Mrs. Jeffries Delivers the Goods

by Emily Brightwell

  They heard the back door open well before Luty could have reached it. “It’s about time you got here,” Luty said. “The meetin’ has started but I’m the only one who’s talked yet, so you git on in there and have some tea. You look half frozen.”

  “As usual, Madam has the last word,” Hatchet muttered.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Wiggins apologized as he slipped off his coat and hat. “Where was Luty goin’ in such a hurry?” He hung up his garments and took his seat.

  “To a dinner party. She’s meetin’ a source tonight.” Mrs. Goodge reached for the teapot and poured a cup for the footman. “At least she found out something useful today. I didn’t learn anything.”

  “Neither did I,” Smythe said. “No one in James Pierce’s neighborhood knew anything about him. He’s not lived there very long.” He’d also gone to see Blimpey but he wasn’t at the pub.

  “I didn’t find out much more than you did.” Betsy shot her husband a quick grin. “I had morning tea with Nicholas Parr’s landlady.” She told them what she’d heard from Mrs. Guthrie.

  Mrs. Goodge looked doubtful. “Why was Nicholas Parr so upset if he didn’t like Bremmer?”

  “Mrs. Guthrie thinks it was the shock of seeing someone die.”

  “That’s possible, I suppose.” The cook still didn’t look convinced. “But it seems to me that we’ll need to find out more about Nicholas Parr.”

  “You don’t like him because he doesn’t like tea,” Betsy teased.

  “I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t like tea. It’s barbaric!”

  “Can I go next?” Wiggins paused for a second, and when no one objected, he plunged ahead. He told them about meeting with Joey Finnigan. “Things are miserable for the workers. I felt sorry for poor Joey and the rest of ’em.”

  Mrs. Jeffries thought for a moment. “Wiggins, this Hilda Jackson, she said one of the champagne flutes was missing before the ball?”

  “That’s right, but Joey claimed she liked to exaggerate and make herself sound important.”

  “Nonetheless, I think you should speak to her,” Mrs. Jeffries said. She realized his comment had sparked a thought, something much like the one that had flown into her head last night and then disappeared as fast. “Find out all you can about when she noticed the flute was gone.”

  “Alright, I’ll see if I can find ’er tomorrow.”

  “The same thing happened to me today,” Phyllis murmured. “I spoke to a maid from the Mannion house today. Her name was Marie Parker and she’s miserable about her work as well.” She told them about their conversation, taking care to ensure she didn’t forget any of the details.

  When she’d finished, Mrs. Goodge shook her head in disgust. “Why is it the rich are always so tight-fisted. You’d think Louise Mannion could afford to buy a serviette instead of tormenting that poor girl.”

  “She can, but I’m not sure it’s in her character to want to,” Hatchet said. “According to my source today, Mrs. Mannion has a highly exaggerated opinion of herself and an overly developed sense that she’s entitled to anything and anyone she wants.” He told them everything he’d heard from Reginald and Myra Manley. “So, there you have it. By the way, my source also told me about Camilla Houghton-Jones being desperate for money.”

  “Good, the more confirmation, the better.” Mrs. Jeffries looked at Ruth. “Anything?”

  “No, I’m sorry; I tried my best today but no one at either of my committee meetings knew anything. But I’m having tea with an old friend tomorrow and she might know something.”

  “Excellent. Goodness, it’s getting late.” Mrs. Jeffries started to get up but then sat back down. “I’m going to see Dr. Bosworth tomorrow.”

  “But why?” Phyllis stared at her curiously. “We already know Bremmer was poisoned.”

  “I know, but there’s something bothering me, something that keeps prodding the back of my mind. I think I know what it is, but I’m not certain,” she explained. “Perhaps Dr. Bosworth can help me see it more clearly.”

  They broke up a few minutes later. Wiggins took Fred for a walk, Hatchet set off to find a hansom, and the others left to their own homes. Mrs. Jeffries went upstairs to tidy the drawing room while Phyllis and Mrs. Goodge attended to their supper.

  Mrs. Jeffries lighted the lamp by the window and tested the tabletops for dust. She looked down at her finger, saw a few specks, and decided the room could wait a day or two before it needed a good clean. Walking to the window, she loosened the curtain ties and started to pull the heavy velvet drapes shut, when she saw a hansom pull up and the inspector step out.

  She dropped the curtains, letting them fall together, and hurried into the foyer.

  “Good evening, sir.” She reached for his bowler. “We weren’t expecting you this early. Usually when you have a murder, you’re home late.”

  “It was a busy day, Mrs. Jeffries, and frankly, I didn’t think my poor brain could cope with taking another statement.”

  “You know what that means, sir,” she said cheerfully.

  “Huh, er, no . . . What does it mean?”

  “Oh, sir, now you’re teasing me. It means your ‘inner voice’ needs to have a good, long think about the case.” She meant every word. Over the years, she’d realized that though they helped with his cases, he was now quite a good detective in his own right. His skills had sharpened and his “inner voice,” or policeman’s instincts, had blossomed.

  “I certainly hope that’s true.” He laughed as he unbuttoned his overcoat, slipped it off, and then hung it on the coat tree.

  “It absolutely is true. This is your method, sir, the way you do things. It happens in every case and I, for one, am delighted it’s happening now. It means you’re getting closer to the truth. Would you like a sherry? Dinner isn’t quite ready as yet.”

  He laughed as he started down the hall. “Not to worry, I’m in no hurry to eat. Let’s have a nice glass of sherry. I’ve so much to tell you.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Mrs. Jeffries followed the inspector into his study. She closed the heavy drapes, lighted the gas lamps, and then went to the liquor cabinet and poured their drinks. Outside, the weather had worsened as a storm rolled in from the west. The windows rattled and rain splattered hard against the panes.

  “Have you had a successful day, sir?” She handed him his glass and took her own seat across from him.

  He thought for a moment before he replied. “I’m not sure. We learned a number of facts but I don’t see how any of them come together in any meaningful way.” He took a sip.

  “It’s still early days yet, sir,” she assured him. “And you generally don’t see any sort of pattern until you’ve had time to think everything through and connect it all together. Now, sir, do tell me about today.”

  “We started off by interviewing Nicholas Parr. We’d left him till last because he seemed the one person to have had the least involvement with the victim, but our assumption was wrong.”

  “In what way, sir?”

  “Let me rephrase my comment, I’m not saying it correctly. It wasn’t that Mr. Parr had any prior involvement with Bremmer, at least none that we know of as yet, but he had information.” Witherspoon took a sip and put the glass down on the table next to his chair. “He told us that Stephen Bremmer was a blackmailer.”

  “A blackmailer? If that is true, sir, it could well explain why Bremmer was poisoned.” Mrs. Jeffries thought about Mrs. Goodge’s comments after they’d heard Betsy’s report on her chat with Parr’s landlady. Perhaps the cook was right; perhaps Nicholas Parr should be examined more closely.

  “It’s true, Mrs. Jeffries. We verified it when we spoke with James Pierce. He admitted that seven years ago, Bremmer tried to blackmail him.”

  “Why didn’t Pierce tell you this before?”

  “He claims he had good reasons for keeping quiet, but I’
m getting ahead of myself.” Witherspoon wanted to take his time reciting the events of the day. His discussions with Mrs. Jeffries helped him to make sense of the information. It was folly to rush ahead with only the dramatic highlights.

  “Why don’t you start at the very beginning, sir,” she suggested. “I do love hearing all the particulars.”

  “As I said, our first stop was with Nicholas Parr.” He told her everything he could recall and then continued on with the interview with Elise Cory. The only way he could keep things straight in his mind was to go through his day in chronological order.

  Mrs. Jeffries listened carefully, but the facts and details were piling up quickly and she was afraid she’d forget something important. She started to fret and then took a deep, quiet breath. Calmer, she sipped her sherry and reminded herself that come tomorrow, they could ask Constable Barnes anything she might miss tonight.

  Witherspoon paused and took a quick sip.

  “So Mrs. Cory admitted she genuinely loathed the victim and not just because of the way he’d treated her father,” Mrs. Jeffries said.

  “That’s right, but the most shocking thing she told us was that her cousin had married James Pierce.” The inspector’s eyebrows rose. “This was the first time we’d heard this information.”

  Mrs. Jeffries went rigid. Ye gods, she thought, surely they’d not made this sort of mistake? They already knew about this. Wiggins had heard it from Ellen two days ago. She thought back to their meetings with the constable and her worst fears were realized. Both she and Mrs. Goodge had forgotten to mention it. This wouldn’t do, it wouldn’t do at all, but right now, she had to concentrate on what the inspector was saying. She’d deal with this matter later. “That is odd, sir. I wonder why it was never mentioned.”

  “Perhaps no one thought it important.” He pushed his spectacles up his nose as he thought back to the interview. “Mrs. Cory seemed to think we already knew.”

  “And this came out after she’d admitted that Bremmer tried to force her into becoming his . . . uh . . . paramour?”

  “Yes, that’s the reason she took the job with the Franklin family and left London.” He resumed his narrative, telling her about the remainder of the interview. “After we left Mrs. Cory, we were so close to the station it seemed foolish not to stop in and read the statements from the guests sitting at the table next to the victim. Mrs. Cory was sitting there as well as several members of James Pierce’s family and some of the office staff.”

  “Did you learn anything new, sir?”

  “None of them had seen or heard anything of significance when the lights went out but we found out more details about the board meeting they’d had that afternoon before the ball. Then we went to see James Pierce.” He drained his glass and started to set it down. “Do we have time for another before dinner?”

  “Of course, sir.” She went to the liquor cabinet, refilled his glass, and topped hers up.

  “What happened at Pierce and Son?” She handed him his sherry and sat down.

  Witherspoon told her about their meeting. “His reasons for keeping silent about the blackmail attempt were because Nicholas Parr refused to tell him where he’d heard it and because Bremmer was so incompetent at it that he didn’t take him seriously,” he concluded.

  “And his blackmail attempt was about seven years ago or thereabouts,” Mrs. Jeffries asked.

  “That’s what he said.” Witherspoon grimaced as another blast of wind rattled the windows.

  “Blackmail is a compelling motive for murder.” She took a sip and stared out at the rapidly darkening sky. “Bremmer may have been incompetent seven years ago, but you know the old saying: Practice makes perfect.”

  Witherspoon chuckled. “I had the same thought myself, Mrs. Jeffries.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Luty frowned as the wind slammed against the windows of John and Chloe Widdowes’ Mayfair mansion. Her hosts sat across from her on a coral and green silk striped sofa. She dragged her gaze away from the burgeoning storm and took another, fast glance around the lovely room. The walls were painted a rich cream color and hung with some beautiful paintings of landscapes and still lifes. The decorative molding along the ceiling was white and bright, and colorful rugs covered the oak parquet floor. A huge mirror hung over the white marble fireplace, which was flanked by two brass urns containing peacock and ostrich feathers.

  “Luty, you look worried. Is everything alright?” John Widdowes asked.

  She caught herself. “I’m fine, just don’t want Hatchet tyin’ himself in knots because I’m out so late. But he knows that Jon is with me and Cecil—he’s my coachman—is better at handlin’ a team of horses than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

  “Good, we want you to enjoy yourself with us,” Chloe Attwater Widdowes exclaimed.

  Luty laughed. “I intend to. Now, what is this big news you’ve been hintin’ at since I walked in your front door?”

  “You won’t believe it, but let me start by saying I had such fun tracking the woman down.” She waved her wineglass in the air. “And I’m so glad I did, because as they say in California, I hit pay dirt.” Chloe Widdowes was past the first flush of youth, but still very beautiful. Her dark brown hair was devoid of gray and her complexion unlined. Tonight she wore a formfitting teal evening dress that accentuated her still slender figure. But it was her character, not her appearance, that drew people to her. She was smart, fearless, fair, and most of all, kind.

  “How’d ya do it?” Luty asked. “More important, how’d ya know who to track down? I’ve never heard of this Mabel Philpot.”

  “Neither had I until I started asking about James Pierce,” Chloe explained. “That led me to his late wife, Nora, and then to Mabel Philpot, who was Nora’s housekeeper before she married James Pierce.”

  “But why did you think she might have something useful to say?” John stared at his wife curiously.

  “I didn’t know if she could tell us anything or not, but I thought it might be worth my while. If you’ll recall, I’ve been somewhat involved in two of the inspector’s previous cases—once as a suspect and once as a witness.”

  “As have I,” John said.

  “You were never a suspect.” His wife laughed. “I was, but that’s not my point. In both of those two cases, the roots of the crime were in the victim’s past. So I decided that the past might be a good place for me to start.”

  John looked doubtful. “But Nora Pierce wasn’t the victim. Stephen Bremmer was. Nonetheless, you obviously learned something that you think might be useful. Come on, tell us what you heard before we get called in to dinner. You know how easily I’m distracted by good food.”

  “To start, I went back to the neighborhood where Nora and her cousin lived before Elise went to America and Nora married James Pierce.” She broke off and took a quick drink of chardonnay.

  “But why them in particular? There’s half a dozen suspects in this case.” Luty thought she knew the answer to the question, but she wanted to see if her thinking was right.

  “Because the murder occurred within a few weeks of Elise Cory returning to England. All the other suspects have been here and in quite close contact with one another for years. The only circumstance that we know changed was her arrival.” Chloe smiled brightly.

  Luty was relieved, glad that her own ideas were being echoed. “I was thinkin’ along those lines myself.”

  “I don’t know that I agree.” John put his whiskey glass on the table next to him. “You’re both forgetting James Pierce. For the first time, he’s bringing in investors to Pierce and Son. That could just as easily be a factor in Bremmer’s murder.”

  Chloe didn’t look convinced. “True, that could be what triggered the murder, but I don’t think so. Now, let me tell you what I’ve found out. Elise Newcomb, as she was then, lived with her father the artist, Dounton Newcomb, i
n the house next door to the Pierce family. They all lived on Whalebone Lane in Dagenham. Nora, Elise’s cousin, lived with her parents in Greenwich but she was often at the Newcomb home. She developed an attachment to James Pierce, but from what I’ve learned, he only had eyes for Elise. Everyone, and I mean everyone, was sure that James and Elise would marry. To put it simply, they were madly in love. Then Dounton Newcomb died and Elise had to sell their home and move in with her cousin, Nora.”

  “Who also had romantic dreams about Pierce,” Luty clarified. “Nell’s bells, he must be a handsome feller to have so many women moonin’ over him.”

  Chloe laughed. “It wasn’t just those two, either; the gossip I heard was that Louise Mannion was wild about him as well. Apparently, all of her friends were taking wagers on who Pierce would end up marrying. The odds-on favorite was Louise because she had a reputation for getting anything or anyone she wanted.”

  “But he ended up not marryin’ either of ’em,” Luty said.

  “Let’s not get distracted here,” John interjected. “Tell us about Mable Philpot.”

  “I won’t bore you with the details of my finding Miss Philpot; needless to say, I found her.”

  “You can tell me the details later.” John’s eyes narrowed.

  “You just want to make sure I didn’t do anything outrageous,” Chloe charged.

  “I want to make sure you didn’t do anything dangerous,” he shot back. “But do go on. Mabel Philpot was the housekeeper, right?”

  She nodded. “Yes, and by this time, Nora’s parents had passed away and she’d been left a decent-sized inheritance as well as her home. Elise moved in with her when her father died and she began giving drawing lessons to children.”

  “Private lessons?” Luty asked.

  “That’s right. According to Mabel Philpot, it was about this time when Stephen Bremmer began to make a nuisance of himself. He’d call at the house uninvited and apparently began to pester Elise with his attentions. Mabel claims she tried to get Elise to tell James about the harassment, but she was frightened that Pierce would get angry and thrash the fellow.”