Mrs. Jeffries Delivers the Goods

by Emily Brightwell

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions or anticipate the worst. Louise Mannion is only a threat to Elise Cory and James Pierce. We don’t know that Phyllis is in any danger.”

  But she knew as soon as she said the words that they were wrong. She’d miscalculated and now an innocent young woman might find herself in harm’s way. “Oh dear Lord, go and bring her back, Wiggins. Hurry, I’ll never forgive myself if anything happens to her.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Phyllis stood on the corner, far enough away from the Mannion house not to be noticed but close enough so that she could see it clearly. A telegraph boy stood on the door stoop; he’d just handed a housemaid a telegram. The door closed and the lad turned and hurried off.

  She wondered if she ought to wait a few moments before going ahead with their plan. Telegrams often brought news, sometimes good, sometimes bad, and for their idea to work, the household servants should be doing their normal routines. But telegrams were so common these days that it probably wasn’t anything important. Besides, she told herself, you don’t have all day. Get it done so you can get back in time for the meeting. She crossed the road, moving slowly and keeping her spine ramrod straight. You’re a private inquiry agent, she told herself, and you’re investigating a terrible crime. In one sense, it was true she was sort of a private detective, only she didn’t get paid for it. Not yet anyway. But one day she would. She could see it now: She’d have her own office and dozens and dozens of clients lining up for her services. Her confidence soared as the image of a sign reading PHYLLIS THOMPSON, PRIVATE AND DISCREET INQUIRIES popped into her head.

  She was now opposite the walkway. But she didn’t want to let go of her fantasy, so she took a few moments to let the images drift through her mind. Her office would be lovely, with a huge rosewood desk and original paintings done by grateful clients on the walls. Her secretary, a woman, would be in the outer reception office, typing up reports and invoices and making tea for distraught women seeking to find missing children. Oh, she could see it now. She’d be doing good for the world as well as making money. The clatter of horses’ hooves shattered her reverie as a hansom came racing around the corner. She started to step off the pavement but stopped when the cab pulled up in front of the Mannion house. She moved back against the trunk of a tree. Phyllis jumped in surprise as several loud bangs blasted the quiet street.

  Then the screaming started.

  Someone grabbed her arm and jerked her behind the trunk. “It’s the inspector and Constable Barnes,” Wiggins hissed in her ear.

  Then everything began to happen at once. The front door of the house and the door of the cab opened simultaneously. Inspector Witherspoon and Constable Barnes poured out of the cab just as a housemaid ran out the front door. “Help, help,” she screamed as two policemen charged up the walkway. “She’s shot Mrs. Tingley!” The girl pointed to the house. “Hurry, hurry, she’s shot Mrs. Tingley!”

  Barnes and Witherspoon ran into the house.

  “That’s Marie,” Phyllis whispered. “Let’s see if we can find out what happened.” She started to move, but Wiggins jerked her back. “Don’t be daft. We can’t be seen here.”

  Marie screamed again as Louise Mannion came up the servants’ steps, shoved the housemaid out of her way, and then walked calmly to the cab. The driver stared at her, his expression confused, but she gave him a sweet smile and said, “Liverpool Street Station.” She stepped inside and closed the door. Wiggins and Phyllis watched in horror as the cab pulled away.

  “You get back to the house and tell ’em what’s going on,” Wiggins said. “I’ll see if I can suss out what’s ’appened ’ere.”

  “Be careful,” she warned.

  “I will,” he promised. She sounded calm but he could see the panic in her eyes. He didn’t like sending her off on her own, but he had no choice. “But you hurry now, get right to the house as fast as you can.”

  As soon as she was out of sight, he turned his attention to Marie Parker. She’d wandered out onto the pavement, her expression one of stunned surprise. Wiggins knew he was taking a risk, but he needed to know what happened. Stepping out from the shelter of the tree, he crossed the road, silently praying that the inspector would be occupied inside.

  “Excuse me, miss.” He kept his voice low and soft. “You look like you’ve had a fright. Are you alright?”

  She looked at him. “Oh dear, yes, I’m fine. Oh my Lord, it’s been awful, she shot Mrs. Tingley. The police are here, I don’t know why they came, but thank goodness they did. Poor Mrs. Tingley wasn’t doing anything, she simply wanted to show Mrs. Mannion the serviette, the one I found in the umbrella stand. But Mrs. Mannion was upset. It was the telegram, you see. She’d been looking forward to going to the director’s luncheon tomorrow, she’d bought a new dress and everything, then she got the telegram saying it was canceled and that Mr. Pierce was going to Scotland with someone else.”

  Wiggins cast a quick look at the front door of the house and saw that it was partially open but no one was coming outside. That was good. “Who is Mr. Pierce?”

  “The man Mrs. Mannion is sweet on. Mrs. Porter, she’s the cook, told Beulah, she’s the scullery maid, that Mrs. Mannion set her cap for Mr. Pierce years ago, but he married someone else.” She giggled. “I shouldn’t be saying all this to you, you’re a complete stranger, but you’ve the kindest face. I’m a bit light-headed.” She took several deep breaths. “Don’t look so worried, I’m fine now.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Inside the house, Barnes found a housemaid that wasn’t hysterical and sent her off to fetch a doctor. “You there”—he pointed at another maid, who was gaping at the wounded housekeeper—“bring me some clean linens.” She just stood there. “Get me some clean linen before your housekeeper bleeds to death,” he yelled.

  She jumped, shocked into action by the harshness of his voice. “Yes, sir.”

  Witherspoon knelt down next to the housekeeper. She was propped against the drawing room door. The top of her black bombazine dress was soaked with blood. “Don’t move, ma’am,” Witherspoon instructed. “Constable Barnes has sent someone for a doctor. He’ll be here any moment.”

  “I’m not dying, Inspector, Mrs. Mannion is a dreadful shot. She fired three times before she actually hit me.” Mrs. Tingley smiled slightly. Her topknot was askew and her legs splayed out. “The bullet went through my shoulder. There’s a lot of blood but I don’t think this is fatal.”

  “What happened, ma’am?” Barnes asked as he knelt down on the other side of her.

  “Mrs. Mannion shot me.” She shook her head in disbelief. “I showed her the serviette and I told her I was going to have it laundered. I started to take it downstairs to the basket, when I heard her say, ‘Give it to me now.’ I thought she didn’t understand what I’d just said. You see, the serviette has been missing since the day she had tea with Mr. Bremmer and she’s been haranguing the household to find it ever since. I turned to her and I said, ‘But you’ll not want this, ma’am, it’s filthy. I’ll just have it properly cleaned. It’ll be fine, ma’am, it’s not ruined. I’ll take it to the laundry basket.’ I saw her lift her arm and then I realized she was holding Mr. Mannion’s revolver. He kept it in his study. I didn’t even know it was still in the house. I couldn’t believe my eyes. She shot me.”

  “She shot you over a serviette?” Witherspoon asked.

  Mrs. Tingley shook her head and the movement sent another spurt of blood out of her wound and onto the front of her dress.

  “Where’s those linens?” Barnes bellowed.

  “Here, sir, here, sir,” the maid cried as she ran into the room with an armload of white towels, stumbling as she reached the three of them.

  The constable snatched one and placed it directly against the open wound. “I’m going to press down now and it’ll hurt, but we’ve got to try and stop the ble
eding.”

  “Go ahead,” she whispered.

  “Mrs. Tingley, why would Mrs. Mannion shoot you over a serviette?” Witherspoon really didn’t understand.

  “It weren’t just the serviette, sir,” the maid said. “She got upset when she saw the telegram that come.”

  “What telegram?” Barnes demanded.

  “The one that come a few minutes before she started shooting.” She got to her feet. “She took it into the study. I’ll see if it’s there.”

  She disappeared down the hall and returned a few seconds later holding the telegram. “Should I give it to him?” She pointed at Witherspoon.

  “Thank you.” The inspector grabbed the paper, read it, and then read it again. He looked at the constable. “It’s from James Pierce. I’ll read it to you.”

  Must cancel our luncheon for tomorrow.

  Elise and I are going to Scotland tonight.

  We’re finally getting our chance.

  “Where’s the serviette now?” Witherspoon glanced around the room, but didn’t see it.

  “She took it with her,” the maid said. “I saw her stuff it into her coat pocket. She put the gun there, too.”

  “Coat pocket? What does that mean?” Witherspoon looked at Mrs. Tingley. “Where is Mrs. Mannion now?”

  “She’s gone.” Marie Parker stepped into the room. “She got into the cab and told the driver to take her to Liverpool Street Station.”

  “Liverpool Street Station,” the inspector repeated. “Gracious, she’s making a run for it.”

  Mrs. Tingley closed her eyes and moaned softly.

  “Where’s that ruddy doctor?” Barnes eased up on the pressure and was relieved when the wound didn’t immediately spurt more blood.

  They heard a commotion at the door as two constables followed by a man carrying a medical bag hurried into the room.

  Mrs. Tingley opened her eyes and looked directly at Witherspoon. “She said something right after she shot me. She said, ‘I’m not letting her have what’s mine. Not this time.’”

  “She’s not making a run for it,” Witherspoon said as Barnes got to his feet to make room for the doctor. “She’s going to James Pierce’s office.”

  * * *

  • • •

  The others were all there when Phyllis raced into the kitchen. “Louise Mannion just shot her housekeeper,” she announced. “Wiggins is still there and he’s going to try and find out what happened.”

  There was a stunned silence. Ruth, who was closest to Phyllis, saw that her face was pale and her lips trembled. She got up and put her arm around Phyllis’ shoulder. “Sit down and tell us what happened.”

  “I need a cup of tea.” Phyllis felt tears flood her eyes and she blinked hard to keep them back. “It was a bit shocking, hearing those gunshots.”

  “You need a drink,” Luty said. “People shootin’ each other ain’t ever nice and it ain’t ever something anyone needs to get used to hearin’. Whatever happened will keep a few minutes; you knock back some of Mrs. Jeffries’ nice brandy and then you can tell us what’s what.”

  Mrs. Jeffries had already gone to the sideboard and pulled out the bottle she kept in the bottom drawer. She grabbed a glass out of the top cupboard and poured a healthy shot. “Drink this,” she ordered as she handed it to Phyllis.

  Just then, they heard the back door open and a lanky, dark-haired lad raced into the kitchen. He skidded to a halt, his gaze fastened on Luty. “Sorry, ma’am, I didn’t mean to come bursting in without so much as a by-your-leave, but you told me to get here lickety-split if Mrs. Cory did something and she did.”

  “Come on in, Jon.” Luty motioned him closer. “You know everyone here, so let’s not waste time; things are heatin’ up. What happened?”

  “I was standin’ watch, just like you told me, and then a housemaid came out and went down the road. She brought back a hansom cab, told him to wait, and then went back inside. A few minutes later, the maid and another lady—I’m sure it was Mrs. Cory because you said she was supposed to be real pretty and this lady was one of the prettiest I’ve ever seen—came out. The maid was carrying a carpetbag. Mrs. Cory got into the cab and the maid told the driver to take her to Liverpool Street Station.”

  “Why Liverpool Street Station?” Ruth murmured.

  “She’s going to see James Pierce,” Mrs. Jeffries explained. “The Pierce and Son business is just across the road from the station. If my suspicions are correct, I think the two of them are going to elope to Scotland. From Liverpool Street they can take a local train to Euston and get the night coach to Glasgow.”

  “I’m better now.” Phyllis smiled self-consciously and put her glass down. She told them exactly what had happened at the Mannion house. “I wanted to talk with Marie, to find out what happened inside the house, but Wiggins said I needed to let everyone know about the shooting and that he’d try to have a word with Constable Barnes and then he’d come home.”

  “I wonder why the inspector and Constable Barnes showed up?” Betsy asked.

  Mrs. Jeffries thought about it for a moment and then she shook her head. “I expect we’ll have to wait until Wiggins gets here.”

  “Should Smythe and I go to the Pierce office?” Hatchet asked.

  “Not yet.” Mrs. Jeffries looked at the clock. “Let’s give Wiggins a few more minutes to get back.”

  “Uh, Mrs. Crookshank, can I sit down? I’ve been on my feet most of the day.” Jon looked at the empty chairs.

  “Have a seat and help yourself to some food.” She gestured at yesterday’s leftover mince tarts and the plate of bread slices.

  “Have some tea as well. We’ve plenty.” Mrs. Goodge poured him a cup as he took the vacant seat next to his mistress.

  “We might as well finish our meeting,” Mrs. Jeffries announced. She looked at Smythe. “Did you have any luck?”

  She’d asked both Smythe and Hatchet to find out the same piece of information.

  “Sorry, I tried a couple of sources but couldn’t find it out.” He cast a quick, worried frown at the clock. “What’s takin’ Wiggins so long?”

  “He’ll be here soon, I’m sure,” Mrs. Jeffries said quickly. “Hatchet?”

  “Sorry, none of my sources knew, either.”

  “Why is it so important to know who was with Leonard Lyndhurst when he died?” Ruth asked.

  “Because Mrs. Jeffries thinks that Louise murdered him.” Betsy looked at the housekeeper. “Don’t you?”

  “I do, I think she tried to kill him when he almost drowned,” she said.

  “But she was just a child herself,” Ruth exclaimed. “Leonard was older than she was and he was, what, twelve or thirteen when he almost died . . .” Her voice trailed off as they heard a knock on the back door.

  Betsy leapt up and ran to the back door. “Davey, what are you doing here?”

  “Wiggins sent me, Miss Betsy.” Davey’s thin, reedy voice could be heard in the kitchen.

  “Come along, then.” Betsy ushered him in.

  Davey was now about ten or possibly eleven years old. He was a street lad who hung around the local railway stations picking up a few coins carrying packages for shoppers or taking messages to and fro. He’d liked coming to the Witherspoon household; they always gave him something to eat. Today was no exception and his thin face lighted up as he saw Mrs. Goodge loading a plate with mince tarts and brown bread. Even better, if he didn’t eat everything they put in front of him, they wrapped it up so he could take it home for his sister’s supper.

  “Come in and have a quick bite to eat, Davey.” The cook pointed to a spot next to Jon. “Lads your age are always hungry.”

  “Ta, Mrs. Goodge.” Davey pulled out the chair and sat down.

  “But before you eat, why don’t you give us Wiggins’ message?”

  He surveyed the faces around the tab
le and grinned, not in the least put off by being among so many adults. “Wiggins told me to say the housekeeper was shot because of the serviette and that Mrs. Mannion has gone to the Pierce office. He’s going there now and he wants Smythe and Hatchet to come as well, but he told me to tell ’em to be very careful. She’s still got her gun.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Phillip opened the door to James Pierce’s office and stuck his head inside. “Mrs. Cory is here, sir,” he announced.

  James pushed the ledger to one side, got up from his chair, and came around his desk. “You’re finally here,” he exclaimed as Elise Cory stepped into the room. “I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind.”

  “I haven’t.” She smiled and went to him, holding out her gloved hands toward him. “But are you sure? This is a big step for both of us and it’s so sudden. What will people think? James, I don’t want to do anything that might hurt your business, and you know how conservative people can be.”

  He clasped her hands and pulled her close. “Don’t be silly, you’re more important to me than anything. Neither of us will concern ourselves with what other people think. Life is too short to deny ourselves a chance at happiness.”

  Phillip cleared his throat. “Uh, excuse me, sir, but I’ll leave Mrs. Cory’s carpetbag out here behind my desk. Everyone else has gone. Are you sure you don’t want me to stay and sign in the Hansen shipment? It should be here soon.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” James laughed. “I’ll see to the Hansen shipment. Just make certain to leave the lights on downstairs. We don’t want Hansen’s driver stumbling around in the dark.”

  “The bay doors are open, too, sir,” he reminded him.

  “Good. Now you go along home and have a wonderful evening. Make sure you take the spare set of keys with you when you leave. You’ll be in charge for the next few days.”

  “Do you know when you’ll be returning, sir?”