Mrs. Jeffries Forges Ahead (9 page)

“She came by and told us what she knew,” Mrs. Jeffries confirmed. “And I had a quick word with the inspector when he came home.”

“Then it sounds as if you know the basics,” he said. “But I did find out something interesting from Geraldine Banfield. It seems she wasn’t all that happy to have Arlette come into the family and marry up with her nephew.” He gave them the particulars of his interview with the woman.

“Good for Lewis Banfield,” Mrs. Goodge exclaimed. “He did right in making it clear they couldn’t snub her.”

“It doesn’t sound as if she much cared whether they accepted her or not,” Mrs. Jeffries murmured.

“Before Lewis Banfield married, it was Geraldine that ran the household.” He took a sip from his mug.

“Being displaced could be a motive for murder,” the cook muttered. “I once worked at a household where the old mistress locked herself in the wine cellar with all the household keys rather than hand them over to the young master’s new bride.”

“But Lewis Banfield told the inspector that his wife frequently deferred to his aunt in household matters,” Mrs. Jeffries added.

“My instincts are that they didn’t like each other very much, despite what Mr. Banfield may have thought. I’m going to be interviewing the servants today,” Barnes said. “We’ll see what they say about the relationship between the two women. So far, all we know is that Geraldine Banfield is a snob, not a killer. There’s no evidence that she had anything to do with the murder, and she was sitting across the room when Arlette was poisoned. So she couldn’t have added anything to the woman’s drink. But it’s early days yet and we’ve a long way to go.”

They heard footsteps clomping down the back stairs.

“That must be Phyllis,” Mrs. Jeffries murmured. They’d still not decided what to do about her. “Wiggins is out. We sent him to fetch Luty and Hatchet.”

Barnes drained his mug and stood up. “I’ll be in again tomorrow morning and we’ll trade information,” he whispered as the maid came into the kitchen.

The maid stopped at the entryway and blinked in surprise. “Good morning, Constable.” Phyllis was as plump as a pigeon and had a round face, brown eyes, and blonde hair tucked up in a neat bun under her cap. She had a porcelain complexion and a straight nose, and she wore a pale lavender maid’s dress covered with a white apron.

“Good morning,” he replied.

She gave him a curious glance as she continued on toward the pine sideboard.

“Is the inspector up yet?” Mrs. Jeffries asked.

“Yes. I was going to take his tea up to the dining room.” She opened the bottom cupboard, leaned down, and pulled out a wooden tray.

“Take an extra cup for the constable,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “Have you had breakfast, Constable?” she asked.

“I’ve eaten, but another cup of tea would be welcome.”

Phyllis nodded, finished arranging the tray, and went upstairs. Barnes followed her.

As soon as they’d disappeared, the cook crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the housekeeper. “You’ve got to decide what to do. We’ve a meeting starting here in less than an hour.”

“I know, I know.” Mrs. Jeffries sighed. She didn’t know why she had to make this decision; it involved all of them.

Phyllis had only worked in the Witherspoon household since December. On their previous cases, the girl had lived out. She’d come in only after their morning meetings, and Mrs. Jeffries had made sure the girl was either given an errand to run or had left for the day when they had their afternoon meetings. But now she was here and it was time to bite the bullet, as Luty would say. “We’re going to have to tell her and invite her to be a part of it.”

“We don’t know that she’s any talent for snooping,” the cook pointed out. “She’s a bit awkward with people and she’s not the friendliest lass I’ve ever seen.”

“She’s shy.” Mrs. Jeffries felt it her duty to defend the girl. “And we won’t know what her talents might be when it comes to our cases unless we give her a chance. Besides, short of coming up with an errand every morning and every afternoon to get her out of the house, I don’t see what else we can do. Betsy thinks she could do it.”

“That’s true enough.” The cook went to the stove and put the skillet on, then grabbed two eggs off the top of the bowl she’d brought in earlier and put them on the counter. A plate of crisp bacon was draining on last week’s newspaper and the toast was cooling in the rack. She checked to ensure there was enough fat in the pan, and then, when it was sizzling, she cracked the eggs in.

Five minutes later, the inspector’s breakfast had been duly served and the girl was back in the kitchen to set the table for the household’s morning meal. Mrs. Goodge glanced at the housekeeper and said, “I’m going to the dry larder to get my supplies.” She started down the hallway to the back of the house. “I’ve a lot of baking to do if I’m going to feed my sources today.”

As soon as they were alone, Mrs. Jeffries said, “Phyllis, come and sit down for a minute. There’s something I need to tell you.”

Phyllis’ eyes widened and she dropped the stack of plates on the table with a heavy clatter. “I’m not being sacked, am I? If I’ve done something wrong . . .”

“No, no, that’s not it at all,” the housekeeper said quickly. A wave of compassion washed over her. She’d never seen anyone who worked so hard to please, who was so frightened of being without a position. “You’re doing a fine job. Come sit down.”

“But what about breakfast?” She jerked her chin toward the second batch of bacon draining on the counter. “Are we not eating this morning?”

“We’ll eat later,” Mrs. Jeffries said as she took her seat. The others wouldn’t be arriving for at least a quarter of an hour, so they had plenty of time. “There’s something important I must tell you, but, before I do, you must give me your word of honor you’ll not repeat what I’ve said.”

Phyllis, looking even more alarmed than before, slipped into the chair next to Mrs. Jeffries. “I promise.”

“You know, Phyllis, everyone here in the household has the highest regard for Inspector Witherspoon.”

“Oh yes, and I share that regard as well. He treats us decently, like we were people and not just here to do his bidding. He’s the best master I’ve ever had. I want to stay here forever,” she declared.

“That’s excellent. I’m sure the inspector very much appreciates your loyalty. But there is something else the household does for him, something we work very hard to make sure he doesn’t know about.”

“What would that be?”

“His cases, Phyllis, we help him with his cases.”

Her mouth gaped open. “You what? But I thought you said you made sure he didn’t know . . . I’m confused. What does it mean? How do you help?”

“We do many things, and our efforts have contributed greatly to the inspector’s success as well as the cause of justice,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. She watched the maid carefully as she went over what each member of the household did for Witherspoon. The girl wasn’t reacting at all as she’d expected. “Betsy is especially good at getting shopkeepers to talk about the suspects on a case, and Smythe has a number of sources he uses for information,” she explained. “He’s also very good with hansom drivers. Wiggins is talented at getting servants to chat and, uh, we’ve other friends who contribute as well.”

“Other friends,” she repeated. Her eyes were the size of Mrs. Goodge’s fat mince tarts and her face had gone paler than usual. “You mean other people go out and snoop, too?”

Mrs. Jeffries drew back slightly. “I wouldn’t put it like that.”

“I’m sorry.” Phyllis bit her lip. “It’s just this is makin’ me right nervous. You say the inspector doesn’t know you’re doin’ this for him?”

“That’s correct.” Mrs. Jeffries decided it would be best if she didn’t mention any additional details.

Phyllis looked as if she’d gone into shock. She said nothing; she simply stared at the housekeeper.

“You do understand what I’ve told you,” Mrs. Jeffries finally said when the silence had lengthened considerably. “We’re helping Inspector Witherspoon and I’m asking if you’d like to join us in our endeavor.”

“But I don’t think I can do any of those things,” Phyllis said in a voice so soft Mrs. Jeffries had to lean close to hear her. “I’m not good with people. I’ve never gotten anyone to tell me any secrets and I don’t think I could follow someone if my life depended on it.”

“You don’t have to do any of those things,” Mrs. Jeffries assured her. As she was confiding their secret to the girl, she’d realized she’d made a horrible mistake. Phyllis would be quite content to stay completely out of their cases. This was such an odd turn of events, she didn’t quite know what to make of it. “But the one thing we will require of you is to keep our secret. When the inspector is on a case, we gather twice a day to share what we’ve learned. You’d be welcome at these meetings or you could continue with the chores. It’s your decision.”

She looked uncertain. “I don’t understand. You mean I don’t have to do it?”

“That’s right.”

“And the inspector doesn’t know what any of you are up to,” she pressed.

“Correct.”

Phyllis took a deep breath and lifted her chin. “So you want me to keep it a secret from the inspector?”

“That’s what I’ve just said.” Mrs. Jeffries struggled to keep the impatience out of her tone.

“But what if he finds out and then gets annoyed that I knew what you were doing and I didn’t tell him?” she cried.

Mrs. Jeffries didn’t like the way this conversation was going. “I doubt very much that such a thing would happen.”

“But what if it does?” Phyllis insisted stubbornly. “I don’t want to lose this position—it’s the best one I’ve ever had. I don’t want to risk Inspector Witherspoon getting angry at me . . .”

“He won’t get angry at you,” Mrs. Jeffries interrupted. She was going to put an end to this nonsense. But more than anything, she was annoyed with herself. Trusting Phyllis was obviously a mistake. “Inspector Witherspoon has given me complete authority over the household. I’m in charge of the household affairs.”

“But the inspector had to approve my getting hired in the first place,” Phyllis argued. She shook her head in confusion.

“I go to him as a courtesy, but he doesn’t really like being bothered with staffing concerns. If anyone has the authority to give you the sack, it’s me.”

Phyllis’ eyes widened. “I meant no disrespect, Mrs. Jeffries, I’m just frightened of losing this job. Please don’t be annoyed with me . . .”

“I’m not annoyed,” she reassured the girl with a tight smile as she got to her feet. She wasn’t angry at Phyllis, she was furious at her own lack of judgment. She’d forged ahead without thinking this situation completely through. She should have realized that the only thing in life Phyllis wanted was to stay working here. She wasn’t in the least concerned with truth or justice or any other abstract notion she felt might threaten keeping a roof over her head. “And you won’t lose your position. No one is forced to help us. Please, just forget I said anything, alright?”

“I guess that’s alright,” she replied.

“Thank you. After breakfast, you can start in the drawing room. All the furniture on that floor needs a good polish. There’s a new tin of Adam’s Furniture Polish in the cleaning cupboard and some clean rags.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Jeffries, I’ve said the wrong thing, haven’t I?” She stood up. “I do that all the time and I don’t mean to, but I’ll not say a word to anyone about what the rest of you are doing, I promise.”

Mrs. Jeffries wasn’t sure she believed her, but it was too late now. “Thank you, Phyllis, I appreciate that. Now let’s get breakfast on the table.”

 

Lewis Banfield waited for the inspector and Barnes at the bottom of the staircase. He looked as if he’d aged ten years in a single night. His eyes had sunken into his head, his shoulders were slumped, and he’d not shaved.

“I didn’t expect you back quite so early in the day,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s distressing having the police about the place, but we’ve a number of people to interview today. We need to speak to every member of your staff that was here last night.”

“I’m aware of that, Inspector,” he replied wearily. “I’ve already instructed our housekeeper to give you any assistance that is needed. Mrs. Peyton has some rooms ready for your use.”

“We appreciate that, Mr. Banfield,” Witherspoon replied. “We’ll also be needing to speak with your houseguests.”

His brows drew together in confusion. “Oh, you mean Mrs. Bickleton and Mrs. Kimball. That’s right, they’ve been here this week.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “Forgive me, Inspector. For a moment I couldn’t think. The two of them are probably in the dining room at breakfast. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go make myself presentable. Arlette’s parents will be here in an hour. We’ve got to make the funeral arrangements.”

He turned on his heel and trudged up the stairs.

A middle-aged woman wearing a black bombazine dress stepped out of the hallway into the foyer. “I’m Mrs. Peyton, the housekeeper. If you’ll come with me, I’ll show you to the rooms that have been set aside for your use.”

“Thank you,” Witherspoon said as he and Barnes fell into step behind her.

She led them down the corridor and stopped at a door near the end. “You can use the morning room, Inspector.” She pointed to the one across the hall. “And that room has been set aside for you, Constable. It’s Mrs. Banfield’s dayroom.”

“I was there last night,” Barnes replied. He didn’t relish the thought of sitting on that miserably uncomfortable furniture again.

She turned to the inspector and said, “Who would you like to speak with first?”

“Mrs. Bickleton and then Mrs. Kimball.”

She looked at the constable. “And who should I fetch for you?”

Barnes smiled. “I’d like to begin with you.”

 

“Howdy, everyone,” Luty Belle Crookshank called out as she burst into the kitchen in a whirlwind of bright colors. A peacock blue hat festooned with lace, feathers, and yards of veiling was perched at a jaunty angle on her white hair. She wore a matching jacket over a high-necked pale blue blouse and a long strand of jet beads dangled around her neck.