wonderful girl out there somewhere waiting to be his wife. “It’s just mainly the upper crust that ’as the ’orrid ones. That’s ’cause they don’t marry for love.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure both of you are making valid points, but we must get on,” the housekeeper exclaimed. “Luty, do you have anything to report?”

“Not a danged thing.” Luty snorted derisively.
“Today’s sources were as useless as teats on a bull—” She broke off at Hatchet’s gasp of shock and the giggles coming from the others. “Oops, sorry, did I say that out loud?”

“Really, madam,” her butler chided. “That sort of language is very coarse.”

“I said I was sorry,” she shot back. “Sometimes things slip out. But it’s true, my sources today were useless. Besides, as everyone else is still snickerin’, I don’t think any offense was taken.”

“Of course no one took offense,” Mrs. Jeffries assured her. She decided not to worry about the inspector. If he came in and found everyone here, she’d simply say they’d stopped in for tea. “And I’m sorry you didn’t have much luck today.”

“You’re not alone, madam,” Hatchet complained. “My day wasn’t very productive, either.”

“I did alright,” Wiggins said. “I found a clerk from Sutcliffe’s office. He told me that he was the last person out of the office the night Dearman was killed. The windows was closed and locked, but not the front door, so anyone could ’ave come and gone. He said Dearman would ’ave locked up as he left. He was usually the last one to leave. But sometimes Mr. Anson locked up, only he wasn’t there that evening.”

“What about the porter, wouldn’t he have seen who came and went?” Ruth asked.

“Nah, he doesn’t come on duty until half past six and his desk is at the front. But the back door is left unlocked until seven. There’s an employment office on the third floor that stays open until seven, and the back door is left
unlocked so the day laborers can come in and out to get their wages.”

“And the other offices in the building, did you find out what time they closed?” Mrs. Jeffries asked.

“The first-floor offices all close either at half past five or at six. The Sutcliffe offices ’ave the entire second floor, and we know they shut at six. Other than the employment agency, all the other offices on the third floor close at half past five or at six.”

“So between the hours of five thirty and six thirty, anyone could have walked through the front door without being seen, and even after the porter came on duty, that killer could have come in the back door without being noticed.” Mrs. Jeffries drummed her fingers on the tabletop. “That is going to make this very difficult. Did your source say anything else?”

“Only what we’ve already ’eard, that Dearman was about as popular as a wart. Daniel Jones, he’s the clerk I spoke to, said the man liked throwin’ ’is weight about, if you get my meaning. He also told me that Henry Anson has had a few run-ins with Dearman. Jones said last week, he’d forgotten ’is change purse in ’is desk so he came back to get it and Henry Anson and Dearman were ’avin’ a row.”

“Did he hear what it was about?” Mrs. Goodge asked eagerly.

“Afraid not. He said he was in a hurry so he just grabbed the purse and left; all he ’eard was voices raised and Anson screamin’ that he’d not put up with it and he’d better watch his tongue if he knew what was good for ’im.”

“I don’t appreciate you or anyone else barging into my home and bullying my household,” John Sutcliffe said.

Nivens looked him directly in the eye, trying to calculate just how much power and influence the man might actually have. Prior to getting this case, he’d never heard of Sutcliffe Manufacturing, but a few discreet inquiries on his part had revealed it was a prosperous concern and that John Sutcliffe was on a first-name basis with half a dozen members of Parliament and one or possibly two cabinet ministers. Nivens was no fool, so he plastered a conciliatory smile on his face and said, “We meant no disrespect to your household, sir. I’m terribly sorry if anyone misinterpreted our actions. But in our defense, we are investigating a murder and we do have to ask disagreeable questions.”