02 - Mrs. Jeffries Dusts for Clues (6 page)

“Do you think she would have walked?” Mrs. Jeffries sipped her tea.

“No. London streets are dangerous. If she’d had any money at all, she’d have taken a hansom.”

“I think you’re right. And I think I’d better go have a nice little chat with Garrett McGraw.”

“The gardening boy?” Mrs. Goodge looked puzzled. “Why?”

“Because Mary knew that Luty was already gone. The only other friend she had was Garrett. If she crept back to Knightsbridge and hid in those gardens, it was for one reason and one reason only. She thought she could get help from someone.”

“But we don’t know that she did any of that.”

“No, but I’ve got to start somewhere.” Mrs. Jeffries rose to her feet. “And in all fairness, I must tell Luty Belle about the body in Magpie Lane.”

Luty Belle was pacing the drawing room when Mrs. Jeffries arrived. “Mornin’, Hepzibah,” she said. She gestured toward the settee, indicating that her guest was to sit down. “I’ve been expectin’ you.”

“But you only came to see us yesterday,” Mrs. Jeffries exclaimed as she settled herself comfortably on the plush velvet cushions. “Surely you don’t imagine we’ve found Mary so quickly.”

“Course not. But I knowed you’d have found somethin’ out by now.” Luty sank wearily into a seat next to the settee, her bright orange skirts clashing horribly with the deep red of the overstuffed wing chair. “And you bein’ the kind of woman you are, I knowed you wouldn’t waste any time tellin’ me what you’ve learned.”

Mrs. Jeffries could see she was very worried. There was a decided slump to her shoulders and deepening lines of worry around her black eyes and thin lips.

“We’ve learned several interesting things,” Mrs. Jeffries began briskly.

Luty’s face brightened. “I knowed I could count on you,” she said earnestly. “I knowed you’d come up with something!”

“First of all, we’ve learned that Mary came back here the day she was supposed to have gone to the Everdenes. She was
seen in the gardens on the evening of the tenth. A witness saw her get into a hansom cab.”

“But that don’t make no sense,” Luty said. “Why’d she come back here after she’d gone to all that trouble to git that danged job?”

“We’re not sure. Are you sure that your butler’s information is correct? Are you absolutely certain he actually went to the Everdenes’ home and inquired after Mary?”

“Course I’m sure. Hatchet’s got no reason to lie. He might be an old stuffed shirt, but he does what I tells him. If he says he went to there, then he did.” Luty shook her head. “And they told him that Mary had come that day, worked the one evenin’ and then left.”

“Hmm, yes. Then obviously, either we have a case of mistaken identity here or someone is not telling the truth.”

“Well, I know it ain’t Hatchet,” Luty said. “Why’d you think Mary come back? She was mighty anxious to git away from here. Kinda give me the idea she wanted to put plenty of distance between herself and the Lutterbanks.”

“She may have had equally good reason for wanting to put some distance between herself and the Everdenes,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “We don’t know that she didn’t go there and then decide to leave. There are some that say that the Reverend Everdene isn’t an honorable man.”

Luty’s lips curled in disgust. “Couldn’t keep his hands to himself, eh? Mary wouldn’t put up with bein’ pawed by the likes of Andrew Lutterbank, I don’t reckon she’d put up with it from some preacher either. That might explain why she hightailed it back here. Maybe she was hopin’ I hadn’t left yet.”

“Did she know what time you were leaving?”

“Yup. All the servants except Hatchet left right after breakfast. Mary was still here then, but she knew I were fixin’ to be on the noon train. She left at nine o’clock, after she’d helped me do a bit o’ packin’, and Hatchet and I left for the station about eleven-fifteen.”

“Is it possible she came back, hoping to get into the house
and stay here until you returned?” Mrs. Jeffries asked.

“Don’t reckon so,” Luty said slowly. “Mary helped Hatchet and me lock this place up tighter than a floozie’s corset early that mornin’. She’d a had to break out a window or knock down a door to git in, and I knowed she wouldn’t do somethin’ like that no matter how desperate she was.”

“Do you think she came back to get help from Garrett McGraw?”

“Maybe,” Luty said doubtfully. “Like I told ya yesterday, Garrett was right sweet on Mary. But I’m purty sure that Mary has an understandin’ with Mark McGraw. Too bad Mark’s at sea. He’d a made danged sure that no one was botherin’ the girl. But he ain’t even due back in the country for another week or two, so he couldn’t a taken Mary in. And I don’t rightly see why she’d come to git help from Garrett. Ain’t nothin’ he could do.”

“Perhaps he sent her to his home?” Mrs. Jeffries suggested. “The witness said Garrett put her into a hansom cab.”

“Nah,” Luty said. “The McGraws are as poor as church mice. Mark sends money home whenever he can, but it don’t go very far when you’ve got seven mouths to feed. Mr. McGraw was hurt in a bad accident a couple of years ago and ain’t worked since, so they’s in a bad way. Garrett knows how hard life is for his family. He wouldn’t be sendin’ Mary there for them to feed and house.” She broke off and stared morosely at the far wall for a few seconds. Then she added, “It don’t look good, does it, Hepzibah?”

“It looks better than it did yesterday,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “At least we’re beginning to put together Mary’s movements. Smythe is trying to track down the driver of the hansom that picked Mary up, and Betsy is trying to trace her friend, Cassie Yates.”

“Why you lookin’ for her?” Luty snorted. “Cassie ain’t the kind to be takin’ someone in.”

“Yes, but you did say she and Mary were friends. We’re hoping Cassie Yates may have some idea of where Mary could have gone.”

“I don’t think so. The only reason they was friends was because Mary felt sorry for her. Cassie was such a cat the other girls couldn’t stand her.”

“But we’re assuming that Mary was desperate,” Mrs. Jeffries explained. “We’ve heard that Cassie may have gotten married recently. If she’s a respectable married woman, there’s a chance that Mary may have gone to her to stay until you returned from Venice.”

“Cassie Yates a respectable married woman!” Luty laughed. “That’s danged unlikely.”

“Whyever not?”

“I don’t know what kinda tales you been hearin’, but Cassie Yates ain’t the type o’ woman to tie herself down to jest one man. Why at least twice, I’ve seen the little tart with men, and they wasn’t jest talkin’ neither, if’n you take my meanin’. One time she was letting Andrew Lutterbank kiss her, and the other time she was behind that big old oak tree with a blond-haired young feller, and they wasn’t havin’ tea together. Besides, if’n Mary went to Cassie, then why ain’t I heard from her?” Luty jumped to her feet and began to pace the room. “Even if’n Cassie’d take her in, and that’s a big if’n, believe me, that don’t explain why she didn’t contact me when I come back. Mary knew when I was comin’ home.”

Mrs. Jeffries lowered her gaze and stared at the scrolling pattern of acanthus leaves in the Brussels-weave carpet beneath her feet. She had no choice. She had to tell Luty about the body. Despite her assurances to Betsy and the others, there was a chance that the corpse was the remains of Mary Sparks. Luty had a right to know.

“Luty,” she said softly, “there’s something else I must tell you.”

Luty stopped pacing. “What?”

“There’s been a murder. They’ve found the body of a young woman. She was wearing a dark blue dress. Inspector Witherspoon says the girl’s been dead several months.”

The elderly woman stiffened and seemed to brace herself. “Do you think it’s Mary?”

“No. But I had to tell you. The possibility does exist. The timing is too coincidental to ignore. Besides that, the deceased had dark blond hair and a silver broach was pinned on the lapel of her dress.”

For a moment, Mrs. Jeffries thought Luty might faint. She watched her close her eyes, sway gently to one side, clutch the back of the chair and then take one deep, shuddering breath. “Are you all right?” she asked in alarm.

Luty’s eyes flew open and she straightened her spine. Ignoring Mrs. Jeffries’s question, she hurried to the door and flung it open. “Hatchet,” she bellowed. “Bring me my hat and cane.”

Puzzled, Mrs. Jeffries leapt to her feet. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m gittin’ ready to go out.” Luty took her hat and cane from the tall, white-haired butler, nodded her thanks and jammed the hat on her head. “They’ve got the body somewhere, don’t they?”

“Yes, of course they do,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “Oh, no. You’re not going to…”

“Yup. I wanta see it. I wanta see with my own eyes if it’s Mary.”

“But, Luty,” Mrs. Jeffries protested. “According to Inspector Witherspoon, the body is so…so…”

“Rotten.”

“Decomposed.” She smiled gently, trying to think of a way to dissaude her friend from such a gruesome undertaking. There was no point in going to identify the remains if they were in no state to be identified. Luty would only upset herself. “The inspector says it’s impossible to tell who the woman was. You won’t be able to tell whether that unfortunate young girl was Mary or not. For goodness’ sakes, Luty, you’ll only distress yourself.”

“Fiddlesticks, Hepzibah.” Luty scurried to the door. “I’ve seen plenty o’ corpses in my time, and ain’t none of them ever sent me into a faint or caused a hissy fit. Now, come on, let’s git this done. The sooner’s we git there, the quicker we’ll know that it ain’t Mary.”

Mrs. Jeffries hurried after her.

Hatchet, who Mrs. Jeffries assumed was used to his employer’s eccentricities, had already hailed them a passing hansom by the time they stepped outside.

Mrs. Jeffries instructed the driver to take them to Scotland Yard.

“You will be careful, madam,” the butler said as he helped them into the cab.

“Ain’t I always, Hatchet.”

“Not that I’ve noticed, madam,” he informed her as he slammed the door shut and nodded to the driver.

Luty settled back in the seat and grabbed the handhold to steady herself as the driver cracked the whip and the horses trotted forward. “Where’d they find the body?”

“In the cellar of a torn-down house,” Mrs. Jeffries answered. “On Magpie Lane. That’s in Clapham. All the houses had been torn down to make way for a new road, but then they changed their minds. They ended up digging instead, supposedly for one of those new underground railway lines.”

Luty made a face. “Horrid things. Trains is bad enough. Fancy those fools thinkin’ that anyone would want to ride one that went underground.” She faltered and her brows came together. “Magpie Lane. Now, where have I heard that name before?”

“You’ve heard of it?” Mrs. Jeffries asked. “When? Where?”

“Offhand, I don’t rightly remember. Give me a minute now.”

“Think, Luty. It may be important.”

“Why? I’ve heard of lots of places.”

“Because this street wasn’t occupied by gentry or anyone else you’re likely to have met. The homes that were torn down were all small houses let by the month. If you’ve heard the name before, there’s a good chance that Mary had too.”

“Nells bells,” Luty said disgustedly. “It went plum out of my head.” She held up her hand. “Don’t worry, Hepzibah, it’ll come back to me. Just give me a few minutes to clear
my mind.” She turned and stared out the open window. Luty remained silent as the cab rumbled up Knightsbridge and past Hyde Park. Mrs. Jeffries was deep in thought as well. The hansom rolled on through the busy streets, and she jumped when Luty finally spoke.

“It were at that silly garden party last August.”

“What was?”

“Magpie Lane. That’s where I heard the name. Emery Clements was complainin’ about it.” She gave another inelegant snort. “He kept goin’ on about how his solicitors had evicted the tenants too early. Said the houses was all sittin’ empty when they could have been collectin’ rent.”

“Who gave the party? Who was there?” Mrs. Jeffries noticed they were drawing close to Charing Cross. They’d be at the Yard soon.

Luty rubbed her chin. “The Lutterbanks. They was the one’s giving it. That caused some talk too, seeing as how they was all supposed to still be in mourning for old Angus Lutterbank. He’d only died the month before. Not that I blame them fer not wastin’ too much time grievin’ for Angus—he was a nasty ol’ fool. Had so few friends and neighbors willin’ to come to his funeral service that the Lutterbanks made all their servants go jest to fill up the pews.” She snorted. “But the place still looked half-empty.”

“Please, Luty,” Mrs. Jeffries interrupted. “About the party?”

“Oh, sorry. Anyways, like I was sayin’, they had this here party and invited most of us that lives round the gardens, but they’re such miserable people, most folks didn’t come. Let’s see. The Lutterbanks were all there, including Andrew and his sister, Fiona. I remember because Andrew kept gabbing at the maid serving the sandwiches. And they had two of their friends with them. Emery Clements, he was the one doin’ all the braggin’, and another young feller named Malcolm Farnsworth. There was others there too, but I’ll have to think awhile to remember their names.”