Mrs. Jeffries in the Nick of Time (19 page)

She flung open the door and her jaw dropped in surprise. “Gracious, it’s you,” she said to the tall, gray-haired woman who stood there.

Mollie Dubay, housekeeper to Lord Augustus Fremont, smiled tentatively. “Hello, Mrs. Goodge. How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you,” Mrs. Goodge stammered. Oh drat, she thought, what am I going to do now? Her cousin Hilda’s boy, Owen, was due here any time and she’d planned on seeing what she could get out of him. The lad worked as a footman in Mayfair and was one of the nosiest people on the face of the earth—in other words, a perfect source. She stared at her unwelcome guest for a brief moment and saw that despite Mollie’s brave smile, her face was pale and there was a hint of fear in her deep-set blue eyes.

It wouldn’t hurt to invite the woman in for a quick cup of tea. She’d no idea what Mollie might want; they’d not seen or spoken to one another in years. She could always get rid of her when Owen arrived. “Do come in, Mollie.”

“Thank you.” Mollie stepped past her into the house. “I’m glad to find you still here and I do apologize for just dropping in unannounced. I don’t generally indulge in that sort of common behavior.”

“Your manners have always been excellent,” Mrs. Goodge agreed as she fell into step behind her. “But announced or not, you’re always welcome here.”

Mollie hesitated at the entrance to the kitchen, her gaze locked on Fred who’d gotten up from his rug and was now wagging his tail in welcome.

“Just ignore the dog.” Mrs. Goodge shoved her gently across the threshold. “He’ll not hurt you. Go over to the table and take a seat.” Fred settled back down to his nap.

Mollie stared at the table as she pulled off her gloves. A plate of damson tarts and two place settings complete with serviettes were already laid out. “Oh dear, I’m interrupting,” she cried. “I’m intruding, I’d better leave.”

“Don’t be silly,” the cook retorted. She’d heard the tremor in Mollie’s voice. “You must stay and have tea.”

“But you’ve got company coming,” Mollie protested feebly.

Mrs. Goodge turned and put the kettle on the cooker. “It’s only my cousin Hilda’s boy comin’ for a visit. You sit down and make yourself comfortable. I can see you’ve got trouble. Your eyes are red and you look pale.” Maybe Owen would be late, she thought hopefully, then immediately felt guilty as she heard Mollie sniffle. But drat, Owen might know something. Mollie was a gossip herself, but she worked for a household of much higher status than Francis Humphreys and his ilk.

Mrs. Goodge heard the chair creak as Mollie sat down. “I’ve been sacked,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Sacked?” She whirled around and saw Mollie staring off into space, her face a mask of misery.

“I’ve lost my job.” Mollie looked at her, her expression confused. “I can hardly believe it. It’s been a terrible shock.”

“Lord Fremont let you go?” Mrs. Goodge demanded. “But why? You’re a wonderful housekeeper. You work hard. You’ve been there for ages.”

“He said I was getting too old.” Mollie’s lower lip trembled. “He said he needed a younger person to do the job. God, when I think of all the years I’ve given that ungrateful family, it’s not fair. Where am I to go? What am I to do?”

Mrs. Goodge regarded her sympathetically. She knew exactly how Mollie felt, having once been in the exact same position. “Don’t you have family you can go to?” The kettle boiled and she picked up a tea towel, grabbed the handle, and poured the boiling water into the waiting pot.

“Family?” Mollie snorted. “How many of us in service ever had the chance to have a family? Things were different when we were young. Back then, if you were caught with a young man, you’d lose your position. You remember how it was. It’s not like today. We had no freedom. We had to do what we were told and then look what happens, you spend your life serving others and when you get old and gray, they toss you out into the streets.”

“I remember what it was like,” Mrs. Goodge agreed. “But when I asked if you had family you could go to, I meant a brother or a sister, someone like that.” She glanced at the clock, hoping that Owen wouldn’t show up now. Mollie would be so humiliated if anyone else saw her like this.

“If we so much as even looked at a young man, we’d get reprimanded.” Mollie continued her tirade. “Remember the time that Oswald Simmons—he was the first undergardener at Lord Fremont’s country house—brought me a bouquet of wildflowers? Remember what happened? I got sent back to town two weeks early and he lost his position. My God, the way we were treated was terrible, absolutely terrible.”

“It’s changed quite a bit in recent years,” the cook murmured. She poured a big mug of tea, added sugar and milk, then took it and placed it on the table in front of Mollie. “Here, drink this. I’ve put extra sugar in it and it’ll do you good.”

“Thank you.” Mollie pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve as tears spilled down her cheeks. She dabbed at her eyes. “Oh Lord, Mrs. Goodge. I didn’t mean to come here, when Lady Fremont told me the news this morning, I just left the house and started walking. I’m so sorry. I’ve no right to come barging in on you, but when I found myself on this street, I remembered you were so kind to me the time I was here before. You made me a seedcake and even opened a bottle of Harveys.”

Mrs. Goodge could barely recall the time she’d invited Mollie to tea, but she did remember she’d only extended the invitation to get information for one of the inspector’s earlier cases. Regardless of Owen’s impending visit and the other sources she was expecting today, she couldn’t shove poor Mollie out the door, not now. That wouldn’t be right. “The Lord must have sent you here for a reason,” the cook said firmly. “Now drink up while we think what to do.”

Luckily, Owen didn’t appear and for the next half hour, the two women discussed the situation. Mollie had a substantial bit of money saved, had always wanted to live by the sea, and wasn’t opposed to buying a small house and taking in lodgers. “So if you’ve money and already had an idea about what you wanted to do when you left service, why were you so upset when you were let go?” Mrs. Goodge asked. “After all, let’s face it Mollie, neither of us is young anymore.”

“It was being sacked that bothered me.” Mollie pursed her lips. “Do you know how humiliating it was to be called into the morning room and told your services are no longer needed? How dare they? I know I’ve bragged about working for Lord and Lady Fremont, but the truth is, he’s a nasty old lech, she’s a tyrant, and their children are blithering half-wits, especially the oldest son.”

“Then why did you stay?” Mrs. Goodge wasn’t in the least surprised by these revelations. She’d had enough experiences with the upper classes herself to know their characters were no better or worse than anyone else.

“I was used to the place.” Mollie shrugged. “I suppose I was afraid that if I’d gone anywhere else, it might have been even worse.”

“I understand what you mean. You never really know about a house until you’re working there, and by then, if you’ve made a mistake, you’re stuck until you can find somewhere else.”

“I was thinking of giving notice this summer, anyway. With a small house and a lodger or two, I could make ends meet well enough. At my age, getting sacked isn’t the end of the world. It’s not as if I had any pressing plans for the future.” Mollie smiled suddenly. “You always did have an uncommon amount of good sense. I’m glad I found myself here—you were just what I needed.”

Mrs. Goodge inclined her head in acknowledgment of the compliment and pushed the tray of damson tarts toward her guest. “Would you like another one?”

“Lovely, thank you.” She helped herself. “Goodness, Mrs. Goodge, you’ve been so very helpful to me. I feel so much better now. I wish there was something I could do for you.”

“I don’t suppose you know anything about Francis Humphreys?”

“Who?” Mollie asked.

“Francis Humphreys, the man who was murdered a couple of days ago. My inspector has got the case and I’m always listenin’ for any little morsels of gossip I can pass on to him,” she explained. She was wasting her breath. Acton and Mayfair were worlds apart.

“You mean Estelle Collier Humphreys’ husband.” Mollie nodded eagerly. “But I know all sorts of things about that family. They had a huge flat just around the corner from the Fremonts’. At least they did until the husband drug her off to the outskirts of town.” She paused and cocked her head to one side. “Why goodness, I do believe the husband’s name was Francis. Funny, I read about the murder in the paper, but I didn’t put two and two together and recall it was Estelle Collier’s husband that had been shot.”

Mrs. Goodge couldn’t believe her luck. “They lived around the corner?” she prompted. She knew it didn’t take much to get Mollie’s tongue moving.

“Oh yes. They used to have the most wonderful parties.” Mollie grinned. “It used to annoy Lord Fremont. But I expect his nose was out of joint because he was never invited. He kept referring to her as ‘that upstart American woman.’ Estelle Collier was an heiress, you know.”

Mrs. Goodge nodded eagerly as dozens of questions raced around her head. “When did the Humphreys move to Acton?”

Mollie’s long face creased in a frown. “I’m not sure; I think it was a few years before Mrs. Humphreys passed away. She died of pneumonia, you know, and there was some awful talk about the circumstances. Even though they’d moved house, we heard about it in Mayfair.”

“What kind of talk?” Mrs. Goodge leaned forward.

“Supposedly, when she became ill, she was expected to recover.” Mollie dropped her voice dramatically. “From what I understand, her husband became ill as well so he sent for one of their nieces to come and nurse them both. But he recovered, and she was thought to have been on the mend as well when all of a sudden she took a turn for the worse and died.”

Confused, Mrs. Goodge frowned. “But why would that cause talk? Pneumonia is a dreadful disease. Lots of people die from it.”

Mollie smiled slowly. “Yes, but it killed poor Mrs. Humphreys right after she told her husband that some money had gone missing. She was insisting he bring the police in to investigate. The next day, she was dead.”

“How on earth did that story get out? I mean, did someone else in the household overhear this conversation?” Mrs. Goodge wanted to make sure this story wasn’t the product of an overactive imagination.

“Yes indeed,” Mollie declared. “Her maid heard the whole thing. Mind you, as soon as the poor woman was buried, the girl was let go. Mr. Humphreys said that now the mistress was gone, the household didn’t need a lady’s maid and the niece had scampered off somewhere, so she didn’t need one, either.”

“Do you happen to recall what the niece’s name was?” Mrs. Goodge asked.

Mollie thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think I ever heard it said. Still, it doesn’t seem right that a young maid should lose her position simply because the mistress of the house dies. Lucky for the girl, the Chalmers household needed a scullery maid. Mind you, I’m sure that was a bit of comedown for the girl, but sometimes we all take positions that are beneath our training. Still, Francis Humphreys should have kept her on as a housemaid. I expect that’s one of the reasons the story got spread about so quickly. People ought to be careful when they sack the help. We’ve got ears, you know, and there’s lots we could say about a household if we’ve a mind to.” She snorted angrily. “Believe me, I’ll not hold my tongue if anyone asks about the Fremont household. There’s plenty I can say about that miserable family.”

 

“I’m so delighted you could come on such short notice.” Ruth poured a cup of tea from the silver pot. “It’s been ages since we’ve seen one another.” She silently congratulated herself on having the foresight before she went to Humphreys’ funeral to send Marisol Pulman, one of London’s most notorious gossips, an invitation to tea. She’d learned absolutely nothing at the funeral, and when she’d introduced herself to the family she’d not been invited back to the house for the reception.

Marisol laughed softly. She was a short, fat woman with sparse reddish hair pulled back in a twist on the nape of her neck. Her face was as round as a full moon and her eyes were a lovely cornflower blue. Her ample figure was swathed in a teal blue day dress with blue and gray checkered overskirt. She wore a sapphire ring the size of a lima bean on one hand and a square-cut emerald on the other. “I had nothing to do this afternoon,” she admitted as she reached for an éclair. “I was glad to get your note. Are you still keeping company with that police detective?”

They were seated in the small morning room. A fire was blazing in the hearth and on the table were sandwiches, éclairs, sliced bread, and pots of jam.

“We’re still very good friends,” Ruth said. One of the reasons Marisol wasn’t particularly well liked was that she said whatever happened to pop into her head. Discretion wasn’t one of her strong suits. “As a matter of fact, I was wondering if you knew anything about Francis Humphreys. I was at the poor man’s funeral this morning.”

“He’s the one that was just murdered.”

“Yes.”

Marisol picked up a fork and sliced into her pastry. “Why do you ask? Did your detective get that case?”

“It is his case,” Ruth hedged. “But I’m not asking because of him. I’m simply curious. As I said, Mr. Humphreys was a friend of Aunt Maude’s and she asked me to go to represent the Cannonberry family, but I didn’t know him.” Even if it got back to Gerald that she’d been asking questions, it would sound like gossip, not investigating. “You always know so much about people.”

“Are you implying I’m a gossip?” Marisol demanded.

Ruth was ready for that. She laughed. “Don’t be absurd. Of course you’re no gossip. But you are one of the most intelligent and observant people I’ve ever met. But if I’ve offended you, please forgive me.”

“You haven’t really offended me.” Marisol grinned ruefully. “And I am a gossip. I can’t help it, I’m just so curious about people. I know it’s wrong and that I ought to mind my own business, but that’s so boring.”