Mrs. Jeffries and the Three Wise Women

by Emily Brightwell

  • • •

  Smythe, Wiggins, and Hatchet watched from the windows of Luty’s carriage across the street from the station. When the policemen’s four-wheeler disappeared around the corner, Hatchet thumped the ceiling and they pulled away. He’d already instructed Luty’s driver to stay far enough back to avoid being seen. “Well, let’s see if anything happens.” He shrugged. “At the very least, the arrival of the police might keep Bruce from leaving London.”

  “What time is it?” Wiggins asked.

  Hatchet pulled his pocket watch out, flipped open the cover, and said, “Half past three.”

  “If we’re lucky, the police arrivin’ will at least keep the bastard from catchin’ the five o’clock train,” Smythe muttered. “I’m not sure this is goin’ to do any good. The bloke can always catch another one.”

  “The note did say that Mrs. Bruce was in danger,” Hatchet reminded him as the carriage careened around the corner, causing all three of them to grab for a handhold. “That implies that Ted Bruce is the killer. That should get the inspector thinking. I’m sure he’ll ask some discerning questions.”

  “Only if ’e had enough time to think about it properly.” Wiggins looked unsure.

  “Don’t worry, lad, Inspector Witherspoon is no fool. He’s got twenty minutes or so to consider the evidence and he’ll come to the same conclusion as Mrs. Jeffries. I’m sure of it,” Hatchet declared.

  • • •

  “You sure about this one, Hepzibah?” Luty asked as Mrs. Jeffries paced back and forth between the back stairs and the cooker.

  She stopped and looked at the three women sitting at the table. For a moment, she was tempted to stretch the truth, to tell them that of course she was certain she was right, but as she contemplated their expressions, she realized they would only settle for the truth. “Not completely. But I think it’s the most likely solution.”

  “That’s honest.” Mrs. Goodge grinned. “But I think you’re being hard on yourself. You’ve always been right in the past.”

  “Stop doubting yourself, Hepzibah,” Luty ordered. “Come sit down and have another cup of tea. You’re wearing a hole in the floor.”

  “Or perhaps you’d like something stronger.” Ruth looked at her half-full cup. “I’ve had more than enough tea. I need something to settle my nerves. Why don’t I go across the garden and get a nice bottle of sherry or brandy.” She started to get up.

  “We’ve got one here.” Mrs. Jeffries waved her back to her seat. “But we’d best hurry, Betsy will be back soon.”

  Betsy had taken Amanda home to be looked after by her neighbor. She’d wanted the little one out of the way and safely tucked in her own bed.

  “And when she gets here, we’ll give her a glass as well,” Mrs. Goodge added. She got up and went to the sideboard. “You go sit down. I know where the brandy’s kept and we can all use a nip or two.”

  • • •

  Witherspoon climbed out first and stood on the pavement as he waited for the others.

  “Let’s hope Mr. Bruce is here to answer our questions.” Barnes came to stand next to the inspector. The constables spread out behind him. “I’ll have the lads wait out here, sir.”

  “That’s best. I don’t want the Bruce household to feel we’re an invasion force.”

  Barnes had just started up the walkway when all of a sudden the front door burst open and a housemaid stumbled out, screaming at the top of her lungs, “Help! Help! They’ve all gone crazy!”

  All four of the policemen raced to the house. Barnes reached the foyer first, with Witherspoon and the constables hot on his heels. He skidded to a halt and the inspector narrowly avoided crashing into his back.

  Smalling was sprawled against the wall, his legs splayed apart, a briefcase and papers scattered on the floor around him, and blood oozing out of his forehead. “I just wanted her to sign some papers.” He pointed down the hall. “They’ve gone insane, both of them, utterly insane.”

  The sound of a gunshot came from down the corridor. There were more screams and footsteps pounding toward them. A second later, two maids, their caps askew, raced into the foyer and out the front door. “Run for your lives!” one of them screamed as she leapt over Smalling’s feet and out the door.

  “Get him outside,” Witherspoon ordered Evans. “Send one of the maids for the fixed-point constable.” Then he and the remaining two policemen ran down the hall.

  The door of the drawing room was open and Constable Griffiths reached it first, followed by Witherspoon and Barnes. The inspector peeked inside.

  All the chairs were turned over, the tables were upturned, and the cushions from the sofas and settees were scattered everywhere.

  Another shot rang out and Witherspoon jerked back into the corridor.

  “You looking for this?” It was a woman’s voice. Her tone was taunting.

  Barnes dropped to his knees and looked. Inside, Hazel Bruce was behind an overturned love seat. She was waving a battered brown briefcase over the top of the frame.

  Witherspoon knelt beside the constable.

  “You’re not getting it.” She was looking across the room toward two overturned chairs that had been pulled together to form a barrier. “That gun only has a few more bullets left and you’re such a bad shot you’ll never hit me.” She laughed. “God, you are a fool.”

  Ted Bruce rose up and fired off another blast, hitting the mirror over the mantelpiece but coming nowhere near his wife.

  She cackled with glee. “You’re totally incompetent, aren’t you? You can’t even shoot properly.”

  He leapt up and fired again, this time hitting a ceramic vase filled with holly boughs. “You cow,” he yelled. “I’ll kill you if it’s the last thing I do.”

  “It will be the last thing you do, you stupid oaf.” She popped up and lifted the case chin high. “You’ll never get this. Did you think I didn’t know about your little hiding place, you murdering pig?”

  “I’ve done it once, I’m not scared to do it again. And your gun is out of bullets. I should have murdered you years ago.” He fired two more times, sending her diving for the floor.

  Witherspoon knew they had to do something. “Bruce has his back to the window,” he whispered. “Constable Griffiths, have you a decent aim?”

  Griffiths nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “And I should have left you when Christopher asked me to run away with him, but no, like a fool, I stayed,” she shouted. “Well, I’m the one with the briefcase now and you’ll never get it.”

  “I want you to slip outside,” Witherspoon ordered, “get to the back of the house, and find some rocks. Do it as quickly as possible and start firing them hard and fast through the window. Aim for Bruce’s back, but if he turns, stay out of his line of fire.”

  Griffiths nodded and hurried down the corridor.

  “What are we going to do, sir?” Barnes kept his voice low.

  “Once the rocks start flying, we may be able to tackle him. We can’t wait for help—he’s going to kill her,” the inspector said.

  “You’ll not have it for long.” Bruce stood up and fired again.

  “I tore up your ticket. The Tartar Prince is going to sail without you,” she crooned in a singsong voice. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “You miserable cow. God, I wish I’d never met you.” He hurled a china figurine at her. “I wish I’d killed you that night instead of him.”

  “But you didn’t, did you, and now I’ve got all the money you stole from the company and that’s not all. He left me enough to live on for the rest of my life.” She cackled, then leapt up and held the briefcase over her head for a second before disappearing. “You’ve got nothing. You’ll never get out of here. They’ll hang you for Christopher’s murder. Were you that scared of him that you had to shoot him in cold blood?”

  He leapt up and fired again. “You cow.”

  “You’re out of bullets now,” she called.

  “So are you,” he yelled. />
  “Fooled you.” She leapt up again, only this time, she was holding a revolver. “I have two and you only had one.” She squeezed off a shot as she started toward him.

  Suddenly, glass shattered and a huge rock sailed inside, startling both the Bruces. He whirled around just as another projectile crashed through the pane. Surprised, she dropped her gun.

  Witherspoon and Barnes flew across the room. The constable grabbed her in a flying tackle just as a third rock came hurling through the window, this time hitting its target. The blow sent Bruce to his knees as the inspector leapt upon his shoulders and dragged him to the floor.

  Hazel Bruce screamed, “Let me kill him! My God, let me kill him!”

  “No, ma’am.” Witherspoon stood up and looked down at Ted Bruce, who’d curled up in a ball and was groaning. “No one is going to kill anyone,” he told her. “Mr. Bruce, please get up. You’re under arrest for the murder of Christopher Gilhaney and the attempted murder of Hazel Bruce.”

  “She tried to murder me.” He glared at the inspector. “You’ve got to arrest her as well.”

  “I don’t care if they cart me off to jail.” She laughed. “I can afford to hire the best legal help in London. What’s more, if they don’t hang you, I’m going to divorce you and I won’t need my father’s help. I can do it with my own money.”

  • • •

  “Let’s not mention how many bullets was flyin’ back and forth,” Smythe warned as the three men came through the back door of Upper Edmonton Gardens. “Ruth might get upset if she knows he was standin’ so close to harm’s way.”

  “Right, it’s best if we let the inspector tell ’er that bit ’imself,” Wiggins agreed.

  “Good day, ladies,” Hatchet cried as they came into the kitchen. He beamed at Mrs. Jeffries. “Once again, you were right. Ted Bruce has been arrested.”

  Mrs. Jeffries sagged in relief. “I was ninety percent sure it was him, but there was still a bit of doubt. Come sit down and tell us everything.”

  “I’ll make fresh tea.” Phyllis got up and grabbed the kettle.

  “We can’t give you many details.” Hatchet took his spot next to Luty. “We did as you instructed. Wiggins found a street lad to take the note into the station and a few moments later the inspector and Constable Barnes appeared.”

  “They ’ad Constable Griffiths and Constable Evans with ’em,” Wiggins added.

  “Constable Evans—he’s the handsome one, isn’t he?” Phyllis put the kettle on the cooker to boil.

  The footman gave her a fast, annoyed glance. “He’s not that handsome. He’s just a regular bloke.”

  “It was a good thing ’e took ’em,” Smythe interjected quickly. “There was a bit of a dustup at the Bruce house and …” He trailed off, not sure how much he could say without revealing the truth.

  Hatchet took up the story. “Unfortunately, as you predicted, Mrs. Jeffries, Mrs. Bruce did confront her husband. It ended with overturned furniture, broken windows, and Ted Bruce being carted off in handcuffs. But what we want to know is how you figured it out.”

  Luty looked at Mrs. Goodge and the two women exchanged knowing glances. The elderly American knew he was glossing over the details for a reason. “That’s right, tell us how ya sussed it out this time.”

  Mrs. Jeffries clasped her hands together. “Well, I wasn’t sure until the inspector made it clear he thought that Mrs. Bruce was the killer. At first I agreed with him, but last night I kept waking up as bits and pieces that we had learned suddenly came together and pointed in a different direction.”

  The kettle boiled and Phyllis poured the water into the big brown teapot. “It’ll be a few more minutes before it’s ready.” She got their cups down from the cupboard over the counter.

  “One of the things that concerned me the most was the motive,” Mrs. Jeffries said.

  “You told us you thought the motive was fear,” Ruth reminded her.

  “And it was, but I was completely wrong about why the killer was afraid. Bruce wasn’t in the least bothered by what happened to Polly Wakeman, he was afraid of what Gilhaney could do to him now.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe it took me so long to understand when it was right under my nose, but instead of keeping a clear head, I let myself be distracted by the way Gilhaney acted that one night.”

  “What do you mean?” Luty demanded.

  “Gilhaney was rude and probably had prepared a script once he knew who was going to be present at the Chase home that night. He told his friend he was going to turn down Walker’s offer then he abruptly changed his mind. I think that once he thought about it, he realized he could get all those people in the same room and make them see he was the one with power now. I don’t know what he planned to do to them in the future, but it was Ted Bruce who was scared of what he could do immediately. That’s why Bruce had to kill him that night. Bruce couldn’t let him see the books. Gilhaney was brilliant; more importantly, once he saw something, he could remember it perfectly.”

  “So he killed Gilhaney to keep him from lookin’ at the ledgers?” Wiggins asked.

  “That’s correct. Remember, he only learned that morning that Gilhaney was starting the next day, Friday, and not the following Monday as he’d thought. Newton Walker hadn’t just ordered the current financial documents be available the next day, he wanted everything from the past ten years on Gilhaney’s desk when he walked in the office.”

  “You think Ted Bruce has been stickin’ his fingers in the company pie that long?” Luty nodded her thanks as Phyllis handed her a cup of tea.

  “Longer, I suspect. I think he’s been embezzling since he took over.” She took the teacup Phyllis handed to her. “I don’t know precisely how he did it and I’m not certain it matters now that he’s been arrested. What I do know is that he was the one with the real motive. Ann Holter may have hated Gilhaney, but he ruined her chances for marriage years ago. She could have killed him anytime she wanted. Leon Webster, he simply wanted to avoid the man at all costs; the same could be said of Robert Longworth and even Florence Bruce.”

  “But now that her brother has been arrested, her sister-in-law won’t have a reason to keep her in the house,” Hatchet said.

  “I think she will—remember, it was Hazel Bruce who insisted she come live with them. Her brother was ready to let her go live off the charity of a cousin,” Mrs. Jeffries explained.

  “Can you explain how you knew specifically it was him?” Phyllis took her own cup and sat down. “I want to understand it better.”

  “Of course. Let me start at the beginning.” She paused, wanting to be certain she presented the facts in the proper order. “Gilhaney coming to the firm wasn’t a secret, but everyone thought he would be starting work on Monday, November ninth, but instead, he was going to be there Friday, November sixth. Once I thought about it, I realized it was that change which caused his murder. Look at how Bruce behaved once he found out he didn’t have the weekend to either make a run for it or kill Gilhaney. He left the office after specifically telling Gordon Chase that he’d notify the clerks to bring down the old ledgers and documents. He said nothing to them because he knew he was going to murder Gilhaney that night and that was one of his mistakes. If he’d really wanted to appear innocent, he should have made them do it.”

  “That was a stupid mistake,” Betsy said. “Newton Walker was so angry when he saw the empty office, it caused a row between Chase and Bruce that the clerks remembered.”

  “That’s right,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “Bruce’s second mistake was saying he had an appointment with a Mr. Stowe, but Lloyd Ridgeway, who kept the executive appointment diaries, claimed no such appointment was listed. Then Bruce went home supposedly to pick up some papers he’d left there. But I think he went home to steal his sister’s laudanum and an empty perfume bottle from his wife’s room.”

  “Why would he do that?” Ruth asked.

  “He needed something to make his wife sleepy,” she replied.

  “So tha
t’s why you had me ask my friend about the effect.” Ruth laughed. “Of course! The Bruces watched each other like two jealous old cats. He needed her to be sound asleep. He didn’t want her knowing when he came home or what he brought with him.”

  “Right, his sister would already have been asleep—she took laudanum every night.”

  “And he dropped the perfume bottle in the front garden,” Wiggins added. He thought back to his encounter with the housemaid who’d been afraid to talk to him. “Cor blimey, guess that maid did ’elp a bit. It was Florence Bruce that found it.”

  “Bruce probably put the laudanum in his wife’s wine when the others went outside to look at the fireworks. But the most damning bit of evidence against him was his instructions to the Chase maid to be certain to get a hansom cab for his wife and sister, not a vehicle that could take all three of them home. He needed time to do the deed. I think it happened like this: He overheard Gordon Chase tell Gilhaney about the shortcut through the mews and he got there before Gilhaney did. He shot him, stole the ring and the diamond stickpin, and even took Gilhaney’s brass knuckles. Then he went home, accidentally dropping the empty perfume vial in the front garden.”

  “Another mistake,” Luty said.

  “He slipped inside and into his study, where he put the items he’d taken off the dead man inside his hiding place under his desk. Then he went up to bed and the next morning went to work as if nothing happened.” Mrs. Jeffries took a sip of her tea.

  “I’ll bet he was tickled pink when that nitwit Nivens showed up.” Luty snorted. “Nivens was probably dumb enough to tell the man the crime was a robbery, not a straight-out murder.”

  “But I’ll bet ’e was scared when our inspector showed up six weeks later.” Wiggins laughed. “What I don’t understand is if Newton Walker suspected Bruce was stealin’ from ’em, why didn’t he give him the boot? If he was payin’ Molly to spy on the Bruces, ’e must have known their marriage was a misery.”