Mrs. Jeffries Speaks Her Mind (25 page)

She shoved away from the post and went back to the kitchen, crossing the room and heading for the dish rack by the sink. There were only a few odds and ends left. But she’d put them away. Betsy had washed the blue and white salt cellar. Mrs. Jeffries took it off the bottom row, picked up the small lamp she’d left burning off the worktable, and went to the dry larder. Ideas, insights, and snatches of conversation from their meetings whirled about in her head as she went down the hall. Olive Kettering was running for her life and, surely, the killer had to have been in the house. But who was it? She pushed open the door, stepped inside, and put the lamp and the salt cellar on the small worktable. She pulled a tin of salt off the bottom shelf and then just stood there, staring off into space. Who benefited from Olive Kettering’s death? Two of the heirs claimed they didn’t even know they were still in the will and the third obviously knew he was. It didn’t make sense, it simply didn’t make sense. She pried open the lid of the tin and reached behind her for the cellar.

There has to be something I’m missing, she thought as she scooped the salt into the vessel. Either something that’s hidden so cleverly no one could find it, she told herself, or something that’s so obvious you don’t even see it.

The next morning, Mrs. Jeffries was awake and down in the kitchen well before anyone else in the household. She took a sip of tea and stared across the room at the pale light seeping in through the window. She hadn’t slept well at all; her mind simply wouldn’t quiet. Between her domestic worries and the details of this case, she doubted she’d had more than two hours’ rest and it had all been for naught, at least as far as the murder was concerned. That flash of insight she’d experienced yesterday hadn’t come back and that, of course, was her own doing. She knew good and well that thinking too hard and trying to connect all the pieces was the worst thing to do! But she hadn’t been able to stop herself.

But the sleeplessness had resulted in something useful. In the wee hours of the morning, she’d made a decision. There was one problem she could take care of today and, despite her misgivings, she was going to do it.

There was a knock on the back door, startling her and almost causing her to knock over her mug of tea. Getting up, she hurried down the hall and unlocked the door. It was still very early, so she cracked it open an inch to see who was there. “Constable Barnes, you’re here awfully early. Is anything wrong?” She backed up and waved him inside. “Come in, come in, it’s freezing out there. I’ve made tea.”

“I could do with something hot.” He stepped across the threshold and moved aside so she could shut the door. They started up the corridor. “I wasn’t going to stop, I was going to leave you a note, but when I got here I saw the light on so I knew someone must be up. Lucky for me it wasn’t the inspector.” He chuckled as they came into the kitchen.

Mrs. Jeffries pointed to the table. “Sit down, I’ll get us some tea and you can tell me what this is all about.” She was suddenly very happy. Barnes coming by at this time of day had to mean he had something of importance to report.

She poured his tea, refreshed her own, and handed him his mug as she slipped into her chair. “Now, what were you going to leave a note about?”

He took a quick drink before he spoke. “I meant to mention it to the inspector yesterday, but we were so busy that I completely forgot until late in the evening. I was so annoyed at myself for forgettin’ something which might be important that it kept me awake most of the night.”

“I know precisely what you mean,” she agreed. “This case seems to be keeping all of us up. I didn’t sleep much, either. Now, what was it?”

“It was a conversation I overheard at the funeral yesterday.” He took another quick sip. “Sorry, but this is warm and it was ruddy cold outside. I’m sure the inspector told you about the ruckus between Richards and Dorian Kettering.”

She nodded. “He did and he also mentioned how indiscreet the solicitor was and how angry Mrs. Fox became.”

“She’d have been even angrier if she’d heard what the servants were mumbling about her.” Barnes grinned. “I made it a point to walk out of the church behind them and, believe me, all of them were complainin’ that now that Miss Kettering is gone, Mrs. Fox is acting like she owns the place. I expect her nose will be out of joint quite a bit when the Society of the Humble takes possession of it. But that’s not what I came to tell you. As we left the church, I heard one of the maids telling Mrs. McAllister that she thinks she’s catching the same thing that poor Miss Kettering had before she died.”

Mrs. Jeffries stared at him curiously. “What does that mean?”

“It was hard to hear very clearly—remember, we were leaving the church and everyone was crowded in the center aisle—but I think the girl was referring to Miss Kettering’s complaints that she heard people walking in the house at night,” he explained.

“I didn’t hear everything she said,” he continued, “but I did hear Mrs. McAllister tell the girl not to worry, she thinks it’s just the house making strange noises as old houses do, because only the night before, she’d heard someone walking about herself.” He leaned back in the chair and shrugged. “I know it doesn’t sound like a very important piece of information, but I tell you, Mrs. Jeffries, it kept me awake half the night and I don’t know why.”

Mrs. Jeffries said nothing for a moment, she simply stared off at a spot somewhere over Barnes’ shoulder. “I know why. The house was built by a royalist during Cromwell’s reign,” she murmured.

Barnes’ brows drew together in confusion. “Sorry, I don’t understand what you’re getting at. What’s that got to do with the servants starting to hear things?”

She wasn’t sure she understood it, either, but suddenly she was sure she was on the right track. She took a deep breath. Explaining her idea wasn’t going to be easy, and if she was wrong it might cause the constable a great deal of embarrassment. “You’ll need to get the inspector to search the Kettering house again, and this time, if my idea is correct, you’ll need to be exceedingly thorough.”

 

Mrs. Jeffries stood in the shadows beneath the oak tree in the communal garden and watched the path. She pulled her cloak tighter against the chill and hoped they’d hurry up and get here; it was cold and their morning meeting was due to start soon. She wanted to have a word with Betsy beforehand.

They appeared suddenly out of the midst from the far side of the garden. They came down the path hand in hand. They walked silently, as couples that are very easy with one another can do. Mrs. Jeffries waited till they were almost at the tree before she stepped out. “Good morning.”

“Mornin’, Mrs. J.” Smythe grinned cheerfully. “What are you doin’ out ’ere?”

“Good morning, Mrs. Jeffries.” Betsy gave her a timid smile.

“I was waiting to speak to you.” She kept her attention on Smythe. “I need your help. We’ve got to air the attic out—there’s terrible smell up there—and Wiggins has gone up to open all those little windows at the top.”

“He’ll never get ’em open on his own.” Smythe shook his head. “They’re stuck. It’ll take the two of us to pry ’em loose.”

“That’s what I told him.” Mrs. Jeffries nodded eagerly. “But he said he wanted to try it on his own and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings—Wiggins does like to think he’s very strong. Would you slip up there and help him? You can tell him I sent you up because I didn’t want him late for our morning meeting.”

He nodded, gave Betsy’s hand a squeeze, and hurried toward the house.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Mrs. Jeffries turned to Betsy. “I need to speak with you.” She took her arm and led her toward the wooden bench under the tree.

“But the bench will be wet,” Betsy protested halfheartedly.

“No, it won’t. I’ve wiped it down with a towel. Now sit down.”

Betsy flopped down, folded her arms over her chest, and stared at the housekeeper defiantly. “Alright, I’m here. Now, what is it? If it’s about Phyllis, I told you yesterday I’d be nice to her.”

“It’s not about Phyllis.” Mrs. Jeffries noted that Betsy’s face was pale, there were dark circles under her eyes, and she looked as if she’d lost weight. “It’s about you.”

Betsy straightened up, uncrossed her arms, and balled her hands into fists. “I knew it, I just knew it. You’re going to ask the inspector to give me the sack so you can give my job to Phyllis,” she charged. “You think that just because Smythe is rich and I don’t need the wages, you can take it away from me.” Her eyes filled with tears. “But you can’t. It’s my place, Mrs. Jeffries. It’s my place and I won’t be driven off like I’m nothing.”

The agony on the girl’s face broke her heart. “Oh, Betsy, I’d never do that. You know I’d die before I’d hurt you. We’d never want you to go. If you’ll recall, the one time you tried to leave, I’m the one that begged you to stay.”

Betsy sniffed and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “But I’ve said I’ll be nicer to Phyllis, so if you’re not going to sack me, what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Mrs. Jeffries sighed. “Oh, Betsy, I’m so worried about you that I can’t think straight. And I’m not the only one. Mrs. Goodge is concerned and even Wiggins has noticed that something is amiss. Now listen, I’m going to speak my mind and if you don’t like what I’ve got to say . . . well, there isn’t anything I can do about that. Because what I’ve got to say is important. There’s something wrong with you, and I’m not just talking about your attitude. You don’t look well.”

“I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“Neither did I,” Mrs. Jeffries retorted. “And part of the reason why is that I’m so concerned about your health that it’s all I can think about when I shut my eyes. I don’t think you quite see yourself in a true light. One moment you’re sweet as can be and the next you’re snapping poor Phyllis’ head off. Hasn’t Smythe noticed it as well?”

“He has, but I told him the moods were because I was getting used to being married,” Betsy mumbled. “I know I’ve been awful and I don’t like it, either. It’s just that for the last month, sometimes I feel like I’m all jumbled up inside. One second, I’ll feel like I’m going to cry, and the next, I’ll be so happy I could laugh like a loon.”

“But why do you seem to dislike poor Phyllis so much?” Mrs. Jeffries asked. “That’s what I can’t comprehend and that is what is so worrying. You’ve only started acting this way in the last month or two. When Phyllis first arrived, you were very nice to her. What happened? That’s what I need to understand. You’re a kind, sweet woman and it’s not at all like you to be mean to someone who is too scared of losing her position to fight back. You’ve never been a bully, Betsy.”

Betsy covered her face with her hands and sucked in a long, hard breath. “I was scared she wanted to take my place,” she finally murmured. “I know it’s silly to feel that way—you’d never run me off—but every time I saw you or Mrs. Goodge or the inspector being nice to her, it made me feel like I wasn’t needed. Or wanted. I’m so sorry and I won’t do it again, I promise.”

Mrs. Jeffries put her arm around Betsy’s shoulder and with her other hand lifted her chin until they faced each other. Betsy stared at her. “I know you won’t, but that’s not my concern.”

“What is the concern?” Betsy whispered.

“Sometimes, when people’s behavior changes, it means there is something physically wrong. I know you’ve said you’ll go to see a doctor, but I want your word of honor that you’ll do it right away.”

Betsy smiled tremulously and her eyes filled with tears again. But then she began to giggle. “I give you my word.”

Mrs. Jeffries drew back. “What is so funny?”

“I was going to the doctor anyway, but you see, there’s really no need. I know what’s wrong with me.”

“Oh, you’ve medical training, now, do you?” This time it was Mrs. Jeffries who crossed her arms over her chest.

Betsy laughed out loud. “No, but I did have a nice long chat with my neighbor Mrs. Verner. She’s not in the least shy about getting right to the heart of the matter.”

“Does this Mrs. Verner have a medical degree?” Mrs. Jeffries demanded. Really, young people, sometimes they simply didn’t know what they were about.

“No, but she does have three children.” Betsy threw her arms around the housekeeper. “Mrs. Verner said that sometimes in the beginning your emotions can get the better of you and you can latch onto silly notions, like I did about Phyllis taking my place, but that all passes. Oh, Mrs. Jeffries, I’m going to have a baby.”

 

Betsy ducked her head to hide her own smile. Mrs. Jeffries was having the very devil of a time keeping her feelings hidden, as it were, but she had no doubt the housekeeper would keep her word. Betsy had made her promise to keep her secret just a bit longer. She hadn’t told Smythe yet and if her husband knew about the baby, he’d not want her dashing about London finding clues. She didn’t want anyone else knowing before him, either. But it had felt good to tell someone, almost as good as it had felt yesterday evening when she’d spoken with Mrs. Verner and finally figured out was wrong . . . well, not wrong exactly. She helped herself to a slice of bread. Gracious, she was hungry this morning. Now she understood why she’d been acting like such a silly cow. Now, at the very least, she could keep herself in check when those childish feeling overwhelmed her. She wondered how much longer they were going to last.