Mrs. Jeffries and the Three Wise Women

by Emily Brightwell

  Woodford crossed his arms over his chest and tried to scowl, but he ruined the effect by the tears pooling in his eyes. “He was my best friend in the world and when you come up the ’ard way, like we did, friends are important. They take the place of family. Chris didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

  “Nobody deserves it, sir, and I promise you, we’ll do our best to catch whoever took his life.”

  “I want his killer to hang.” He took a deep, ragged breath. “Right, then, let’s go to the back. I’ve a lot to say. There’s an office there and we’ll not be disturbed.”

  • • •

  Betsy, with Amanda in tow, was the first to arrive for their afternoon meeting. Mrs. Goodge eyed her warily as she set a plate of scones next to the teapot. Betsy and Smythe had both seemed a bit annoyed at the way she, Luty, and Ruth had ganged up on them the previous day, and this morning they’d both been quiet. Smythe had waved good-bye when he left, but Betsy had stomped off in a sulk. The cook hoped the lass had forgiven her; she’d hate there to be bad feelings between them.

  But Betsy gave her a sunny smile as she wheeled Amanda’s pram into the kitchen. “Hurry up and sit down, Mrs. Goodge. Amanda wants a cuddle and if you’re not careful, Luty will get here and snatch her up. I’ll finish getting the tea ready.”

  The cook was so relieved she almost cried. “Thank you, Betsy.” She plopped into her chair and held out her arms. Amanda laughed in delight as Betsy pulled her out of the contraption and put her on her godmother’s lap.

  Within a few minutes, the others arrived and took their places. Mrs. Goodge glanced at Hatchet. He was harder to read, but this afternoon, he looked happy enough. It was Luty who was glaring at her. “You ain’t goin’ to keep hoggin’ the little one, are ya?”

  “Of course not.” The cook laughed and patty-caked Amanda’s hands together. “You just sit down and wait your turn.”

  “She’s had her nap so she ought to be in a good mood.” Betsy pulled out her chair and sat down next to Smythe. “She’ll want hugs and playtime with both her godmothers,” she assured the elderly American.

  “We’ve a lot to cover today so let’s get to it,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “If no one objects, I’ll go first.” She paused for a brief second and then plunged straight ahead. “Dr. Bosworth stopped by today and had some very interesting information about this case.”

  “We haven’t seen him in a long time,” Betsy murmured. “Fancy him stopping in just when we’ve a case.”

  “He came because I asked for his help,” Mrs. Jeffries explained. “I went to see him after my disastrous attempt to find out something about Robert Longworth.”

  “Don’t be so ’ard on yourself,” Wiggins protested. “Sometimes we just don’t get people to chat.”

  “It happens to all of us,” Phyllis added.

  Mrs. Jeffries held up her hand. “You’re being kind, but let’s be honest here, none of us are proficient at everything. We all have our specific talents, but one of mine isn’t getting information out of shopkeepers. Now, as I was saying, I asked Dr. Bosworth for help. The doctor that did the original autopsy was so incompetent his report couldn’t even speculate as to the kind of firearm used to murder Gilhaney. Luckily for us, one of Dr. Bosworth’s colleagues, a young man who is interested in Bosworth’s theories, happened to be at the hospital morgue when the body was brought in. He measured the wounds and thinks the bullets were fired from a revolver or some other small handgun.”

  Phyllis gasped and everyone turned to look at her. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt you, Mrs. Jeffries, it’s just that I found out that one of the Bonfire Night dinner guests owns a gun. From the way it was described to me, I thought it was a derringer, but it could just as easily be a revolver. But I’ll wait my turn to tell you the rest.”

  “No, go ahead, I’m finished.”

  “Well, as I said, I found out that one of the dinner guests owns what is possibly a revolver, but that wasn’t the most important bit I heard today.” Phyllis told them about her encounter with Jamie, the street lad. She left nothing out and took care to repeat his words accurately. “Poor little mite was terrified.” She reached for her tea. “He was certain she was going to kill him.”

  “Now, that’s a woman with lots of troubles.” Luty shook her head. “Dancin’ around with a fancy dress and threatenin’ to shoot a little boy.”

  “Did Jamie say what color the dress was?” Betsy asked.

  “What difference does the color make?” Wiggins stared at her incredulously.

  The women ignored him. “I asked him and he thinks it might have been white, but the light was so dim, it could easily have been a pale pink or blue.”

  “Then it was probably a wedding dress,” Mrs. Goodge guessed.

  “Well, what difference does that make?” the footman complained. “I mean, oh, what am I not seein’ ’ere that you women do?”

  “If it was a wedding dress, but she’s not married, it means that something may have happened to her fiancé,” Phyllis explained. “And that might explain her animosity to Gilhaney. Perhaps he did something and she blamed him.”

  Mrs. Jeffries started to tell them that they mustn’t let their imaginations run wild, that speculation at this point was dangerous, but she caught herself. Perhaps in this specific instance, it wasn’t as risky as in their previous investigations. Perhaps a bit of imagination was exactly what they needed to get this case solved. “If she was once engaged, it’s worth finding out who was the fiancé and what happened to their wedding plans.”

  “Let me handle that,” Hatchet volunteered.

  Ruth looked at him. “Are you sure? I’ve some resources that I can tap …”

  “I’m sure you do”—he interrupted with a broad grin—“but I’ve friends that I’ve not seen and as Madam pointed out yesterday, they have far-reaching resources as well.”

  Luty poked him in the ribs. “They’ve helped us before and they know how to hold their tongues.”

  “They do. What’s more, I think I’ve hurt their feelings by not consulting them on the last few cases.”

  “Then I’ll leave it to you,” Ruth said. “But do let me know if you need my assistance.”

  “I will,” he promised. “If it’s all the same to everyone, I’d like to go next. I’ve not much to report, but I did find out that Gordon Chase left his house on the night Gilhaney was killed.”

  “How’d you find that out?” Luty demanded.

  “It was easy, madam. With skill and intelligence, one can find out simple things such as where the suspects might have been on the night in question.” Hatchet would die before he’d admit he’d gotten his information by bribing Mr. Wicket. “But how I learned the information isn’t relevant. What’s important is that Gordon Chase left his home as soon as his wife went up to bed. The butler was helping to clear up, so he was still there when Chase returned. He said it was close to eleven o’clock when Chase returned and that he was very disheveled.”

  “Now, that’s very interesting,” Mrs. Jeffries commented. “The inspector and Constable Barnes both implied neither of the Chases had left the house that night.”

  “But do we know if they asked ’em?” Smythe said. “’Cause to me it sounds like they either didn’t ask or they haven’t taken statements from the household servants.”

  “Good point.” Mrs. Goodge glanced at Luty. “I suppose you want your turn.”

  Amanda, who saw that she was now the center of attention, pumped her little arms and giggled in delight.

  “Sure do.” She grinned as Hatchet got to his feet, scooped the toddler into his arms, and deposited her safely in Luty’s lap. When he sat back down, he angled his body so he could catch her if she squirmed out of her godmother’s grasp.

  “This evening, I’ll make it a point to bring up the Chase servants,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “For all we know, Gordon Chase and Gilhaney might have known each other.”

  “But he didn’t insult either of the Chases,” Betsy point
ed out.

  “That doesn’t mean that one of them didn’t have a reason to murder him,” Ruth said. “We need to know who doesn’t have an alibi. If Mr. Chase was out and the servants were cleaning the kitchen and dining room, even Abigail Chase could have gone out without anyone being the wiser.”

  “I’ll drop a hint or two about them when I speak with the inspector tonight.” Mrs. Jeffries looked at the clock. “Oh dear, it’s getting late.”

  “I’ve more to report,” Ruth said. She told them about her meeting with Marion Tavistock. “She loathes Hazel Bruce,” she finished, “so I’m not sure if we can believe her when she claims Mrs. Bruce has been unfaithful to her marriage vows.”

  “Who was the man? Did she say?” Mrs. Jeffries asked.

  “No, we were interrupted. But I’m going to do my best to find out. I’ve some sources I can see tomorrow.”

  “What I think is interestin’ is the fact that she’s accused Walker’s company of doin’ shoddy work.” Luty cuddled Amanda and rocked from side to side. “That goes along with what I heard from Nelson Biddlington. Like I said yesterday, the gossip he heard about Walker’s was that they was losin’ money and no one knows why. But maybe it is part and parcel of them doin’ shoddy work. I’ll look into that. If it’s all the same to everyone, I’ll go next. I had morning coffee with Henrietta Parry today.”

  “So that’s where you slunk off to right after breakfast,” Hatchet charged. “You took Nicholas with you, didn’t you?” Nicholas was just a lad, but he was street smart and resourceful and he adored Luty. He could be trusted to keep an eye on the elderly American and summon help if she got into difficulties.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, it was broad daylight and I was in the carriage. Henrietta’s a gossip, but I don’t think she’ll shoot me. Now, as I was sayin’, Henrietta has her nose in everyone’s business—it’s one of the reasons she’s about as welcome in most homes as a case of shingles. But I like the woman, she’s just lonely and likes to talk …”

  “Yes, yes, madam, do get on with it,” Hatchet said impatiently.

  “Anyway, when I mentioned Leon Webster and Webster’s Metals, I pretended I was thinkin’ about investin’ in ’em, and Henrietta just about split her corset to tell me the dirt on them. Turns out the reason they were so nervous when Gilhaney got killed was because years ago Gilhaney was the one who found out Leon Webster was embezzling money from his family’s business. Leon likes to gamble.”

  “How long ago was this?” Mrs. Jeffries asked.

  “About eight years or so. The family swept it under the rug and put Leon in a position where he didn’t have access to the company money. Gilhaney left London and went to Manchester to work, but he knew the truth about what had happened. That’s all I found out.”

  “I’ll go next,” Wiggins offered. “Mine won’t take long. I followed two housemaids from the Chase house today and I picked the one that didn’t know much of anything.” He told them everything he’d found out from Peggy Newley. “It’s not much, but it was the best I could do today. I’m hoping for better luck tomorrow.”

  “I wonder why Theodore Bruce insisted on a hansom cab.” Phyllis reached for a scone. “It sounds as if the poor girl was out in the cold for ages.”

  Wiggins shrugged. “He probably didn’t want to be near his wife; it sounds like they don’t like each other.”

  “They hate one another,” Betsy confirmed. “That’s what my source said.” She repeated what she’d learned from Flora Benning, taking her time and making sure she didn’t leave out any details.

  “Blast a Spaniard,” Smythe complained. “You’ve stolen my thunder, woman. That was what I found out. Well, that’s not all, but it was a big part of it.” He repeated the only information Blimpey had given him, taking his time and stretching it out so it sounded better than it was. “The only other bit I ’eard was that Gilhaney surprised all his friends in Manchester when he accepted Newton Walker’s offer. He told a colleague that he was going to flat-out turn it down, that he’d had two other offers that paid more and that he didn’t like Walker. Then all of a sudden, something made him change his mind and the next thing everyone in Manchester knew, Gilhaney had up and come to London.”

  • • •

  Witherspoon was exhausted when he came home. Mrs. Jeffries hung up his coat and bowler and then ushered him into his study. “Do sit down, sir. You look as if you’re dead on your feet.”

  “It has been a tiring day, Mrs. Jeffries, but we’re making progress.” He smiled gratefully as she handed him a sherry.

  “Now, do tell me, sir. You know how I love hearing all the details of your day. Start at the very beginning, sir, there’s no hurry for dinner. Mrs. Goodge has made you a lovely pork roast, but she’s only just taken it out of the oven and she likes it to sit for a good while before she carves.”

  “With roasted vegetables?” he asked eagerly.

  “Of course, sir. Mrs. Goodge always makes your favorites when you’re working on a difficult case.”

  “I’m a lucky man, Mrs. Jeffries, my people take excellent care of me.” He took a sip. “As you requested, I’ll start from the beginning. Before we went to Walker and Company, we had a good look through Gilhaney’s things. We found two rings in one of the cases, the ones his landlady had told us about. One was very ornate, while the other was a delicate, pale green stone. I sent one of the constables to the jeweler’s down the road from the station to find out exactly what kind of stones they might be, but as we didn’t get back to the station this afternoon, I won’t know until tomorrow. But we did find some very interesting things in his strongbox.” He told her about the books, the newspaper clipping, and the correspondence.

  She listened carefully, making certain that nothing escaped her. “Do you think there is a connection between the newspaper clipping and Gilhaney’s changing professions?”

  “Indeed there is.” He smiled approvingly. “But I’ll hold that tidbit back until I get to the end of my day. Oh, and we did find the name of a solicitor in Gilhaney’s correspondence with the Manchester Institute of Chartered Accountants.”

  “Do you think he might be Gilhaney’s solicitor? Someone who would know if he had a will?”

  “We’re hoping so. We sent off a telegram to the firm and we should hear back tomorrow. Unfortunately, there wasn’t time to read through all the correspondence as carefully as I’d like. I wanted to get to Walker and Company and have another go at questioning them.”

  Again, she listened closely, hoping that she could recall what he said long enough tonight to write some of it down. When he mentioned Gordon Chase, she interrupted. “I’m so glad you mentioned him, sir. I’d quite forgotten about him.” She was taking a risk here, but she felt she had no choice. There was so much information to pass along to Constable Barnes tomorrow, she had to try to get some of what they’d learned to the inspector on her own. Barnes did his best and usually could be counted upon to come up with “an informant” or “a recollection” when he was sharing the bits and pieces they’d found out with Witherspoon. But it wasn’t fair to expect him to do it all on his own.

  “What about him?”

  “Mrs. Holcroft thought she saw him on Bonfire Night”—she smiled self-consciously—“I happened to run into her right as she was on her way to the station. She was taking the train to the continent to join her son; he lives in Italy somewhere. But I digress. She was sure she saw Gordon Chase walking along the Chelsea Embankment on Bonfire Night. She used to work a few doors down from the Chase home so she knew him by sight.”

  “How did his name come up?”

  She was ready for that one. “Oh, Inspector, you know how proud we all are of you—I’m afraid I was being a bit of a braggart and as we were chatting I said you’d been given this difficult case because no one else could solve it, and apparently, I mentioned Mr. Chase’s name. I’m sorry, I know it was indiscreet of me, but I said nothing more than what had been reported in the press.” This was a bold-faced
lie—she’d no idea what the original press reports had said or whose name had been printed.

  He beamed. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Jeffries, I’m sure you said nothing untoward. Mrs. Holcroft was certain it was Gordon Chase she saw?”

  “She was, sir. I should have taken down her address in Italy, in case you needed confirmation.”

  “That’s alright, we’ll have a word with the Chase servants. I should have done so already.”

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt your narrative, sir. Please, go on.”

  He held up his empty glass. “Do we have time for another?”

  “Of course, sir.” She got up and refilled their glasses.

  “After we left Walker’s, we went to Clapham.”

  “That’s right”—she handed him his drink and took her seat—“one of the housemaids at his lodgings knew where one of his friends lived.”

  “Paul Woodford. We went to his home and his mother told us where he worked,” he said. “We had a word with him and, I must say, what he told us was quite amazing.”

  “Really, sir?”

  “It might explain the reason Gilhaney was so rude to everyone at the Chase dinner party. More importantly, I’m sure it has a direct bearing on his murder.”

  “My goodness, sir. Do tell. I’m all ears.”

  “Christopher Gilhaney was raised in the Fulham Workhouse. As a child, his extraordinary abilities were noted and he could have been or done anything he liked. Several of the trustees offered to take him as a ward and educate him, but he refused.”

  “Why wouldn’t he want such an opportunity?”

  “Because he’d become attached to a young girl there. Her name was Polly Wakeman and if it is possible for children to fall in love, those two did. He gave up any and every opportunity that came his way so he could stay close to her. When they came of age, they left the workhouse. She went into service and he became a carpenter’s apprentice. They were going to marry. Unfortunately, the family she worked for discovered she had a fiancé and sacked her. She had no family and no place to go. Gilhaney was living in a workmen’s dormitory, but he was desperate to keep a roof over her head until he could make other arrangements.”