Mrs. Jeffries in the Nick of Time (31 page)

She examined Smythe from head to toe and only then was satisfied he was in one piece. “Go sit down,” she ordered. “You need tea. Tea with sugar, lots of sugar.”

Lady Cannonberry had risen as they’d come in and she smiled tenderly at Witherspoon. “Are you well, Gerald? Young Wiggins told us how brave you all were.”

Witherspoon beamed happily. He wasn’t in the least put out that his kitchen was filled with people. “I’m fine, and more importantly, two innocent lives were saved by your good sense. But I’m afraid your gossip was a bit off the mark. It wasn’t Imogene Ross who was committing murder, it was Annabelle Prescott.”

“Goodness, Inspector, it sounds as if you’ve had a very exciting evening. We happened to stop by when we saw the lights were still on here as we were on our way home from the theater,” Luty explained. “And of course, as soon as Lady Cannonberry told us what she’d heard and that the men had all gone to Acton, we had to stay and find out what happened.”

Mrs. Jeffries, who’d quietly risen from the seat at the head of the table and gone to the sideboard, put a clean cup down in the spot. “Do sit down and have a cup of tea, sir,” she said. “We’d love to hear the details if you’re not too tired.”

“I believe I can manage a few moments.” He slid into the chair while the housekeeper poured the tea. “Where to begin? Hmm, I suppose it started this morning when I suddenly realized I ought to ask Mrs. Humphreys a few more questions about her late husband’s inventions.” He grinned at Mrs. Jeffries. “I think that conversation we had at breakfast must have inspired me. You mentioning all the wonderful devices you saw at the Crystal Palace Exhibition made me think. Of course, once I spoke with Mrs. Humphreys and got confirmation about my theory, I knew I was on the right track, so to speak.” He broke off and laughed. “I will admit though, I didn’t quite expect things to move quite so quickly, rather like an express train. Which”—he stopped and took a gulp of tea—“was really part and parcel of the murder.”

“Huh?” Mrs. Goodge said. She was confused and she wasn’t too proud to admit it. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s very simple really,” Witherspoon explained. “Mrs. Prescott wanted her uncle dead. Like the others in the family, she thought his selling off all the American Railway stock and buying into the one in South America was foolish. She was afraid that by the time he died of natural causes, there’d be no estate left. So she decided he had to die, but as she was one of his main heirs, she’d naturally come under suspicion, so she came up with a plot that made us think the murder was committed at a few minutes past four, while she was playing hostess in a roomful of people, when the reality was she murdered her uncle at 3:09 when the express train to Bristol went past.”

“How on earth did she do that?” Luty asked.

Witherspoon took a quick sip of tea. “She used her cousin Yancy’s bird scarer. It’s a rather unusual device. It fires a cylinder, much like a bullet only, of course, it’s not a bullet. The cylinder is geared to a mechanical timer that was set to fire at a few minutes past four, making everyone think that was the time the murder was committed. She wanted us to believe the killing had been done by an outsider. She helped invent the contraption so she knew precisely how to work the thing. She had it set up in the attic, and she set the mechanism so it would fire when she was safely downstairs in a room filled with witnesses. Afterwards, she slipped back up to the attic, took off the firing cylinders, and covered the contraption with a cloth. The constable, searching the attic, had no idea what the gadget actually was and simply thought it an odd household contraption. It never occurred to anyone that it was capable of firing a cylinder that imitated a gunshot.”

“Why was she trying to murder Imogene Ross?” Betsy asked. She kept glancing at Smythe, reassuring herself that he was genuinely fine.

“Because when Mrs. Humphreys mentioned to Miss Ross that I’d been there asking questions specifically about the bird scarer, Miss Ross realized what could have happened and rushed back to the house. By this time, Mrs. Prescott was suspicious about Miss Ross because she’d come running into the house and gone straight up to the attic. That’s where the bird scarer was stored. Mrs. Prescott had stolen it from Mrs. Humphreys.” He picked up his tea and took another long drink. “But she hadn’t had time to sneak it back to Mrs. Humphreys’ attic. When she saw Miss Ross go up there, she knew someone else had figured out what she’d done. She went to Mrs. Eames and told them she was giving the servants the night off.”

“Why did Miss Ross stay in the house alone with her if she was suspicious of her?” Luty asked.

“She thought she was safe. She’d sent a note to the station to me, asking me to come see her. She had no idea that Annabelle Prescott was on to her. By the time she realized everyone was gone and she was alone in the house with a murderess, it was too late.”

“What happened to the note?” Hatchet asked. “Was it at the station? Is that where you found it?”

“It never got there.” Witherspoon shook his head in disgust. “Miss Ross gave it to the maid to take to the Acton Police Station, but Mrs. Prescott waylaid the girl and said she’d take the note. The girl had no idea what was in the note, so she’s not to be blamed.” He suddenly yawned. “Oh dear, forgive me, but I am dreadfully tired.”

“Then I’d best go home and let you get your rest.” Ruth got up.

Witherspoon rose as well. “I’ll walk you across the garden.”

“But Gerald, you’re exhausted and you’ve a very full day tomorrow,” Ruth protested.

“Nonsense, no gentleman would allow a lady to see herself home.” He took her arm and pulled her gently toward the back door, stopping just long enough to grab her cloak. As he draped it over her shoulders, she glanced back at Mrs. Jeffries and gave the housekeeper a look that plainly said she’d be back the next day to hear the rest of it.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Luty said, “Okee dokee, we ain’t got much time, tell us how you sussed it out.”

“I woke up early this morning with something Miss Ross had told the inspector running through my mind,” she replied. “Imogene Ross told him on the day of the murder she’d come to her uncle’s door and knocked because she wanted to apologize for the terrible row they’d had. But he didn’t answer. She assumed that it was because he was still angry at her, but all of a sudden I realized the answer was right under our noses all the time. He didn’t answer because he was already dead. I’m sure that’s one of the reasons that Imogene Ross figured out what had happened when she heard the inspector was asking about the bird scarer. She realized he’d been lying in his room dead as well.”

“We should have known.” Luty shook her head. “Everyone said that Humphreys liked tellin’ his family what to do and makin’ ’em dance to his tune. Men like that, they don’t miss a chance to make you kowtow and humble yourself. If he’d been alive, he’d have answered that door and let her say how sorry she was.”

“Which is precisely what Miss Ross was prepared to do when she went to his room to apologize,” Hatchet finished. “I say, Mrs. Jeffries, it was very clever of you to figure it out.”

“Not really, the clue was there all along and I don’t think I’d have ever realized the significance if Annabelle Prescott hadn’t made a fatal mistake.”

“What was that?” Wiggins asked. “I mean, other than tryin’ to murder half her cousins.”

“She sacked Rachel, the upstairs maid,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “If she’d left the girl alone, she might have gotten away with multiple murders.”

“But Rachel was sacked because she was lazy,” Betsy reminded them. “Even Agnes said that was the reason.”

“I don’t see the connection.” Mrs. Goodge stared at the housekeeper over the rim of her spectacles, which had slid down her nose.

“I’m not explaining it very well, but something Wiggins pointed out kept running through my mind,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “He reminded us that a death in the family causes the household a huge amount of extra work. No one in their right mind would fire a housemaid right at that moment in time. I couldn’t get that notion out of my mind, and once I started thinking about it everything suddenly made sense. Rachel was the upstairs maid. She told us she’d seen Mrs. Prescott taking something up to the attic on the day of the murder but more importantly, she mentioned that Mrs. Prescott sent her down to clean the drawing room right after the murder. That in and of itself was odd; there were still guests in the house so cleaning up after a tea that hadn’t actually happened shouldn’t have been anyone’s priority. So I asked myself, why did Annabelle Prescott send the girl downstairs when she still had guests, and suddenly the answer was very simple: Rachel was cleaning something on the top floor landing.” She paused to take a breath. “In most houses, that landing is the last one before the attic. Once I realized that fact, I understood that Rachel was sent downstairs so that Annabelle Prescott could get to the attic without being seen. She had to dismantle the cylinders from the bird scarer so that the police wouldn’t understand how it had been used to fool everyone.”

Wiggins frowned in confusion. He thought he understood what had happened, but he wasn’t sure. “So Annabelle Prescott rigged up this bird scarer to fire a cylinder of some sort right when everyone was havin’ tea, right?”

“That’s right,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “But the real murder took place at 3:09 when the express train to Bristol went past. Tommy Parker told me that the whistle blast was particularly loud that day, but I didn’t understand the significance until I began to put it together.”

“So what he heard was both the whistle and the real gun going off,” Hatchet murmured thoughtfully. “Sinister, but very effective.”

“Why go to all that trouble?” Luty muttered. “Why not just wait till the old feller was out taking a walk and shoot him then? Why have a houseful of guests, all of which could be potential witnesses if something went wrong? And let’s face it, they don’t call the GWR “God’s wandering railway,” because the trains are always on time. She was takin’ a terrible risk. What if the 3:09 had been late?”

“It was usually not more than ten or fifteen minutes late,” Mrs. Jeffries pointed out. “I’m sure she’d simply have adjusted the time. All she cared about was making certain she had an alibi for the time of the murder. It made no difference to her whether he died at 3:09 or 3:15. All she had to do was step into his room, point the gun at his forehead, and shoot. If you’ll recall, Constable Barnes noticed the wound didn’t look right when he first saw it, but he couldn’t determine what made it appear unusual. Now we know it was because the wound wasn’t, er, well, how shall I put it . . . freshly made. She was actually quite lucky the blood hadn’t dried around the hole.”

“It was raining and wet that day,” Hatchet said. “Nothing dries in that sort of weather.”

“All in all, she was bloomin’ lucky.” Wiggins yawned. “But why did you want me to look at the coal box? What’s that got to do with the murder?”

Mrs. Jeffries smiled wryly. “I’m not certain about how she managed this part, but my guess is that she used the coal box to get rid of the gun. Annabelle Prescott is a very clever woman. She knew that if she committed the murder while the house was full of guests, that it was likely the police would be called straightaway and she’d not have time to get the weapon she used off the premises before the house was searched. So she used the coal box. She’d been acting as the mistress of the house for two years, so she knew when the coal was delivered and, more importantly, that several boxloads were then taken down to Pamela Humphreys’ house.” She leaned forward. “She committed the murder at 3:09 and then slipped out to the garden when Johnny Cooper was busy elsewhere or in the kitchen having a cup of tea. She put the gun in the coal box and then probably watched while he trundled it down the shortcut to Linton Road.”

“And no one would ever know because it’s at the bottom of the coal cellar,” Betsy added excitedly. “So even if it was found, it would be Pamela Humphreys who would take the blame for the murder. She had a motive and it’s her house.”

“Correct.” Mrs. Jeffries sank back in her chair. “My guess is Annabelle didn’t think the weapon would be found. As a matter of fact, I imagine if we check with Mrs. Eames, we’d find that it was Annabelle who gave her instructions that Johnny Cooper “should go about his business” and take the second load down to Mrs. Humphreys’ house after the murder. That was just a bit of insurance.”

“Because the second load would go in on top of the first one and would probably hide the gun.” Luty nodded enthusiastically as she saw it all in her mind’s eye. “Nells bells, it might take years before the gun was dug out. Even if it was found later, the police could never say for certain how long it had been down there and if they managed to connect it to Francis’ murder, they’d be looking at Pamela, not Annabelle.”

“Which was precisely what she intended all along,” Mrs. Jeffries said.

“What a diabolical woman.” Hatchet pursed his lips.

“Evil cow,” Betsy muttered. She glanced at Smythe. “Are you alright? Are you in pain? Maybe you ought to go up and lie down.”

“I’m fine, love,” he assured her, though the wound hurt like the devil. “I want to hear the rest of it and then I’ll go up and rest.”

“You know most of it,” Mrs. Jeffries said quickly. “Annabelle Prescott’s motive was simple. She didn’t want her uncle selling all his assets to buy into an enterprise that might not be successful.”

“And apparently Mrs. Prescott was of the opinion that her uncle investing in a Trans Andean Railroad was so risky that she was prepared to kill to keep him from doing it,” Hatchet said quietly.

“She put her plan into action after she found out that Francis had gone to see both his solicitor and his banker,” Mrs. Jeffries reminded them. “She wasn’t about to let him fritter away a fortune she felt was partially hers.”

“I wonder what ’appened to Joseph Humphreys’ gun?” Wiggins asked as he reached for his tea.