02 - Mrs. Jeffries Dusts for Clues (9 page)

“Good.” Smythe leaned back in his chair and fixed Betsy with a cocky grin. “I like lookin’ for pretty girls.”

“Me too,” Wiggins added.

Betsy and Mrs. Goodge both snorted, and even Mrs. Jeffries smiled before turning to the footman. “All right, Wiggins, it’s your turn. Did you follow Garrett McGraw after he left the gardens yesterday evening?”

“Course I did. But it didn’ do no good. He just went home.”

“He didn’t stop off anywhere?” Mrs. Jeffries prodded. She’d rather hoped that young Garrett would lead them to Mary. He was the last person known to have seen her and therefore their only real clue.

“He didn’t stop,” Wiggins answered. “He went ’ome. I hung around outside a bit, but the only one who come out was one of Garrett’s little brothers.”

Mrs. Jeffries nodded. She looked expectantly at Mrs. Goodge.

“Sorry,” the cook said, “I ain’t remembered anything about the Lutterbanks, but I’ve got me feelers out. Give me another day or two—I’ll have a few bits and pieces by then.”

“Very well,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “I believe it’s my turn now.”

The others sensed the change in her tone. Everyone’s expression sobered as they gave her their full attention.

“This morning I told Luty Belle about the murdered girl,” Mrs. Jeffries began solemnly. “She insisted on going to the mortuary and viewing the body. It wasn’t a chore I relished, but once Luty Belle Crookshank makes up her mind, there’s no stopping her.”

“Ugh, how awful,” Betsy said sympathetically.

“Indeed, it wasn’t very pleasant,” Mrs. Jeffries agreed. “But you’ll all be pleased to know that despite the distastefulness of
the task, we learned something very important. Luty’s sure the body isn’t Mary Sparks.”

“Thank the good Lord for that,” Mrs. Goodge said.

“However, there is something else you should know.” Mrs. Jeffries paused. “Whoever the girl was, she was wearing Mary’s dress, and the broach that Mary had been accused of stealing from the Lutterbanks was pinned on the lapel.”

“Cor! Blimey, this is getting more confused by the minute.” Smythe scowled. “’Ow did this girl come to be wearin’ Mary’s clothes?”

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Jeffries replied earnestly. “But obviously the two cases are now connected.”

Betsy grimaced. “Did you see the body?”

“Yes. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Frankly, it was unrecognizable. Luty Belle only realized it couldn’t be Mary when she looked at the shoes. They were much too large to have belonged to her.”

“And didn’t the inspector say they were new shoes?” Mrs. Goodge said thoughtfully, remembering the details the housekeeper had shared with them earlier.

Mrs. Jeffries gave her an approving smile. “Yes. And Mary Sparks had just lost her position. She’d hardly have gone out and bought a pair of new shoes. But Cassie Yates, on the other hand, was apparently not in the least concerned about making a living. She’d quit her position.”

Wiggins looked up from his now-empty plate and said, “Do you think the dead girl is Cassie Yates?”

“I’m not sure. If Betsy’s information is correct and Cassie got married, then it’s highly unlikely she’s the victim.”

“Now, why would the dead girl be wearin’ Mary’s clothes?” Betsy mused. “And ’ow did she get them?”

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “But we’re going to find out.”

“Hmmm? That’s gonna be a bit ’ard. We’ll need more luck than most is given to find out what ’appened to this one.” Smythe crossed his massive arms over his chest. “Seems to me that all we know so far is that Mary Sparks got into a
’ansom and disappeared on the evening of the tenth. Supposedly, Cassie Yates got married that very same day, and an unknown woman wearin’ Mary’s clothes gets herself done in and buried in a cellar around at about this same time.”

“What are you getting at, Smythe?” Mrs. Jeffries asked.

“I ain’t sure. I just don’t like the way this is startin’ to look.”

Betsy leaned forward on her elbows. “Course we don’t know that the dead girl’s got anythin’ to do with either Mary or Cassie, but it’s a bit too…too…” Searching for the correct word, she broke off.

“Coincidental,” Smythe supplied. Betsy gave him an irritated frown.

Seeing another tiff brewing, Mrs. Jeffries hastily stepped into the discussion. “You’re absolutely right, Smythe, it is too coincidental. The first order of business is for you to find that cab driver. It’s imperative that we trace Mary’s movements.”

“Mary’s movements?” Mrs. Goodge echoed. “Shouldn’t we be lookin’ for Cassie Yates too?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Jeffries answered smoothly. “But finding Mary is our most important task. That’s why Wiggins is going to keep Garrett McGraw under observation from the time he leaves the gardens tonight until he returns there in the morning.”

“All night?” Wiggins wailed. “But it’s cold at night.”

“Stop frettin’, boy,” Smythe interjected. “I’ll be along after the pubs close to relieve you.”

“The pubs!” Betsy screeched. “You can’t be goin’ off for a drink when you’re supposed to be findin’ that driver.”

“Of course he isn’t going out to drink, Betsy,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “I have no doubt that Smythe will find the driver we seek well before the pubs open.” She looked at Smythe. “Right?”

“As usual, Mrs. J.” He gave her a lazy grin and rose to his feet. “I’m goin’ to the stables now.” He started walking to the door and then suddenly stopped. “Do you want me to see if I can find out where the carriage that took Cassie Yates’s things was hired from?”

Smythe knew every stable and livery in the city. Mrs. Jeffries was annoyed at herself for neglecting to think of that.

“Excellent idea.” She beamed her approval. “Perhaps we’ll get lucky. Perhaps the carriage was hired from Howards. That would certainly save you some time.”

Looking decidedly skeptical, he left. Howards was the stable where the inspector’s carriage and horses were kept.

“What do you want me to do next?” Betsy asked eagerly.

Mrs. Jeffries thought for a few moments. “We need to concentrate on finding Cassie Yates. If she married, the marriage would be recorded in the parish church. Go back and talk to Ellen Wickes. If the wedding was held at any of the churches around here, she might know which is the most likely.”

Betsy nodded and stood up. “But what if the banns were read at the groom’s church?”

“That’s a possibility. I tell you what, if you can’t get any more information out of Ellen Wickes, why don’t you see if you can make the acquaintance of anyone else who knew Cassie? Try her lodging house, and you might want to see if any of the other maids at the Lutterbank household would be able to give you any help. They may not have liked Cassie, but one of them may have known the name of her young man. Sometimes one’s enemies are more inclined to talk than one’s friends. Let’s hope so anyway. As a matter of fact,” Mrs. Jeffries added, “try and get the names of any young men Cassie might have been involved with.”

Betsy arched an eyebrow. “From what I’ve ’eard of ’er, that might be quite a list.”

“Just get the most recent ones,” Mrs. Jeffries advised, refusing to be offended by Betsy’s bluntness. When one was investigating a murder and a disappearance, one didn’t cling to outdated and ridiculous notions about whether or not innocent young housemaids should be so knowledgeable about the more unsavory aspects of the human condition. “Concentrate on the men Cassie is likely to have known this past year.”

“I expect you want me to put a bit of a fire under some of my sources,” Mrs. Goodge asked as she heaved herself out of
the chair. “The butcher’s boy is due in a few minutes. I’ll have him snoop around some…and ol’ Horace, the fruit vendor, is due on the corner this afternoon. I ’aven’t had a chat with ’im in a long time…” She picked up the teapot and wandered toward the pantry, muttering to herself as she walked.

Mrs. Jeffries had no doubt that by this time tomorrow, Mrs. Goodge would know every morsel of gossip or scandal about the Lutterbank family. She only hoped that there’d be something genuinely useful in the information.

As the housekeeper went about her duties, she went over and over the few facts they’d obtained concerning the missing girl and the body buried in Magpie Lane. By some bizarre twist of fate, the two cases were now linked. It couldn’t be a coincidence that Emery Clements was the owner of the property company that owned those houses, and it would be equally unlikely that after he’d publicly complained about the houses standing vacant, a girl would be murdered and buried there by chance. Not when so many of the principals were directly connected to the Lutterbank house, and it was at a Lutterbank party that Mr. Clements had voiced his displeasure over the vacant property and the lost rent.

After she’d checked the linen cupboards, Mrs. Jeffries came downstairs. On the bottom step she stopped suddenly. Gracious, she thought, I’m overlooking one of the obvious courses of action. No one had gone back to the Everdene house. She pursed her lips as she remembered the rather ugly gossip Mrs. Goodge had shared with her. Mary Sparks was a lovely young girl. Reverend Everdene had an unsavory reputation.

Mrs. Jeffries yanked off her apron and hurried to the hall closet for her cloak and hat. Taking time only to stick her head into the stairwell and tell Mrs. Goodge she’d be back later, she snatched her reticule from the hall table and raced out the door.

* * *

The Everdene house was a large gray monstrosity squatting at the end of a row of newer semidetached redbrick villas. An
expanse of shrubs, lawn and trees separated the house from its smaller neighbors. Mrs. Jeffries, who’d walked from the Putney High Street, took a deep, calming breath and boldly marched up the broad stone steps.

She banged the knocker and waited, hoping that the door would be answered by a nice, motherly-looking housekeeper. She’d considered her strategy on the way there and had decided things would go far more smoothly if she could gain the confidence of another woman. Preferably an older woman. Hopefully the housekeeper.

But the door wasn’t opened by a nice friendly female. It was opened by an unsmiling, bald-headed butler. Mrs. Jeffries immediately discarded her first plan and went to her second one.

“Good day,” she said firmly, drawing herself up to her full height of five foot three. “I would like to speak to Miss Everdene.”

“Who shall I say is calling, madam?”

“I fear my name will mean nothing to your mistress,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “But my business is of the utmost importance. Please tell Miss Everdene I’m here concerning a missing girl.”

He looked faintly surprised. “Wait here, please,” he said, stepping aside and gesturing for her to enter. “I’ll see if Miss Everdene is receiving.”

Mrs. Jeffries was fairly sure Antonia Everdene would be willing to speak with her. Her assumption was correct, for a few moments later, the butler returned. “Miss Everdene will see you.” He led the way down an oak-paneled hall to a set of double doors and nodded for her to enter.

Mrs. Jeffries stepped inside. The drawing room was paneled in the same dark oak as the hall, and the windows were covered with heavy royal-blue curtains. Sitting on the settee next to the fireplace was a young woman. “Miss Everdene?” Mrs. Jeffries said politely.

“I’m Antonia Everdene,” the woman replied. She didn’t smile or rise in greeting. She had mousy brown hair worn parted in the middle and drawn back in an unbecoming bun.
Her features were narrow and sharp, her mouth a thin, disapproving line. Deeply set hazel eyes regarded Mrs. Jeffries suspiciously for a few seconds; then Antonia lifted a hand and impatiently gestured for her to come forward. “Who are you and what do you want?”

Mrs. Jeffries smiled coolly. “My name is Hepzibah Jeffries,” she said as she sat down opposite the woman. “And as I told your butler, I’m here seeking information about a missing woman.”

Beneath Antonia Everdene’s sallow complexion, she paled. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t know why I told Piper I’d see you. You’d better leave.”

“I think not,” Mrs. Jeffries said firmly. “If you didn’t have some idea as to why I was here, you’d have had your butler show me the door immediately. But you didn’t. Therefore, I must assume you have some knowledge of her whom I seek. Please, Miss Everdene, let us speak plainly. I’m here to ask you some questions about a Miss Mary Sparks. And I’m not the first person to come and inquire about her either.”

“How dare you!”

“I dare because I must,” Mrs. Jeffries explained patiently. “Your home is the last place that Mary Sparks was seen.” She paused dramatically and added, “Alive.”

“This is an outrage. We know nothing about a missing girl.”

Mrs. Jeffries could see that the woman was on the verge of panic. She decided to try another tactic. Smiling kindly, she said, “Miss Everdene, I assure you, I haven’t come here seeking anything but your help. A young woman is missing. We fear she may have come to some harm.”

Antonia Everdene’s beady hazel eyes watched her warily for a moment before she nodded. “All right,” she said grudgingly. “I don’t see why I should speak with you, but as you’re here, I may as well find out what this nonsense is all about.”

“As I said, it’s about a young woman named Mary Sparks,” Mrs. Jeffries answered, watching the other woman closely.
Beneath her haughty demeanor, she could see the fear in Antonia’s eyes. “She came here about two months ago. On September the tenth.”

“I don’t know anything about that. Mrs. Griffith, my housekeeper, takes care of hiring the servants.” She gave a patently false shrug of her shoulders.

“You mean you never saw Miss Sparks,” Mrs. Jeffries persisted, deliberately using the girl’s name again. She wanted to impress upon Miss Everdene that a human being was missing, not an object or a piece of furniture. “But surely that’s impossible. Mary was here for at least one night. Someone in your household, possibly your housekeeper, has already admitted that much.”

“I didn’t say I never saw the girl,” she snapped. “But who pays attention to servants?”

“Didn’t you see her when you interviewed her for the position?”

“All interviewing is done by either a domestic agency or my housekeeper. I don’t like to be bothered.” Antonia Everdene’s hands balled into fists. “However, I did catch a glimpse of the girl the day I dropped into the agency to see how much longer it would take them to find me a maid. Miss Hedley pointed to a young woman who was just leaving and said she’d found someone for me and that the girl would be at the house later that morning. The only other time I saw this person was in the early evening, when she escorted my dinner guests into the parlor.”