02 - Mrs. Jeffries Dusts for Clues (5 page)

“That’s the silliest…” Betsy sputtered.

“It’s not silly, it’s a ruddy fact,” Smythe interrupted huffily.

“Yes, of course it is,” Mrs. Jeffries said quickly. She smiled at Betsy. “Now let’s not argue among ourselves. Smythe does, indeed, have a point. Until we get assurances from someone other than the Everdenes that Mary was at their home on the tenth, we must assume that the last time she was seen was in the gardens on the afternoon of the tenth.”

Betsy gave Smythe one final glare. “Oh, all right,” she muttered ungraciously.

Mrs. Jeffries turned to the coachman. “I expect you know what I want you to do next.”

He nodded. “You want me to find that hansom driver and see if he took her to the Everdenes’ or to some place else?”

“That’s correct.” Mrs. Jeffries turned back to Betsy. “Now, what did Cassie Yates tell you about Mary?”

“Not much o’ anythin’,” Betsy admitted sheepishly.

Smythe smiled and said caustically, “Couldn’t get her ta talk, huh?”

“Fat lot you knows about it,” she retorted. “I can git anyone to talk. But you can’t get someone to chattin’ if’n theys disappeared, can you?”

“Cassie Yates has disappeared too?” Mrs. Jeffries asked in alarm. “Oh dear, this is getting most complicated…”

“Don’t fret yourself, Mrs. J,” Betsy said soothingly. “From what I heard about Cassie Yates, she can take care of herself. I talked to one of the girls that works in the shop with ’er, and she reckons Cassie’s run off with some man. Says the girl had a couple of gentlemen friends and that she was goin’ around braggin’ about how both of ’em wanted to marry her. One of ’em had even posted the banns and bought the license.”

Mrs. Jeffries nodded. “Did you find out where Miss Yates lives?”

“No. But I did find out she used to work for the Lutterbanks too. That’s how her and Mary become friends.”

“Did they sack her?” Mrs. Goodge asked.

“She quit about two weeks before Mary disappeared.” Betsy gave Mrs. Jeffries a puzzled frown. “Why’d you want to know where Cassie lives?”

“Because this case seems to be getting complicated,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. She was hedging. Betsy was no doubt right and Cassie Yates was probably a respectable married woman by now. But she couldn’t get the thought of Inspector Witherspoon’s body out of her mind. She wasn’t certain the dead girl was Mary Sparks or Cassie Yates. A coincidence like that would be odd, but not unheard of. However, until both young women were accounted for, she wanted as much information as she could get.

“What about me?” Wiggins scratched his chin. “I found out quite a bit meself yesterday.”

Mrs. Jeffries smiled at his enthusiasm. “Were you able to find Garrett?”

“I found ’im all right, but I didn’t have a lot of luck gettin’ much out of the lad,” Wiggins reported sadly. “’E was right friendly-like until I mentioned Mary’s name. Then ’e got all nervous and twitchy, kept lookin’ over his shoulder like he was expectin’ someone to be sneakin’ up behind ’im and listenin’. It were right peculiar if you ask me.” He broke off and glanced toward the cupboard. “Is there any of them currant buns left? I could fancy a bite or two.”

“The buns is all gone. When we’ve finished here, I’ll get you a roll.” Mrs. Goodge rolled her eyes. “Now get on with it, boy. What did Garrett say?”

“Give us a minute. I’m gettin’ to that.” He stopped and took a deep breath. “’E says he don’t know Mary very well, just enough to speak to her every now and again in the garden, and that ’e ain’t seen her since she left the Lutterbanks. But ’e also told me the Lutterbanks were a right nasty bunch, too. Fiona, that’s the daughter, likes to tell tales, and Andrew, that’s the son, is a bit o’ a bully. Mrs. Lutterbank, who used to be just a little on the barmy side, is now completely round the bend, and Mr. Lutterbanks has a bad temper. Anyways, as soon as Garrett
started talkin’ about them, I asked him about Mary stealin’ the broach.” Wiggins paused dramatically. “That’s when ’e got angry. Claimed Mary Sparks wouldn’t steal nothin’ if her life depended on it, claimed the Lutterbanks were makin’ up tales and they ought to be horsewhipped. He got right worked up, went on and on about it.”

“For someone who claimed not to know Mary very well,” Mrs. Jeffries said thoughtfully, “he certainly leapt to her defense quick enough.”

“That’s what I thought,” Wiggins exclaimed.

“I think we need to keep our eyes on Garrett,” she continued. “Wiggins, why don’t you try and follow him this evening when he leaves work? See where he goes, find out where he lives and find out where his older brother lives.”

“Huh? Older brother?” Wiggins looked thoroughly confused. “What’s he got to do with it?”

Mrs. Jeffries shrugged. “Possibly nothing. But Luty Belle mentioned that Mary was almost engaged to Mark McGraw. He’s away at sea. However, if he doesn’t live with his family, he may have rooms somewhere and Mary may have taken refuge there. Especially if she could convince Mark’s landlady she was his intended bride. It’s a tad farfetched, I’ll admit, but it’s worth looking into.”

Smythe and Betsy started to get up, each of them eager to get on with their investigating. The housekeeper waved them back into their chairs. “Don’t go just yet. I’m afraid there’s another matter we need to discuss.”

She then proceeded to tell them about Inspector Witherspoon’s newest case. As was her custom, she told them every little detail she’d managed to wheedle out of the inspector.

“You don’t think the body they found is Mary, do you?” Betsy’s eyes were as big as saucers.

“It’s possible. But whoever the victim is, I hope you understand what this means.”

“It means we’ve got two mysteries to solve.” Smythe grinned wickedly. “Blimey, it’s either feast or famine around ’ere. When are we going to ’ave time to get our work done? I can’t neglect
them horses forever.” Smythe was absolutely devoted to the inspector’s two horses, Bow and Arrow.

“Leave off with you, Smythe,” Betsy said. “We’ll have plenty of time for everythin’.” She grinned at the footman. “Except for poor Wiggins here. He might have to cut back on his courtin’ some.”

“I’m not courtin’,” Wiggins said indignantly.

“Course he’s not courtin’,” Mrs. Goodge teased. “He’s pinin’. There’s a difference, you know. That pretty little maid from up the road hasn’t looked his way once. She struts by with her nose in the air while the poor lad worships her from behind the drawing-room curtains.”

“I never,” Wiggins yelped. He blushed a bright pink. “I was washin’ them windows. Besides, Sarah Trippet isn’t my sort of girl at all. She’s too short.”

“Maybe that’s why she’s always walkin’ about with her nose in the air,” Smythe suggested. “She wants to look taller.”

Betsy and Mrs. Goodge both laughed. Wiggins’s infatuations were legendary.

* * *

Inspector Witherspoon’s day was going from bad to worse. He stood over the trench where the body had been buried and shook his head. “Are you absolutely certain, Barnes?”

“Absolutely, sir,” Constable Barnes said. “These houses were vacant for months before they got around to tearing them down. The family that lived here was long gone before that body was buried. And you heard the police surgeon. He’s fairly sure that with the amount of decomposition, the girl’d only been here for no more than two months. The folks that lived here has been gone for four.” He turned his head, frowning at the high wall on the other side of Magpie Lane. “For that matter, so’s everyone else. That brewery’s been abandoned for almost a year now. We’ll not be having any witnesses on this one, sir.”

“Drat.” Witherspoon glared at the one remaining house on the road. “Why haven’t they torn that one down yet?”

“They forgot.”

“They what!”

“They forgot it,” Barnes explained. “According to the clerk at Wildworth’s, that’s the property company which owns this land, they forgot there was one house left to be demolished. But that’s a bit of luck for us, sir. Mr. Raines, the shopkeeper on the main road, claims there’s an old man who dosses down in that house. If we can find him, he might be able to help us with our inquiries.”

“Excellent, Barnes. Get some men on it right away.” Witherspoon started toward the house.

“Yes, sir. Where are you going, sir?” Barnes called.

“To search that house,” Witherspoon replied. “We’ve already searched this area, and we haven’t come up with a thing.”

“But, sir. The men have already gone through it. They found nothing but the usual rubbish. Why are you going to do it again?”

Witherspoon hated to admit it was because he couldn’t think of anything else to do. “One never knows, Barnes,” he called out briskly. “Perhaps I’ll spot something the chaps have overlooked.”

* * *

Mrs. Jeffries waited patiently at the top of the stairs for the rag-and-bones man to finish his tea. She didn’t want to intrude on Mrs. Goodge when she was pumping one of her prime sources for information. There was a regular stream of visitors to the kitchen at Upper Edmonton Gardens. Delivery boys, chimney sweeps, carpenters, and last week, there’d even been a man from the gas works chatting with Mrs. Goodge as if they were old friends. But Mrs. Jeffries didn’t mind. Mrs. Goodge was quite good at prying every tidbit of gossip out of those that passed through her kitchen.

Mrs. Jeffries had no doubt that right at this very moment, the cook was working furiously to find out anything she could about the Lutterbanks and the Everdenes. She sighed and leaned against the banister. Such a pity, really. So many in the upper classes failed to notice that many servants were diligent, perceptive and oftentimes highly intelligent human beings. Sad
really, but so many of the wealthy were most indiscreet in both word and deed in front of those they considered beneath them. But then again, Mrs. Jeffries concluded, if they actually treated servants and working people like human beings, no doubt she and the household would find helping the inspector a great deal more difficult. Mrs. Jeffries supposed one could see that as the silver lining around the dark cloud that society cast on most of the city’s population. It wasn’t much of a comfort, but she decided it would have to do. The world was changing, that was for sure. But a fair and equitable way of life for all people certainly wouldn’t happen in her lifetime. Still, she had great hopes that it would happen eventually.

She heard Mrs. Goodge say “Cheerio, ducks” to the rag-and-bone man and then the sound of the kitchen door closing. Mrs. Jeffries flew down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Neither of the women wasted any time on preliminaries.

“I’ve gotten an interesting bit of gossip about the Everdenes.” Mrs. Goodge smiled triumphantly.

Mrs. Jeffries knew better than to ask the cook for her source. It could have been the rag-and-bone man that had just left, or it could have been any one of half a dozen other people. Mrs. Goodge was nothing if not thorough. But the housekeeper was disappointed. She’d been hoping for a bit of information about the Lutterbanks. “Indeed. How very enterprising of you, Mrs. Goodge.”

“There’s tea on the table, Mrs. Jeffries.” Mrs. Goodge waved a hand at the pot and moved her large bulk toward a chair. “If you’ll pour us a cup, I’ll tell you everything.”

“It will be my pleasure.” She sat down and poured out two cups of the steaming brew. Handing one to the cook, she gazed at her expectantly.

“Well, it seems the Everdenes are from an old Yorkshire family. But there’s only the reverend and his daughter left. Their branch never had much money until recently, when the girl inherited a packet from a distant relative. And a good thing it was too. But that’s not the interestin’ bit.” Mrs. Goodge paused and took a quick sip of tea.

Mrs. Jeffries curbed her impatience. It did no good to try and hurry the woman along. She would have her moment of glory.

“The Reverend Everdene left his last congregation under a cloud.” The cook smiled knowingly. “And us bein’ a bit more worldly than most, I reckon’s you can guess just what kind of a cloud I’m referrin’ to.”

Mrs. Jeffries could. “Choirboys or young women?”

Mrs. Goodge pretended to took scandalized. Then her broad face broke into a grin. “Young women. According to what I’ve heard, he used to limit his attentions to servants. But he made a mistake with the last one, and his hands got a bit too free with the daughter of the local magistrate. Naturally the church tried to hush up the scandal. But it ended with the Reverend Everdene out of Yorkshire and supposedly retired.” She broke off and cackled with laughter. “It’s a nice piece of luck his daughter inherited all that money. He didn’t get another parish.”

“Hmm,” Mrs. Jeffries said thoughtfully. “That may explain why Mary Sparks left the Everdene house so precipitously. If the reverend tried…well, anything, she may have felt justified in leaving her post without notice. If, of course, she was there in the first place.”

“Humph. The old goat should be locked up. And him with a daughter too. He ought to know better.” Mrs. Goodge pursed her lips. “Disgusting. I feel sorry for the daughter, but at least she’ll be gone soon. She’s engaged to be married.”

“But that still leaves us in the dark,” Mrs. Jeffries said thoughtfully. “We still don’t know for sure if Mary was ever at the Everdene house.”

“True. But if she was, we’ve at least got an idea of what made her leave so quickly. The old fool probably tried to start pawin’ at her the minute she got there.”

“That’s possible. I suppose the next step is to find out if Mary did or did not arrive at the Everdene house at all.” Mrs. Jeffries cocked her head to one side. “Mrs. Goodge,” she said thoughtfully. “If you were a young woman in
genuine fear of being ravished, what would you do?”

“Do?” The cook snorted. “I’d pack me things and get out of that house. And I’d be quick about it too.”

“But we know Mary hadn’t much money. If she were frightened and desperate, where would she go?”

“I’d go to the one person who’d shown me a bit of kindness,” Mrs. Goodge said promptly.

“Luty Belle Crookshank.” Mrs. Jeffries shook her head. “But Luty Belle was in Venice and the house was locked up.”

“There’s ways of gettin’ into locked houses. There’s ways of gettin’ into locked gardens too. Remember, it were still early September. Even if Mary couldn’t get into Luty’s house for shelter, she’d probably feel safer sleepin’ in the communal gardens than she would walkin’ the streets. And the Everdene house is in Putney. It’s not close, but it inn’t that far neither.”