Mrs. Jeffries Defends Her Own (31 page)

“It is, sir, but I’ve got a few sources I can tap in that regard,” he said. “I think I can do it faster than the other constables. Some of the older street boys owe me a favor or two, if you know what I mean, sir.”

“If you think that’s best, Constable,” he said, but he didn’t look convinced. “I’ll go on to the station, then.
Perhaps I’ll see something in the reports to give me a different perspective on this matter. What time do you think you’ll be back?”

This was the crux of the matter, and Barnes knew he had to be persuasive. “It’ll not take long, sir. If someone is deliberately trying to frame Mrs. Sutcliffe, perhaps she’d have some idea of who it might be. Women are good at that sort of thing, sir, if you know what I mean.”

Witherspoon didn’t but wasn’t sure he wanted to admit it. “You think she might know who this person could be? Then why didn’t she tell us yesterday? We gave her plenty of opportunity.”

“I’m not saying she knows who is trying to point us in her direction, but mark my words, she’ll know who hates her enough to
want
to do such a thing, and that would be a starting point.”

“I suppose the least we can do is ask her.” Witherspoon started walking again. “Meet me at the Sutcliffe house at one o’clock. That should give us both enough time to complete our tasks.”

They could hear Luty laughing as she, Ruth, and Hatchet came through the back door of Upper Edmonton Gardens. Wiggins, Mrs. Goodge, and Mrs. Jeffries looked up expectantly as the three of them entered the room.

Luty burst in ahead of the others, her purple veil streaming behind her as she raced to the table. She was grinning broadly. “I found him, I found our boy.”

“Madam, please, slow down,” Hatchet shouted. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

She just laughed and tossed her muff onto her chair. “Pish-posh, I’m too excited to let that happen.” She started undoing the big brass buttons on her long mauve cape. “You’ll not believe it, but I found the kid right away. He was working the bridge, and I spotted him as soon as I got out of the hansom.” She slipped the garment off her shoulders.

Hatchet caught it and took it to the coat tree. “And
you’ve been crowing about it ever since,” he said as he hung it on the peg.

“She has good reason to crow,” Ruth said. She slipped off her mantle and nodded a thanks as Hatchet took the garment and hung it up. “Where’s Phyllis?” she asked as she took her place at the table. The maid’s chair was empty.

“She’s not back yet,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “But I’m sure she’ll be here any minute.”

“I think you shoulda let me go to Notting Hill.” Wiggins glanced anxiously toward the back door. “Cor blimey, what if she run into trouble?”

Hatchet slipped into the seat next to Luty. “Should one of us go and look for her?” he asked.

“I can do it,” the footman said quickly.

“Don’t be daft, she’s perfectly alright.” Mrs. Goodge began pouring tea. “You’re actin’ like she’s a half-wit. Give her a chance. She’s probably late for a reason. In the meantime, why don’t we hear what this lot”—she jerked her head in Luty’s direction—“has to say.”

“That’s an excellent suggestion,” Mrs. Jeffries agreed. But like Wiggins, she was beginning to worry. “Tell us what happened, Luty?”

Luty chuckled and gave Hatchet a wink. “We was just finishin’ breakfast when Ruth showed up and told us what you needed us to do this mornin’. So we grabbed our coats and went lickety-split toward Cannon Street.”

“I kept the hansom waiting while I went in to get them,” Ruth added.

“There was plenty of traffic, but the driver was a sharp one and he got us there right quick.” Luty reached for the cup of tea Mrs. Goodge passed to her.

“Yes, madam, that generally happens when you offer to pay them double,” Hatchet said.

“It worked, didn’t it? They let me off first at the newsagent’s across from the Sutcliffe offices, and they went on to the station. I had a good look around the area, trying to suss out where I’d plant myself if I wanted to spy on the comings and goings of the building, and I found a right nice little hidey-hole between the pub and the bank.”

“Yes, yes, madam, we know how clever you are,” Hatchet complained. “Now get on with it.”

“You’re just jealous that I found him first.” Luty made a face at him. “Anyways, once I found the spot, I started huntin’ for the local street lads. I figured that most of them probably were at one of the train station doors, but then I saw this young’un at the bridge. He weren’t larkin’ about, if you know what I mean, he was watchin’ the people walkin’ across from the other side. Suddenly, he darted out to give this well-dressed businessman a piece of paper. I waited till he’d finished his business, and then I raised my hand and yelled for him. He came over and I asked if this was his patch and he said it was. We got to talkin’ and it turns out the boy is right there ’bout every evening. He’d noticed a woman standin’ in the hidey-hole for a good ten days before the murder. Said the only time he ever saw her move was when a passin’ ferryboat blasted its horn.”

“Can he identify her?” Mrs. Jeffries asked.

“Yup, he said he got a right good look at her face when she shooed him away.” Luty grinned. “Smart boy, he’d gone over to ask her if she needed him to run any errands.”

“So what happens now?” Mrs. Goodge demanded. “Do we just wait—” She broke off as the back door slammed.

A few seconds later, Phyllis ran into the room. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was panting heavily. “I’m sorry to be so late”—she paused and gasped for air—“but I stayed with him until Constable … B …”

“Sit down and catch your breath,” Mrs. Jeffries ordered. “We can wait thirty seconds to hear what you’ve got to say. In the meantime, Luty can finish.”

“Not much more to tell,” Luty said as Phyllis sank into her chair without bothering to take off her coat. “The boy, his name is Samuel Bassington, was right pleased to do business with me. He’s a smart boy, and he understood everything I told him. We went to the main door of Cannon Street Station, and he agreed to stay there until Constable Barnes come to fetch him. I gave him a pound for his trouble and promised him another one once the constable told us he’d kept his word.”

“You gave him a pound!” Phyllis exclaimed. “Oh no, I only gave Martin a shilling, and I didn’t promise him anything for afterward. Was I supposed to do that?”

“You found the boy who took the note to the station?” Mrs. Jeffries asked.

Phyllis nodded and took a sip from the mug the cook had just handed her. “Yes and he’s a nice lad. I explained that he had to tell the truth when he pointed out the person that gave him the note but that he wasn’t to mention me. He was to say that Constable Barnes had found him. That’s why I’m so tardy for the meeting. I waited with him until the constable arrived. It seemed the best way to make sure everything worked out properly. Then I rushed back here.”

“But the constable did come and get him?” Mrs. Jeffries was more relieved than she cared to admit. But she wasn’t completely out of the woods yet. There were still a number of things that could go wrong.

“They were getting in a hansom when I left,” Phyllis replied.

Hatchet eyed Luty speculatively. “When exactly did you offer this young ruffian you found a pound for his services?”

Luty pursed her lips. “You think I was born yesterday? I didn’t mention money until I knew for sure he was the one. Sam’s a good boy. Just because he’s a street lad don’t mean he’d lie about what he saw.”

“Sorry, madam, I wasn’t casting aspersions on the young man’s character, but occasionally, people do take advantage of your good nature and your pocketbook.”

“Are you goin’ to tell us what’s what now?” the cook asked Mrs. Jeffries. “Who is the killer?”

But the housekeeper shook her head. “I don’t have time to explain it. Not yet. There’s still one more thing to be done.” She waved her hand around the table. “Wiggins, Phyllis, and Hatchet need to go back out. They’ve got to keep watch on the Sutcliffe house, and there are three ways in and out of the place.”

Phyllis giggled in delight. “I’m glad I didn’t take off my coat.” She pushed back from the table and rose to her feet. Hatchet and Wiggins got up as well. The three of them looked at the housekeeper.

“Wiggins, you take the front door. But before you find a hiding place, have a look in the neighborhood and make sure you know where the nearest policeman is patrolling. You may need to get him if things go badly.”
She turned to Hatchet. “There’s a small entrance on the left side of the house. It’s off the main study and John uses it occasionally, so the door is in working order.” Finally, she looked at Phyllis. The girl’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “You take the back. The servants’ entrance is accessible from both the front and the back of the house. Wiggins will be able to see the front, but we need someone to guard the back. There’s a mews that delivery vans and locals use, so be careful.”

“Who am I watching for?” she asked.

“If anyone, other than a servant, comes out that way, get help,” Mrs. Jeffries told her. “Especially if that person appears to be fleeing. Wiggins is at the front and can get Hatchet. They know what to do.”

“Why do they get to go?” Luty grumbled. “I know what to do, too. One of us keeps ’em in sight while the other gets Constable Barnes.”

“You think the murderer might make a run for it?” Mrs. Goodge asked.

“The killer is desperate,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “And if I’m correct, that person knows that neighborhood well enough to give our inspector the slip if they can get out of the house fast enough.”

“Good day, Inspector.” Fiona smiled brightly and got up from her chair. “We didn’t expect to see you here again.”

“Good day, Mrs. Sutcliffe.” Witherspoon stood in the doorway and surveyed the room. There were people everywhere. John Sutcliffe stood by the fireplace. He gave the inspector a friendly smile. Henry Anson and a lovely brown-haired young woman sat close together on
a love seat. Opposite them Lucretia Dearman and Antonia Meadows occupied the sofa.

This wasn’t what he’d wanted or expected. For that matter, he’d also expected to find something in the reports that might prove useful, and he’d expected his constable would be here by now. “I’m sorry to barge in on you like this, but I had a few more questions to ask you.”

Fiona knew what to do. Mrs. Jeffries had been very clear about how they must behave. “Come in and sit down, Inspector Witherspoon. I believe you know everyone here.”

“I’ve not had the pleasure of meeting that young lady.” He smiled at the woman next to Anson.

“This is my fiancée, Miss Throckmorton,” Anson said proudly.

Witherspoon bowed in her direction. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”

She smiled. “Likewise, Inspector.”

“We’re just having coffee,” Fiona continued. “I’ll pour you a cup.” A silver coffee service was on a trolley next to the chair she’d just vacated. Without waiting for his answer, she reached for the pot.

“I hardly think this a social occasion,” Lucretia Dearman snapped. She glared at the inspector. “If he wants to ask you his questions, he can wait until you’re free.”

Fiona smiled graciously as she continued with her task. “Oh, that won’t be necessary. I’m willing to speak to the police at any time. Besides, I’m sure the inspector has questions for you as well.”

Surprised, Lucretia’s jaw dropped. “For me? Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve already talked to the police.”

“That’s absurd.” Antonia Meadows stood up. “She’s been through enough. She just buried her husband.”

Witherspoon had no idea what was going on; why were the Sutcliffes treating him like a guest? Where was Barnes and why in the blazes wasn’t he here? But in truth, he did have some questions for Mrs. Dearman. He ignored Mrs. Meadows and took the cup of coffee that John Sutcliffe, who’d moved away from the fireplace, handed him. “Thank you.”

“Sit down, Inspector.” Fiona had gone back to her chair. She glanced at the sofa. “You’ll be quite comfortable there.”

“Really, Fiona.” Lucretia gave her a disapproving frown. “What on earth is wrong with you? This man isn’t a guest, and I don’t want him sitting next to me.” She glanced up. “You’re hovering, Antonia. Do sit down.”

Witherspoon, who’d started toward the sofa, stopped abruptly. He noticed that John Sutcliffe was now standing by the double doors and that Henry Anson and his fiancée were exchanging confused glances.

“The inspector is quite welcome in my home,” Fiona said.

“Thank you.” He took a quick sip of coffee and tried to avoid making a face. He hated coffee, but it would have been ungracious to refuse, especially under these very bizarre circumstances. He put the cup down on the ornate side table and looked at Lucretia Dearman. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss, ma’am, but I’d like to know where you were last Monday evening.”

Antonia Meadows gasped, but Lucretia said nothing; she merely stared at him.

“Lucretia, you’re being rude,” John said. “Answer the man’s question. This whole matter has caused Fiona and me a great deal of misery and I want it over and done with.”

Lucretia looked at her brother and then back at Witherspoon. “As I told that other policeman, I was home that evening. If you people bothered to speak to one another, you’d know that.”