Mrs. Jeffries Delivers the Goods

by Emily Brightwell

  “True, so then I set about thinking of where he could have been poisoned. At first I thought it might have happened at his home. Anne Bremmer certainly loathed him and if, as we found out, she knew he was planning on leaving her, she’d never be presented at court.”

  “Still, that seems like a flimsy motive, doesn’t it?” Phyllis said, her expression doubtful. “Taking a human life just so she could meet the Queen?”

  “People have killed for less,” Betsy said quickly. “Why did you decide it wasn’t his wife?” she asked Mrs. Jeffries.

  “When the evidence began to point to someone else, mainly Louise Mannion. Nothing we learned about Bremmer’s movements in the days before he died indicated he’d had food or drink with any of the other suspects. But he’d gone to tea at Louise Mannion’s and she’d also been present at the board meeting.”

  “Anne Bremmer could have poisoned him at home,” Phyllis said.

  “She could have, but the inspector specifically said that Mrs. Bremmer had no idea of his movements on the day he died. If she’d poisoned him, she’d have been certain to watch him ingest it. Furthermore, it was what you found out from Marie Parker that tipped the scales toward Mrs. Mannion.”

  “The serviette?”

  “That’s right. Her obsession with it went far beyond a penny-pinching mistress making her staff pay for breaking or losing household items. When I put that together with the other things Marie told you, Louise Mannion had to be the killer.”

  “What other things?” Luty asked. “Come on, tell us in detail. I want to know what I missed and you understood.”

  “Me, too,” Phyllis added.

  “It was what Louise Mannion did when she had Bremmer to tea the day before the murder. First of all, she sent Marie downstairs to change the silver jam pot for a china one. Some people believe that arsenic tarnishes silver.”

  “Is it true?” Ruth asked.

  “I’ve no idea, it might be just an old wives’ tale. But there was a woman in my village in Yorkshire who believed it, so it was possible that Mrs. Mannion did as well. Second, she split the scones before they were served to Bremmer. Marie claimed it was because she was cheap and she didn’t want him eating all her expensive food, but I think she did it because she wanted him to eat as much as possible as quickly as possible. By spreading the cream on herself, it gave him ample time to slather them with strawberry jam and eat to his heart’s content.”

  “That’s where she put the arsenic,” Phyllis cried. “Of course, that’s why she wanted the serviette back. She used the serviette to scrape the uneaten portion of jam out of the pot. You’d not want leftover jam with arsenic in it going down to the kitchen; the servants would eat it. No one lets good food go to waste, especially when you work for a mistress who’s stingy.”

  “That’s right.” Mrs. Jeffries nodded approvingly.

  “If she scraped the jam into the serviette, why didn’t she know what had happened to it?” Hatchet asked.

  “Because Marie also told Phyllis that just before she was going to clear up the tea things, James Pierce unexpectedly arrived at the Mannion house.”

  “That’s right.” Phyllis nodded eagerly. “Marie said something like, ‘She shoved me and the serving cart out of the drawing room so she could entertain him. But the serviette wasn’t on the serving cart. Louise Mannion had it.’”

  “He’s her obsession,” Mrs. Jeffries explained. “The moment he walked through her door, she couldn’t think of anything else.”

  “But how did it get into the umbrella stand?” Betsy asked. “Aren’t they usually by the front door?”

  “I imagine she wadded the serviette up and shoved it into her pocket. Perhaps when she was seeing him out, she absentmindedly tossed it in the umbrella stand without realizing what she’d done.”

  “So the jam was Bremmer’s first dose of arsenic?” the cook asked.

  Mrs. Jeffries nodded. “That’s right. She gave him his second dose the day of the ball at the directors’ meeting.” She glanced at Betsy. “Your chat with Mrs. Guthrie, Nicholas Parr’s landlady, put me on that particular path.”

  “I don’t see how?”

  “Parr hated tea. He told Mrs. Guthrie that he’d planned on putting his cup down on a windowsill and leaving it there. But Bremmer had already put his cup down and someone, a woman, picked it up and brought it to him. I’m sure it was Louise Mannion and I’m equally certain that cup contained arsenic. Poor Mr. Parr ended up dumping his tea in a potted plant because he was scared that if he put it down, she’d do the same to him. Not poison him, of course, but bring him his cup. What’s more, she offered to clean up the tea things, an act that was completely out of character for her, so that Phillip, Pierce’s secretary could leave early. But she only did it to make certain she cleaned out Bremmer’s cup. It contained the arsenic. Remember, Ellen told Wiggins that Phillip was in a foul mood the day after the murder because he thought the teapot had been properly cleaned when it hadn’t been and he ended up spilling cold tea on himself.”

  “How did she manage to poison him at the Lighterman’s Ball?” Ruth sipped her brandy.

  “She arranged it so that the glasses were on the table when everyone sat down. But earlier that day, she stole a champagne flute from the hotel when she was there that morning to ensure that everything was in order. Inspector Witherspoon reported that the catering manager was with her the entire time she was in the storage room, where the flutes were kept, but he could have easily turned his back for a moment, giving her the chance to snatch the glass. Once she got it home, she treated it with arsenic, and when she arrived at the ball, when she was putting out the place cards, she switched the treated glass for the one that was at Bremmer’s place setting. She didn’t even need the lights to go out in order to kill him.”

  “That’s why she got so nasty with Joey Finnigan and told him to come back later with the saltcellar. She didn’t want him hovering close by and seein’ what she was up to,” Wiggins added.

  “What did she do with the glass that had been sitting in Bremmer’s place?” Hatchet asked. “She had to put it somewhere.”

  “She probably put it down on a tray or a table or even the buffet table. Remember, she was in charge so it was to be expected that she’d be moving about, checking the tables and making certain everything was arranged as she’d instructed.”

  “I wonder why she shot Mrs. Tingley,” Phyllis murmured.

  “We’ll find out once the inspector gets home,” Mrs. Jeffries assured them.

  “Speaking of which, we’d best get home to our little one,” Betsy said as she and Smythe both got to their feet. “But we’ll be here for our morning meeting to find out the rest of it.”

  “We’ll be here as well.” Hatchet helped Luty to her feet. “Come along, madam, it’s late and you need your rest.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay until Gerald comes home,” Ruth said after everyone else had gone.

  “Of course, but he might be quite late,” Mrs. Jeffries warned.

  “No ’e won’t.” Wiggins put down the empty milk jug he’d taken to the sink. “’E’s just got out of a hansom.”

  Mrs. Jeffries hurried upstairs, and a few minutes later, the two of them returned.

  “Wonderful news,” she announced. “Inspector Witherspoon has solved the case.”

  “I didn’t do it all on my own.” He shrugged modestly. “Constable Barnes and a number of other officers did their part.” He sat down beside Ruth. “How nice to see you. I’m so glad you’re here.”

  Ruth knew precisely what to do. “I came by to invite you to supper tomorrow night but when I heard you weren’t home and it was so very late, I insisted on staying. I was a bit worried, Gerald. You do such a dangerous job and I wanted to know you were safe. Your household has been lovely, we’ve even had a glass of sherry.”

  “Would you
like one, sir?” Mrs. Jeffries had already taken a glass out of the sideboard and pulled the stopper out of the bottle.

  “I’d love one.”

  She kept chatting as she poured. “You do look tired, sir, but if it’s not too much effort, can you tell us what happened tonight? You know all of us are so interested in your cases, especially this one.”

  “Yes, please do, Gerald, I’d like to hear as well,” Ruth beseeched him. “Who killed Stephen Bremmer?”

  “It was Louise Mannion.” He nodded his thanks as Mrs. Jeffries handed him his drink and took her seat. “Luckily, we managed to keep her from murdering James Pierce and Elise Cory as well, but we didn’t get to her home in time to stop her from shooting her housekeeper, Mrs. Tingley.”

  “Why would she shoot her housekeeper?” Mrs. Goodge exclaimed. She, too, knew what needed to be done.

  Witherspoon took a sip and leaned back in his chair, both happy to be surrounded by the ones he now considered his family and enjoying the attention. “Let me start at the beginning.” He told them about the interview with the catering manager. “It occurred to both Constable Barnes and myself that Pierce is a practical sort of fellow, so why would he want the champagne toast, a toast that was very important to him, served in such an inefficient manner? So we decided to have another word with Mrs. Mannion, just to clarify who precisely had made that decision,” he continued. “Now, we’d received a message that we had to return to the station, so we were delayed getting to the Mannion home.” He paused, his expression thoughtful. “Unfortunately, the interruption resulted in Mrs. Tingley being shot, but it also led to us catching the murderer.”

  “Another coincidence,” Mrs. Goodge murmured. “Do go on, sir. This is like one of them stories by Mr. Doyle.”

  He told them everything that happened at the Mannion house. “Of course, we couldn’t just leave Mrs. Tingley bleeding on the drawing room floor while we pursued Mrs. Mannion, so we were delayed again getting to the Pierce and Son warehouse. But I am happy to report that Mrs. Tingley’s wound was minor and she’ll be fine. When we arrived at the warehouse, I sent Constable Griffiths to Liverpool Street Station—there are always constables on duty there—and by this time, I’d realized how very dangerous Louise Mannion was and decided we needed more men. I was right, too, because she was getting ready to either shoot or drown Elise Cory.”

  “She couldn’t make up ’er mind?” Wiggins asked.

  “According to James Pierce’s statement, she threatened to do both. But we only saw Mrs. Mannion threatening with the gun.” He told them the rest of it, taking his time and sipping his sherry as he spoke. “But we managed to get the weapon away from her,” he concluded, “and no more blood was shed.”

  “Gerald, Louise Mannion might have killed you. She’s mad.” Ruth was genuinely distressed.

  Witherspoon patted her hand. “I was in very little danger, I assure you. She was more intent on killing Elise Cory.”

  “She hated her, didn’t she?” Mrs. Jeffries said.

  “Indeed. At the station she said that if Elise Cory hadn’t existed, James Pierce would have loved her.”

  “Unrequited love has much to answer for.” Ruth shook her head in disbelief.

  “I don’t think she loved James Pierce, I think she felt entitled to him. She felt entitled to anything she wanted. She actually said that Pierce ought to be grateful that someone like her would have him for a husband,” Witherspoon said.

  “Is she genuinely mad?” Wiggins asked. “I mean, they don’t ’ang mad people, so maybe they’ll just put her in one of them insane asylums.”

  “And she’s rich, too,” Phyllis added. “She’ll have half a dozen solicitors working on her defense to make sure she escapes the hangman’s noose.”

  “Yes, and after a few years, they’ll quietly let her out so her family can put her in one of those fancy Swiss clinics where the rich keep their lunatics.” Mrs. Goodge looked disgusted. “It’s not fair. She ought to pay for her crimes.”

  “But one can pay for their crimes without losing their life,” Ruth said. She wasn’t sure how she felt about hanging people. Last month, she’d attended a lecture that questioned the morality and effectiveness of the death penalty.

  “But it says in the Bible, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,’” the cook quoted as she crossed her arms over her chest.

  “That’s the Old Testament,” Ruth argued, “not the New Testament. Nowhere in the Gospel does Jesus encourage personal or state vengeance. Besides, insanity is really a sickness, isn’t it? Only of the mind, not the body.”

  “I don’t think she’s insane, at least not by the standards the courts use to determine sentencing.” The inspector toyed with his glass, his expression pensive. “She’ll also have the best legal help money can buy. But I’m not so sure she’ll escape justice. James Pierce is also a rich man and he was so furious, he vowed that he’d make sure she hanged.”

  “I’m confused, sir.” Phyllis looked at the inspector. “Why did Mrs. Mannion shoot the housekeeper?”

  “She said that the ‘stupid woman didn’t move fast enough when she told her to give her the serviette,’” Witherspoon replied. “We found it in her pocket and took it into evidence. She poisoned Bremmer three times, that’s why he died so quickly when he got the third dose in his champagne glass.”

  They discussed the case for a bit longer, all of them asking questions. Mrs. Jeffries noticed that both Phyllis and Ruth asked the inspector about matters they already knew and understood. She was grateful to them; it did help to mask the fact they’d all been working on the case as well.

  * * *

  • • •

  Their morning meeting started the moment the inspector and Barnes went out the front door.

  “Right, then.” Smythe sat Amanda on Luty’s lap and took his seat. “We’re all ears, Mrs. Jeffries. Tell us what happened.”

  The housekeeper told them some of what they’d heard from the inspector, stopping to allow Phyllis, Mrs. Goodge, and Wiggins to add to the narrative. When she’d finished, she looked around the table. “Any questions?”

  “I wonder if Bremmer was right and she had murdered her husband,” Betsy asked.

  “The inspector said she practically confessed to it,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “But it was odd in the sense that the woman was more concerned with Bremmer spreading common gossip about her rather than having evidence she’d killed someone.”

  “I think she did it, and I think he did have evidence against her,” Phyllis said. “I think she tried to murder her brother, too. As Luty would say, I’ll bet she was madder than a wet hen when James Pierce pulled him out of the water.”

  “She was probably getting ready to spit nails, too.” Luty grinned. “The woman seems to have had a real temper. But I don’t think she was crazy, leastways not in the way any of us recognize. Nell’s bells, she fooled people for years. But what I don’t understand is why James Pierce up and married Nora, Elise’s cousin.”

  “I can answer that.” Betsy gave Smythe a quick grin. “He was hurt and angry. The woman he loved hadn’t trusted him. She’d believed Bremmer’s lies and disappeared out of his life.” That very same scenario had once almost kept Betsy and her beloved husband apart.

  “Furthermore, Nora supposedly resembled Elise, and by all accounts, he was a good husband to her,” Mrs. Jeffries commented.

  “Mrs. Jeffries.” Phyllis looked at her curiously. “How did you know that James Pierce and Elise Cory might be eloping?”

  “I didn’t know for certain, but according to the inspector, Pierce was very protective of Mrs. Cory. If he thought she was involved in Bremmer’s death, he might marry her to keep her from having to testify in court.”

  “And he was in love with her,” Betsy added. “Maybe deep down he suspected Louise Mannion was insane and he wanted to protect Mrs. Cory from her. Sometimes we
know things about people, but we’re afraid to admit them to ourselves.”

  “Mrs. Mannion was good at fooling people,” Hatchet murmured.

  Mrs. Goodge sighed. “But you know the strangest thing about this case isn’t that Louise Mannion was crazy enough to fool people, it was all the coincidences. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

  Everyone looked at the cook. Finally, Mrs. Jeffries said, “Wonder what?”

  “Those coincidences helped get this case solved. It makes you think that there’s more to life than we know, that maybe, for all our bein’ smart and clever, maybe there’s something else guiding us.”

  “You mean like the hand of God,” Ruth suggested.

  Mrs. Goodge shook her head. “God’s too busy to bother with coincidences, I think. No, sometimes I think there’s other forces out there, things we can’t understand that just occasionally lend us a helping hand.”

  Wiggins shrugged. “Well, whatever it is, this time, it ’elped us deliver the goods, didn’t it?”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Emily Brightwell is the New York Times bestselling author of thirty-seven Inspector Witherspoon and Mrs. Jeffries books. Visit her website at emilybrightwell.com.

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