02 - Mrs. Jeffries Dusts for Clues (18 page)

“Don’t be daft, man,” Betsy said with a sneer. “I knows how to take care of meself too, and Mrs. Goodge’ll be ’ere when Wiggins finally sees fit to come ’ome.”

Smythe scowled at the girl but didn’t bother to argue the
point. He turned to Mrs. Jeffries. “I suppose you want me to see if I can find out what everyone was doin’ on September 11th?”

Mrs. Goodge slapped her hands flat against the table. “Excuse me if I seem a bit slow,” she said sarcastically, “but would someone mind tellin’ me which three men we’re talkin’ about here?”

“Emery Clements, Malcolm Farnsworth, and Andrew Lutterbank,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “Whoever took Cassie’s things that day was probably one of those three, but we don’t know which.”

“And why is that so important?” the cook inquired sourly. “Mary’s the one that’s dead.”

Smythe sighed heavily, and Mrs. Goodge glared at him.

“Because,” Mrs. Jeffries intervened hastily, “once we know who moved Cassie’s things, we can find out once and for all if Cassie’s all right.”

“You mean once we know that she’s off livin’ in sin, we can rest easier because we’ll know we ain’t dealin’ with a lunatic,” Mrs. Goodge finished smugly. “Seems to me that’s a waste of time. We’d be better concentratin’ on what happened to Mary Sparks after she left the Everdene house.”

“That’s precisely what Betsy is going to do.” Mrs. Jeffries rose to her feet. “And if you would be so kind, Mrs. Goodge, do you think you could possibly find out the exact date of Angus Lutterbank’s funeral? I’d like to know when Sally Comstock left for Australia. Supposedly, Andrew Lutterbank took her to the ship that night himself.”

“Why don’t ya let me do that?” Smythe said as he rose to his feet. “I can nip by St. Matthew’s tomorrow and have a word with the vicar. Then if you’re really wantin’ to find out if the girl left, I can pop down to the docks and nose around there. See if her name was on any passenger lists.”

Mrs. Jeffries thought for a moment. “Yes, that’s a very good idea.”

“What’ll I be doin’ then?” the cook asked.

“Carry on as before,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “Just keep asking
your questions. You’ve turned up a great deal of useful information so far, and there’s no reason to think the well’s run dry at this point.” She paused and smiled kindly at Mrs. Goodge, hoping the woman’s feelings hadn’t been hurt by the abrupt change in plans.

Mrs. Goodge nodded. “What are you goin’ to be doin’ next?”

“I’ve got the most difficult task of all,” Mrs. Jeffries replied with a sigh. “I’m going to have to think of a way to let the inspector know everything all of you have learned. That’s not going to be easy.” She broke off and stared intently at the wall. “But I think I might be able to drop a few hints at breakfast.”

“Do you want me to go out and ’ave a quick look round for Wiggins?” Smythe asked. He was staring at Betsy, who was gazing at the toe of her black shoe, barely visible beneath the hem of her gray housemaid’s dress.

Betsy’s head came up, and she smiled gratefully at the coachman. “I think that’s a right good notion,” she began excitedly. “Even with gettin’ a message from ’im, I don’t think I’ll sleep much knowin’ he’s not ’ome.”

Mrs. Jeffries stared curiously at her two friends. She had the oddest feeling that Smythe had made the offer to keep Betsy from worrying. She watched as his broad, harsh face softened when he gazed down into the maid’s eyes. But then she decided she must be mistaken as she heard his next words.

“Maybe I’ll try a few of the pubs round Knightsbridge way,” he said, giving Betsy a cocky grin.

Betsy leapt to her feet. “Pubs. Wiggins wouldn’t go ta no pubs,” she exclaimed angrily. “And ’ere I was thinkin’ you was concerned, and all you want to do is go ’ave a few pints.”

“Give it a rest, lass.” He laughed and headed for the back door. “I’m as concerned as the rest of you. And believe me, I’ll come closer to findin’ the boy by makin’ me rounds than I would by skulkin’ about in the streets.”

“Men.” Betsy gave an unladylike snort. “They’re all alike. If they ain’t thinkin’ of their stomachs, they’re thinkin’ of their drink. Disgustin’.”

* * *

There was nothing remotely spiritual or comforting about the Reverend Wendell Everdene, Witherspoon thought. He was a tall, barrel-chested bull of a man with a sallow complexion, a hawk’s beak of a nose and a booming voice that reminded the inspector of a braying donkey. And from the way poor Barnes cringed slightly every time the reverend opened his mouth, Witherspoon imagined the constable’s ears were probably ringing by now.

“Of all the impertinence, man,” Everdene bellowed. “The girl was here for less than a day. I’m not surprised she’s come to a bad end. That kind of creature always does. God will not be mocked. Sinful little chit, wouldn’t allow her to sully the place.”

Constable Barnes winced. “Are you saying, sir, that it was you who asked the girl to leave?”

Everdene’s beady hazel eyes narrowed. “What kind of a question is that? I’m the master of this house. The girl was a harlot. She had to go.”

“So you’re confirming that you were, indeed, the one who actually asked her to leave?” Inspector Witherspoon wasn’t terribly sure this was an important point, but he hadn’t liked the way the man evaded answering Constable Barnes. In his experience, people who didn’t give you a straight answer frequently had something to hide.

“I don’t see that I need confirm anything.” Everdene glanced at his daughter. She was sitting rigidly in front of the fireplace, her thin lips pursed together and her hands neatly folded in her lap, the very picture of filial devotion.

“But we have it on good authority that it was Miss Everdene who fired Mary Sparks.” The inspector nodded politely to the lady. “We understand that Miss Sparks was behaving rather badly when Miss Everdene’s fiancé arrived that evening and that Miss Everdene witnessed this behavior. Shortly afterward, she fired the girl. Isn’t this true?”

“Absolutely not,” thundered the reverend. “Who told you such wicked lies? My daughter was in the parlor when Malcolm
arrived. I was the one who saw the disgraceful way the harlot behaved. I was the one that told her to get out. Antonia knew nothing about the matter till the next morning.”

* * *

“’E’s lyin’ ’is bleedin’ ’ead off,” the girl scoffed as she gently eased the door shut and turned to grin at Betsy.

Betsy smiled back at her and then glanced worriedly at the door the parlormaid had just shut. She sincerely hoped that Inspector Witherspoon wouldn’t take it into his head to search the house. There was no possible way she could explain being in the small pantry between the drawing room and dining room with Essie Tuttle.

Betsy couldn’t believe her luck when she’d arrived at the Everdene house this morning and found most of the servants gone and a talkative parlormaid who was more than willing to chat. But within minutes of her own arrival, Inspector Witherspoon and Constable Barnes had shown up.

Essie Tuttle, who didn’t appear at all concerned about losing her position, had obligingly hurried the both of them into the pantry, opened the door a crack and then settled down to eavesdrop.

“How do you know ’e’s lying?” Betsy whispered.

“Cause he were the one that was in the parlor,” Essie replied. “He was so soused he could barely walk. Mary coulda danced rings around ’im that night and he wouldna noticed.”

From the drawing room, Betsy heard Inspector Witherspoon point out that the betrothal ring found on Mary Sparks had been purchased for Antonia Everdene.

“Don’t be absurd,” the reverend sneered. “Malcolm knew Antonia wouldn’t want a gaudy piece of jewelry like that. Not for something as sacred as marriage. He very rightly gave my daughter a small, plain band inscribed with the cross of our Lord. He showed it to me when he asked for my permission to wed the girl.”

Betsy stared in surprise. If she remembered correctly, Malcolm Farnsworth had claimed that when he showed up at the Everdenes’ house, he didn’t have a ring with him at all.

“He’s lyin’ again,” Essie giggled. “Cor, for a preacher, it’s a wonder his tongue ain’t dropped off from all them lies.”

“What do you mean?” Betsy strained to listen but she didn’t want the flow from Essie to dry up either.

“He’s seen that ring afore this. I know ’cause I saw him kissin’ Mary’s hand and lookin’ at it the day she come ’ere.”

“He was kissin’ her hand?”

Essie laughed cynically. “And everythin’ else he could grab. She hadn’t been in the ’ouse ’alf an ’our before the old lech was pawin’ at ’er.”

Betsy opened her mouth to ask the maid how Mary had handled the reverend’s advances, but before she could get the question out, she heard Inspector Witherspoon ask Antonia Everdene if she’d ever seen the betrothal ring. Betsy cocked her ear in the direction of the drawing room.

“No, I’ve never seen it,” Antonia replied in a firm voice.

“She’s a bloomin’ liar too,” Essie said with a sneer. “She’s ruddy well seen that ring. Mary Sparks had it on her finger the night she was ’ere. When the mistress sacked ’er, she was holdin’ her ’and up and laughin’.”

“You mean Mary showed the betrothal ring to Miss Everdene?”

“And that ain’t all,” Essie said eagerly, bobbing her head. “She laughed at the mistress, told her it would be a cold day in the pits o’ ’ell before she ever married Malcolm Farnsworth. Said he was weak and greedy, but he’d do right by her when she told ’im the truth.”

There was another bellow of rage from the drawing room. Essie quickly eased the door open a crack.

“The girl went to her room. She didn’t leave that night.” Everdene’s heavy footsteps echoed through the house as he began to stomp up and down the room. “She was a jezebel, but as a good Christian man, I would not throw her out in the cold of night,” he shouted.

Betsy winced in sympathy for her inspector and Constable Barnes. Their heads must be spinning by now. The man’s voice was loud enough to wake the dead.

“’Ere goes another one.” Essie hunched her thin shoulders and eased the door shut again. “She was tossed out that night all right, right after the mistress slapped her.”

“Miss Everdene slapped Mary?” Betsy gave up all pretense of trying to listen to what was going on in the drawing room. She’d finally decided she could only concentrate on one conversation at a time, and she was having much better luck getting the truth than the inspector was.

Essie grinned, her buck teeth making her look like a spiteful ferret. “Oh yes, I ’eard the whole thing.” The girl’s reedy voice dropped to an excited whisper. “As soon as Miss Everdene got her drunken old father settled into the study, she come chargin’ into the kitchen. But she were already too late.”

“Too late for what?”

“Too late to stop Mr. Farnsworth. He’d already slipped me a note to give to Mary. He done it as soon as Miss Everdene were busy lookin’ after ’er father. Ya see, she’d had the old fool propped up in the drawin’ room, awaitin’ for Mr. Farnsworth to come in and ask for her ’and in marriage. But the reverend got restless and come out. He were weavin’ all over the ’ouse when Mr. Farnsworth got here. By that time, Mr. Farnsworth had had plenty of time to slip me the note for Mary. He’d already gone into the study. He even used Miss Everdene’s notepaper to write on.”

“So Miss Everdene didn’t see Mr. Farnsworth’s note?” Betsy wanted to be sure she understood.

“Her? Nah, she didn’t know nuthin’ about that. She were just mad at the way Mary ’ad been all over Mr. Farnsworth when Mary’d answered the door. Miss Everdene come chargin’ into the kitchen like a mad dog huntin’ a fox. She told the girl off right and proper for the way she’d been ’angin’ onto Mr. Farnsworth, but Mary weren’t the least sorry. She’d already got what she wanted. Mr. Farnsworth had noticed her. She just let Miss Everdene rant and rave for a few moments, and then she lifted her ’and and pointed to her finger. That’s ’ow come I knows the mistress is in there lyin’ to that peeler. She got a good gander at that ring.”

“Go on,” Betsy hissed. “What happened then?”

“But I’ve already told ya.” Essie frowned. “Mary jus’ laughed and said Malcolm Farnsworth was no more goin’ to be marryin’ Miss Everdene than he was goin’ to marry the Queen ’erself. Said that though he were a weak, greedy man, once Mary told him the truth about the baby, Malcolm would be marryin’ ’er. Then she laughed again and rubbed her belly. That’s when Miss Everdene ’it ’er. Slapped her right across the face and ordered ’er out o’ the ’ouse.”

“Did Mary go?” Betsy couldn’t believe her luck. She watched Essie’s thin, plain face and excited eyes and wondered if the girl were telling the truth.

“She left all right, flounced right into our room, snatched up her carpetbag and waltzed out the front door with ’er nose in the air.”

Betsy cocked her ear toward the drawing room, just in case. “And that was the last time you saw ’er?”

“Course not,” Essie said peevishly. “I followed her out. This was the most excitin’ thing that ever ’appened around ’ere. I didn’t like to see Mary go. She weren’t very nice, but she’d only been in the ’ouse a few hours and the fur was already flyin’. Besides, Mr. Farnsworth give me a shillin’ to deliver ’is note to her, and I were hopin’ maybe Mary’d give me a bit as well.”

There was silence from the drawing room. “How far did you follow her?” Betsy asked carefully. Essie’s colorful speech patterns had made her very aware of her own tendency to lapse.

“Just to the corner. I could see she was ’eadin’ for the ’igh Street. I started to call out to ’er, to say good-bye, but then I saw a feller step out of the trees on the other side of the road, so I turned around and come ’ome.”

“Was the man following Mary?” Betsy’s heart began to beat faster.

Essie shrugged. “I don’t know. For a minute I thought it might be Mr. Farnsworth—the bloke was dressed like a gent. But it weren’t ’im. When I got back to the ’ouse, Mr. Farnsworth was still here.”

“Did you read the note?” Betsy asked hopefully.

“Read!” Essie laughed incredulously. “I can’t read.”

“Well, did you listen in on Mr. Farnsworth and Miss Everdene then?”

Essie gazed at her for a few moments before answering. “I’m not rightly sure that I remember,” she said slyly.