Mrs. Jeffries in the Nick of Time (6 page)

She felt a small rush of air on her back as the door opened behind her. She knew who it was. “I’m all right, Smythe. I just came in to have a bit of a think before I went to bed.”

“You’re not all right, lass.” He came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “You’re upset about somethin’. Tell me what’s wrong? You know I’ll keep badgerin’ you till I get it out of you, so why don’t you save us both a bit of time and talk to me.”

She laughed softly and leaned back against him. “It’s really nothing,” she whispered. “But I was just wishing that I could find my sister. I’d do anything to have her at my wedding. She’s the only family I’ve got.”

“You were just a child when you saw her last, weren’t you?” He chose his words carefully, knowing full well the awful circumstances that had led to the breakup of Betsy’s small family.

“I was in my early teens. Norah was the oldest, but she was only eighteen when she married Leo and moved to Leeds. We kept in touch by letter until Mum and I got turned out of our room. I’ve not seen her since.” Betsy sighed. “Once I got settled here, I sent off letters to the last address I had for her, but she never answered. I don’t think she lives there anymore. I remember Mum getting a letter just before the baby died and we was turned out. Norah said she and Leo were thinking of immigrating either to Australia or Canada. But that’s all I can remember. Oh, I know it’s an impossible dream, but still, she’s my sister and I’d love for her to know I was all right and marrying a good man.”

He hugged her close. He’d go to any lengths to get her what she wanted. She asked so little from him and he loved her so much. She’d had it hard in life and he was determined she’d never want for anything again. But he’d not say anything yet. There was a chance that even with all his money, he’d not be able to find Norah and Leo Hanrahan in time for the wedding. “I’m glad you think I’m a good man.”

“Of course I do, silly.” She laughed. “Otherwise we’d not be getting married come October.”

 

While the inspector and his household slept, less than two miles away in an elegant Georgian townhouse in Mayfair, Inspector Nigel Nivens made his way through the crowded room to say good night to his host, Lord Reese, who was also his godfather.

“I say, Uncle Nigel, can I have a word?” a voice said from behind him.

Nivens frowned irritably and turned around, plastering a smile on his face just as he made eye contact with his nephew, Lionel Gates. “Of course, Lionel. But do be quick about it. I’m on duty early tomorrow and it’s already very late.”

“I was wondering if you could do me a favor, Uncle.” Lionel smiled broadly.

Nivens stared at him. Lionel had a round face with a red hue to his complexion, brown hair worn short and a sharp nose. He was the only son of Nivens’ sister and like his uncle, he’d joined the police force upon leaving school. He was a constable at Potter’s Bar in Y Division. At just five foot eight inches tall, he was lucky he’d joined the force when he did because now he wouldn’t be allowed in under the new height requirements. For that matter, Nivens wouldn’t be in, either. “What kind of favor?”

“There’s been a murder at Acton and the victim is a very prominent person, if you get my meaning.” Lionel’s smile faded and he contrived to look serious. “My sources tell me that three of the detectives in that division are out with flu and they are badly in need of help.”

“Have good sources, do you?” Nivens regarded his nephew thoughtfully. The young man reminded him of himself at that age. He didn’t like him very much.

“Of course.” Lionel smiled proudly. “Every officer on the force ought to have sources. That was the first thing you told me when I joined.”

“Then yours must not be too good,” Nivens said. “Otherwise you’d know the problem of staffing has already been addressed. The chief inspector sent Inspector Witherspoon and Constable Barnes over to handle the Humphreys case.”

“That’s why I’ve come to you,” Lionel exclaimed brightly. “You and Inspector Witherspoon are close colleagues and acquaintances. I was hoping you’d use your influence to let me go along and assist him.”

Nivens couldn’t believe it! He knew that Lionel was an aggressive little sod, but he didn’t think the pup would have the gall to suggest something like this. Nivens was no admirer of Witherspoon and was the only one on the force who felt the fellow’s reputation was decidedly exaggerated. But there wasn’t a constable worth his salt that wouldn’t give up a fortnight’s holiday to work with the famous Witherspoon. “I’m afraid you give me too much credit. The inspector and I are acquaintances, nothing more. I’ve no influence on the man. Furthermore, he works exclusively with Constable Barnes.”

“But if the inspector went to the chief and asked for me specifically,” Lionel spoke slowly, as though he were speaking to a half wit. “I’m sure the chief wouldn’t refuse his request.”

“You impudent young pup, you’ve been on the force for over three years now and you’ve done nothing to distinguish yourself,” Nivens snapped. “Even if Witherspoon and I were the best of friends, he’d hardly be likely to ask for your help.”

“That’s not quite true, Uncle,” Lionel said reasonably. “I am the only one in my division that knows how to use the typewriting machine.” He wasn’t offended. He’d learned early in life that persistence was more important than brains, talent, or courage. “And you’re much more than just a casual acquaintance to Inspector Witherspoon, you helped him solve his last case.” Lionel broke off and waved to an old man across the room. “I know you don’t like to brag, but I overheard you telling Mama you’d given the inspector the vital clue that led him to solve that murder of the fellow they pulled out of the Thames.”

Nivens silently cursed. That murder should have been his case, not Witherspoon’s. But he’d made one foolish mistake, and instead of having a solved homicide to his credit, he’d ended up in a situation that if Witherspoon had been a nastier person he could have taken action that might have cost Nivens his job. But Gerald Witherspoon was a decent man and hadn’t told anyone, least of all their superiors, about Nivens’ lapse in judgment.

Nivens hated being obligated to anyone, especially someone he didn’t like. He was sure Witherspoon had help in solving his cases. The man had an almost perfect record and Nivens knew that no one was that brilliant a detective. Nonetheless, he owed him. He certainly wasn’t going to repay Witherspoon by sticking him with Lionel. Ye gods, the lad was his own flesh and blood and he could barely stand the sight of him. “I did help solve that murder, but you’ll learn that you earn more respect by keeping your accomplishments quiet than by bragging about them to all and sundry. Besides, even if I could convince the inspector to ask the chief inspector to put you on the case, you’ve no guarantee Barrows would do it. Not everyone thinks Gerald Witherspoon walks on water.”

“Let me worry about that,” Lionel interrupted. “Won’t you at least speak to him? I could learn so much from an officer like him. He’s well over twenty solved homicides to his credit. I know we’re not supposed to think that such things matter, that keeping the peace in general is supposed to be reward enough, but we all know that’s not true. Real advancement comes from solving the most serious cases. In other words, from solving murders.”

Nivens had no intention of helping his nephew. “Sorry Lionel, but I really can’t see my way clear to intervening on your behalf. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s late and I’m on duty early tomorrow.”

Lionel started to argue then seemed to think the better of it. He clamped his mouth shut. “Very well, Uncle. Good night.” He turned and walked away.

Nivens’ eyes narrowed as he watched Lionel make his way across the room. It wasn’t like his nephew to give up so easily, but then again, perhaps this time he’d understood nagging or whining wasn’t going to work.

 

Everyone in the inspector’s household was up very early the next day. They wanted to get their household chores completed and be ready for their morning meeting as soon as the inspector had left the house. As was his habit, Constable Barnes had come to the house to accompany Witherspoon to the station before going on to the murder scene. But as Barnes had figured out a long time ago that the household helped in their employer’s investigations, he’d stopped in the kitchen and had a quick word with Mrs. Jeffries before going upstairs to get the inspector.

The housekeeper was extremely grateful for Barnes’ assistance. Despite her best efforts in getting the details out of Witherspoon, there was often some information that Barnes was able to add.

As soon as the two men were out of the house, Mrs. Jeffries scooped up the wooden tray with the empty breakfast dishes on them and hurried downstairs. “He’s gone,” she announced as she hurried over to the counter by the sink and put down her burden. “What time will Luty and Hatchet be here?”

“It should be any moment now.” Mrs. Goodge put a pot of fresh tea on the table. “Wiggins left to fetch them over an hour ago.”

Betsy put clean cups on the table in front of the empty chairs. “They might have already had plans.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Fred, the household’s brown and white mongrel dog, leap to his feet and charge for the back door.

“Havin’ plans wouldn’t stop either of them,” Smythe said with a laugh. He was trailing behind her with a pitcher of fresh milk. “Luty would send regrets to breakfast with the Queen rather than miss a murder.”

“You’re darned right I would,” Luty Belle Crookshank said as she swept into the kitchen. She was an elderly, white-haired American woman with a love of bright colors and more money than most banks. Today she wore a peacock blue wool cape and a matching hat draped with what looked like yards of veiling. A sable-fur muff was tucked under her arm.

A tall, white-haired man dressed in an old-fashioned frock coat and carrying a black top hat trailed behind her. “Good morning, everyone.” He put his hat on the chair and moved to help Luty with her cape.

Luty and Hatchet had become involved with the household during one of the inspector’s earliest cases. They’d lived in the same neighborhood as the murder victim and Luty had noticed the various members of the inspector’s household asking questions and snooping about. After that case had been solved, Luty had come to them with a mystery of her own, and ever since, she and Hatchet had insisted on being part of all their cases. She was rich, eccentric, and a friend to politicians, financiers, and aristocrats. She used her connections to find out information. Hatchet, who had more than a hint of mystery about his own past, had his own sources.

Wiggins came in last, followed by a bouncing Fred who kept dancing around the footman in a bid for more attention. “We ready, then?” he asked as he stroked the animal’s back before sitting down. “I made it to Luty’s and back in record time.” He was determined to do everything right and proper on this case. He’d not be shirking his duty for a pretty face.

“We were already dressed to go out.” Hatchet sniffed disapprovingly. “Madam had a meeting with her solicitors, but she sent her regrets.”

“Git off your high horse, Hatchet.” Luty snorted and sat down in the chair her butler had pulled out for her. “You know as well as I do you’d rather be here than listening to a bunch of lawyers bore us both to tears.”

“Oh dear.” Mrs. Jeffries slipped into her spot at the head of the table. “I do hope we didn’t interrupt some important business.”

Luty laughed. “Don’t be silly, Hepzibah. Nothing is more important than catching a killer.”

Luty’s lightly spoken words rang true. No matter how they’d ended up working for Gerald Witherspoon, all of them had been greatly changed by their experiences. What had started out as an alternative to the daily boredom of their ordinary chores and obligations had become a higher calling for each and every one of them. They weren’t just alleviating the dullness of making beds, cooking meals, driving carriages, polishing brass, or meeting with solicitors—they had been called to work for justice.

“Well spoken, Luty,” Mrs. Goodge said softly. Of all of them, she’d been the most changed. When she’d first arrived she’d been quite bitter; no family, no friends, and sacked from her previous position because of her age. Yet even with all that had befallen her, she’d never once questioned the fairness of a social system that could turf out an old woman without so much as a by-your-leave. She’d been a hidebound old snob, secure in the knowledge that people should stay in their place and sure that everyone in Her Majesty’s prisons was guilty as sin. Then they’d started solving murders and that had shifted her world completely. In the twilight of her life, she’d learned that change was a good thing, everyone deserved justice, and a system that rewarded people solely on the basis of birth was ridiculous. She wasn’t out to join any of those silly radical societies that were always having marches and demonstrations—she was too old for that—but she did send a bit of money from her quarterly wages to the London Society for Women’s Suffrage. “Now let’s get this meetin’ started, I’ve a lot a baking to do today to feed my sources.”

“An excellent suggestion,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “To begin with, I’ll tell what I found out from the inspector last night and from Constable Barnes this morning.”

“What about me,” Wiggins protested. “I never got to finish tellin’ what I found out from that gardener, Johnny Cooper.”

“I haven’t forgotten you,” she soothed. “But I thought that your information might make a bit more sense if we had a few more facts.”

Wiggins nodded and she continued. “Apparently, the house was full of guests when the murder happened—”

“That’ll give us lots of suspects,” Luty interrupted eagerly.

“Sorry, but I’m afraid not. The house was full but everyone except the servants were all together in the drawing room when it happened. They were waiting for Francis Humphreys to come downstairs and join them.”

“Well, nells bells,” Luty muttered.