Mrs. Jeffries Forges Ahead (16 page)

“And I hear they’re doin’ real well.” She shifted uncomfortably. “Besides, the one I’m thinkin’ of investin’ in is goin’ to be in Baltimore. There ain’t nobody manufacturin’ that in the States.”

He burst out laughing. “Oh, my God, you are shameless.”

“What are you talkin’ about?” she charged. Blast it all, she shouldn’t have come here. That was the trouble with people who’d worked their way up in this world; they were like her—too smart to be easily fooled. She decided to go on the offensive. “I’ll have you know I came to see you in good faith, thinkin’ you was a decent man that would help a poor old woman manage her . . .” She trailed off as he began to laugh so hard tears formed in the corners of his eyes. She slammed her cup down so hard she was afraid she’d cracked the china and leapt to her feet. “Well, if you’re goin’ to insult me, maybe I ought to just git out of here.”

He brought himself under control. “Oh, for God’s sake, Luty, sit back down and we’ll talk,” he ordered. “Poor old woman, my foot. I’ll wager you know more about business than anyone in the country and could probably teach me a thing or two about running this bank.”

Luty couldn’t help it, she started to laugh. “Well, alright, maybe that was goin’ a bit far. But I do need your advice.”

“Of course you do, but you don’t have any intention of opening a railway equipment factory in Baltimore; you want to find out what I know about the Banfields.”

“How’d you come to that idea?” She frowned and picked up her teacup. It was good tea and she was thirsty. He was good. Next time she’d stick to one of her aristocratic upper-class financial friends; they were lots dumber than this one.

“Come now, Luty, your reputation precedes you. Whenever your good friend Inspector Gerald Witherspoon has a murder case, you and your butler start asking questions.”

“Now, that ain’t—”

He interrupted with a wave of his hand. “Don’t panic, your activities aren’t common knowledge, but there are those of us in the financial world that keep our ears and our eyes open. We hear things.” He stopped and cocked his head to one side. “Is it true you got Angus Fielding drunk on homemade whiskey?”

Luty winced. God, how had that story got out? “It wasn’t homemade whiskey, it was white lightning. It come straight from the hills of Webster County, West Virginia, and it was fine stuff. I didn’t get him drunk, I offered him a taste because he was always braggin’ about bein’ a connoisseur of the world’s alcoholic beverages. He’s the one that kept wantin’ more.”

Widdowes chuckled. “Do you have any left? I’d like a taste myself.”

“I’ve got some down in my wine cellar. It’s usually kept in glass jars but that woulda been hard to transport all the way here so my friend put it in little kegs. You come on over to my house for supper soon and you can have all ya want. But it’s a strong brew.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he replied. “Now, what do you want to know about the Banfields and their factories?”

Luty studied him for a moment, not sure how far she should go. But Widdowes had a reputation for fairness and honesty. A rare commodity in the rough-and-tumble business of money. “What kind of financial shape is the family in? Mind you, I’m not admitting that I’m askin’ questions because my friend is a police inspector . . .”

“No, of course you aren’t,” he agreed. He looked amused. “And the Banfields are in good financial shape, at least from what I’ve heard. The factories are doing well and as far as I know they’ve paid off all their loans, none of which were with my bank so that’s why I can talk about them so freely.” He held Luty’s gaze. “I’m happy to help you as long as you don’t ask me questions about my clients. Understood?”

“I understand.” Luty nodded. “You won’t break confidence with those you do business with.” Right then she decided to switch some of her financial business here. “What do you mean that they’ve paid off their loans?”

“Garrett Banfield, Lewis’ uncle, borrowed heavily and used the factories and most of the property as collateral for the debts. Five years ago, Garrett died of a heart attack and Lewis took over. He might be young but he’s a good head for business and he made some excellent investments that allowed them to pay off their debt very quickly.”

“So they were in debt?” Luty frowned. “I thought the Banfields prided themselves on . . . on . . .” She didn’t know precisely what word to use.

“On being honorable and doing their duty to Queen and country,” he finished for her. “They do. Which is why it was such a surprise when Garrett began to borrow so heavily. Not that being in debt is dishonorable; if it was, half the families in town wouldn’t be able to hold their heads up. But the Banfields had never been the sort of people to borrow against their assets.”

“What did Garrett do with the cash he borrowed?” she asked curiously.

“Supposedly, he was investing in various enterprises in the Far East,” John replied. “I know he went to Singapore a time or two during this period.”

“And did those investments eventually pay off?” Luty pressed. “Was that the reason Lewis Banfield was able to get out of debt so fast?”

“No, no, Lewis Banfield liquidated the Far East holdings and used the money to invest in mining. He had tremendous success with a gold mine in southern Africa. That’s supposedly the investment that gave him the cash to pay off the creditors so quickly.”

Luty thought for a moment. “Was Garrett married to Geraldine Banfield?”

“He was, and by all accounts it was as good a marriage as any other.” He shrugged slightly. “I never heard any rumors that he wasn’t a good and faithful husband.”

“You’d gone to get us a glass of champagne,” Henny said to her husband, “so you weren’t there when it happened. You didn’t see Rosalind’s face. She was so angry I thought she was going to scratch Arlette’s eyes out right there in the middle of the gallery.”

“What happened?” Barnes asked quickly.

“We were at Gillette’s on New Bond Street. Arlette had invited us to the opening of a show featuring her mother’s glasswork and an exhibit of her father’s paintings. Crispin Montrose is quite a well-known artist. His work sells for thousands of pounds, not that money is the only criterion to judge the worth of a piece of art, of course.”

“Henny loves art,” Sir Ralph interjected. “She’s a painter herself. Her landscapes are lovely enough that she could have a showing if she wanted. I’ve encouraged her to give it a go, but she’s far too modest.”

Henny laughed gaily and reached across the small space separating them to pat his hand. “You’re far too kind, my dear. At best, I’m a talented amateur, but I appreciate your faith in my abilities. I do love art, though, which is why we were one of the few people from Lewis’ circle that Arlette invited to the opening.” She focused her attention on Witherspoon. “Have you been to Gillette’s?”

“I’ve never had the pleasure.”

She smiled in amusement. “I do have a reason for asking, Inspector. Gillette’s is a very large gallery and even with the showing going on, the front part of the establishment carried on doing business as usual. That is pertinent to what happened.” She took a deep breath. “The showing was in the back part of the gallery and it was lovely. The pieces were showcased perfectly and there was some excellent champagne being served. Arlette and I were standing in front of an exquisite glass bowl her mother had made, when all of a sudden Rosalind Kimball swooped in like an avenging angel from the pits of hell.”

Barnes smiled at the colorful language. “I take it she was furious about something?”

“She was indeed, Constable. She charged over to Arlette and said she had no right to interfere in her husband’s business.”

“Whose husband, hers or Arlette’s?” Witherspoon asked quickly.

“As it turned out, she was speaking about Lewis, but it took a few seconds before I realized what she was actually trying to say.”

“And what was that?” Barnes asked. “It would be helpful if you could recall her exact words.”

“Let me see.” She thought for a moment. “She said, ‘Who do you think you are? How dare you interfere in your husband’s business affairs?’ Then Arlette said something like, ‘When I see the old guard trying to take advantage of him, it’s my duty to speak up and tell him what I know.’ ” Henny smiled apologetically. “At this point I wasn’t quite sure what they were talking about, but it was clear that Rosalind was furious and Arlette started to lose her temper as well. Arlette told Rosalind that the Kimballs had no right to use their friendship with the Banfields to pressure Lewis into giving them a loan on that dilapidated old house of theirs. Those were her exact words. Then she said that Rosalind’s husband was a disgusting old reprobate who used every penny he could lay his hands on to indulge in horrid practices and that she wasn’t going to allow her husband’s money to contribute to the ruin of any more young girls.” She broke off and glanced at her husband, who was gaping at her with a shocked expression.

“That’s when Rosalind really got angry,” she continued. “Her eyes narrowed and she started calling Arlette names, saying she was no better than a jumped-up guttersnipe who was going to get what was coming to her if she couldn’t learn to stay in her place.”

“She actually used those words?” Barnes pressed.

“She did,” Henny replied. “Then she turned on her heel and stormed out. I was very shocked.”

“Really, Henny, why didn’t you tell me this?” Sir Ralph exclaimed. “Why, I’d not have spoken to the woman at the ball if I’d known she’d behaved in such a manner.”

Henny smiled at her husband. “She was gone by the time you returned with our champagne and Arlette asked me not to say anything about the incident. She didn’t want her parents’ showing ruined.”

“What did she mean about contributing to the ruin of any more young girls?” Witherspoon asked. He was embarrassed to ask a lady such a question, for he suspected he knew what had been meant. But he had to learn all the facts, no matter how uncomfortable it might make him feel.

Henny flattened her lips into a thin, disapproving line and glanced at her husband again. “Cover your ears, dear, I’m going to tell them the truth.”

“No, I’ll tell them.” Sir Ralph smiled grimly. “It’s an ugly subject, but I want Arlette’s killer caught.” He looked at the inspector. “Gregory Kimball likes young girls, very young girls, and he’s also a drug addict.”

“He drinks to excess as well,” Henny added.

“The gossip we’ve heard is that the Kimballs are now broke because he’s spent every pound they have feeding his habits.”

“And it appears as if Arlette Banfield stopped her husband from lending him more money?” Witherspoon guessed.

“That’s right, Inspector,” Henny said. “Now the Kimballs will be losing their house, and for someone like Rosalind Kimball, that is truly a fate worse than death.”

“Hello, Mrs. Jeffries.” The voice came from behind her as she stepped into the lower corridor of St. Thomas’ Hospital. She whirled about and smiled in pleasure. “Dr. Bosworth, how nice to see you. I do hope you can spare me a moment.”

“Of course. I’ve been expecting you,” he replied. He was a tall man with dark red hair, a bony face, and deep-set hazel eyes. “Let’s go to my office. I’ll ask the porter to fetch us a pot of tea.”

“That would be wonderful, but don’t go to any trouble on my account. I know you’re very busy.”

Bosworth laughed and started down the hallway. “You’re in luck today, Mrs. Jeffries. I’ve already done my rounds and my next consult isn’t for an hour. Come along, then, we could both use some refreshment.”

She fell into step beside him and they chatted while they made their way to his small office, stopping briefly so he could ask the porter for the tea.

He opened the door and ushered her inside. She noticed it hadn’t changed very much from the last time she’d been here. There was a pile of books on one of the chairs, his desk was covered with stacks of files, and there were half a dozen glass bottles of various sizes and shapes containing colored liquids clustered on the corner. But there was a nice blue rag rug covering the green linoleum on his floor and a nicely done seascape hung on the wall next to his medical cupboard.