Mrs. Jeffries Speaks Her Mind (27 page)

“Today.” He nodded toward the open door. “Like I said, I went to get oil for the front gate and found that bag. I looked inside. Frankly, I wasn’t sure what to do. But then you showed up and made the decision easy.”

“When was the last time you were in here?” Barnes got to his feet.

“Last week, Mrs. McAllister wanted some paraffin for the downstairs lamps. We don’t use it much anymore, it’s too dangerous. But Miss Kettering insisted that we have a lamp on each floor. She was always worried the gaslights wouldn’t work.”

“And I take it the bag wasn’t there then?” Witherspoon asked.

Taylor shook his head. “No, nothing in that room but the oil and the paraffin.”

“Does everyone in the household have access to the room?” Barnes tied the rope loosely around the top of the bag.

“No one does but me and Mrs. McAllister. We keep it locked. But when I came here today, the door was standing open.”

Witherspoon walked over, bent down, and examined the lock closely. “There’s no indication that anyone tampered with it,” he mused. “No scratches on the plate or on the wood.”

“So whoever opened it must have had a key,” Barnes said. He turned to Taylor. “Did Mrs. McAllister open it for any reason?”

“I doubt it. She generally asks me when she needs the lamps refilled and, like I said, we refilled them last week so she’d no reason to come out here. Besides, she’s had her hands full with the service and the reception.”

“Were you here when Miss Kettering was murdered?” the inspector asked.

Taylor didn’t look offended by the question. “I was with the others at Mrs. Grant’s funeral in Kent,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“Have you seen anyone coming or going in this area in the past few days?” Barnes swept his arm in a wide arc.

“No one, at least not while I’ve been here. But I’m only here during the day. If you want to know what happens at night, you’ll need to ask Mrs. Fox. She lives upstairs.”

“You live off the property, is that right?”

“I’ve a room in a lodgin’ house nearby. Miss Kettering did give me a raise to pay for the room, I’ll give her that much.”

Barnes put the burlap bag gently down on the ground and went to where the inspector stood by the open door. He studied the lock for a moment and then looked at Taylor. “These are old, aren’t they?”

“Yes, when they built this room, they took the lock off the butler’s pantry and put it in here. Miss Kettering wasn’t one to waste money.” He turned and pointed to the room that used to be his. “She got that lock off the door to the library. She said there wasn’t any reason to keep a library locked, most people wouldn’t bother stealin’ books.”

“So if the locks are old, does that mean that Miss Kettering didn’t change the locks when she bought the place?” Witherspoon asked.

“I don’t think so, but Mrs. Fox might be the best one to ask, or Mr. Dorian Kettering; they both grew up here.”

“We’ll do that, Mr. Taylor, and thank you for your cooperation,” Witherspoon said.

“If you need me for anything else, I’ll be working on the other side of the house.” Taylor nodded respectfully and left.

Barnes picked up the burlap bag. “Shall we go see Mrs. McAllister, sir?” He was very relieved. Mrs. Jeffries had made it clear that the Kettering house had to be searched again and he’d done some fancy talking himself to get the inspector here. “And should I send for some lads?”

“Lads?” Witherspoon looked puzzled. “Why?”

Barnes nodded toward the bag. “It’s like you said, sir, there’s more to this place than meets the eye. If the gardener can find a bag of stolen knickknacks, who knows what else is here? Your idea that we need another search is a good one, sir. These old houses have a lot of secrets.”

Witherspoon nodded in agreement. “Ask the constable at the front to get us some help from the local station. I’ll take the bag into the house and see if I can find Mrs. McAllister.” Barnes handed him the bag and both men headed for the open doorway.

Witherspoon laughed softly and hefted the sack as he spoke. “Wouldn’t it be ironic if these had been stolen by someone from the Society of the Humble? They’d have been stealing from themselves. They own this place now and everything in it.”

They came out of the carriage house and went their separate ways. Barnes hurried to the front and Witherspoon started across the garden.

He reached the door and knocked. Mrs. McAllister herself opened up. “I saw you and the constable from the upstairs window. Do come inside, Inspector.”

He stepped inside, holding the bag carefully in front of him to avoid damaging the contents. “I’ve something I must show you,” he said as she closed the door.

She glanced down and moved in front of him. “So I see. Let’s go in here.” She pushed open the first door on the corridor. “This is our dining room. But it ought to be empty.”

Witherspoon followed her. A long oak table, darkened with age, dominated the room. Shelves filled with mismatched china, crockery, mugs, and odd-sized serving platters were on the wall opposite where he stood. Gray linoleum, buckling in places, covered the floor.

The inspector put the bag on the table, flicked off the loosely tied rope, and spread it open. Mrs. McAllister, who’d moved to stand beside him, gasped. “Dear me, where on earth did you get those things?”

“Are these the objects that have been stolen from the house?” Covertly, he lowered his eyes and watched her expression. She wasn’t one of the major heirs of the estate, but she was getting a legacy. He’d known people to kill for less. He was no expert at reading faces, but in his judgment, she certainly didn’t look guilty, only surprised.

“They most certainly are.” She clasped her hands together. “Where on earth did you get them?”

“The gardener, Danny Taylor, found them today. He saw us get out of a cab and showed them to us,” Witherspoon said. “He found them when he went to get some oil for the front gate. They were in that little room at the back of the carriage house.”

“But that’s impossible, that room is always kept locked. How could anyone have gotten inside it?” she protested.

“That’s what I wanted to ask you. Mr. Taylor said that you and he are the only ones with keys.”

“That’s true, but my key is right here.” She pulled a round brass ring out of her pocket and held it at eye level for a moment. There were a dozen keys on it. She grabbed one of them by the tip. “This is my key and it’s still safely on my ring. I can assure you, Inspector, I haven’t been near that room in quite a long time. I never go out there.”

“That’s what Mr. Taylor told us,” he replied. “Have you seen anyone on the grounds that shouldn’t have been here?”

She smiled wearily. “Inspector, yesterday there were dozens of people here for the funeral reception. They were milling about all over the place. Even some of those wretches from the Society of the Humble managed to get into the house. I recognized them, but I didn’t want another scene so I said nothing to Mr. Kettering.”

Witherspoon nodded in understanding. “I imagine you or someone else in the household would have noticed if any of the funeral guests had been carrying a burlap sack. However, someone may have slipped out and unlocked the door for an accomplice. I forgot to ask Mr. Taylor if the outer door was open. Do you know?”

“It was closed. It is only opened when the gardener is working on the grounds and there was no work done yesterday.”

“Is that door kept locked as well?”

“Yes, Miss Kettering wanted every door in the place kept locked,” she replied.

“Then the bag must have been put there before yesterday,” he mused. “I don’t suppose we’ll ever know, but at least these items have been returned to the household.”

“Thank you, Inspector.” She scooped up the bag. “I’ll put these back in their proper places.”

“Mrs. McAllister, how many people are in the house today?”

She looked surprised by the question. “Just the usual number, the servants and the cook from the agency. Why?”

“We’re going to search the house again,” he said. “We’ll do our best to avoid disrupting your routine, but there will be a number of policemen about the place.”

“I hope you find something, Inspector. I must say, I am feeling a bit more sympathetic to Miss Kettering. The night before last I was sure I heard footsteps walking about the house. But when I got up and looked, there was no one there.”

“Where is your room?”

“On the floor above Miss Kettering’s.” She smiled sheepishly. “The rest of the servants are in the attic, but Mrs. Grant and I had rooms along the third floor corridor. I suppose I might have been overly sensitive. It’s been strange having both the cook’s room and Miss Kettering’s room empty.”

“I take it the cook from the agency doesn’t live in?” he commented. He’d no idea how these things worked. He left domestic issues up to Mrs. Jeffries.

“No, she doesn’t, and I don’t know how much longer we can keep her on or what’s going to happen to the household. The servants have been asking. They’re all worried they’re to be chucked out at a moment’s notice. They’ve heard that she left the house to the Society of the Humble and they’re worried. People have got to have time to find other places to work and live.”

“I’m sure there’s been some provision in Miss Kettering’s will for domestic arrangements. Why don’t you ask Mr. Johnston about it? Furthermore, it does take a while before an estate is disbursed.”

“That’s good to know.” She smiled gratefully. “I’ll have a word with him. He seems a decent sort of man; I’m sure that at the very least he’ll be able to tell us how much time we’ve left here. I’m going to his office tomorrow morning for the formal reading of the will. I’ll ask him then.”

“I would advise you to get there a bit early so you can speak with him privately,” Witherspoon suggested. “He may be more forthcoming out of the earshot of the other heirs. If you’ll excuse me, I’d better see if the constables have arrived so we can begin the search. We’ll try to stay out of everyone’s way.”

Mrs. McAllister hesitated. “You might want to have a word with Mrs. Fox before you start. She’s in charge of the household until things get sorted out legally.”

Wiggins spotted Barnes coming out the front gate of the Kettering house. They were in Luty Belle’s carriage and Hatchet had instructed the coachman to drive by the house before finding a suitable spot to wait along one of the streets near the green. “Cor blimey, there goes Constable Barnes. He’s in a ruddy ’urry.”

Hatchet banged on the ceiling, his signal to the driver to stop, then he turned to Wiggins. “Jump out and get the constable. Tell him we’ve a message from Mrs. Jeffries.”

Wiggins waited till the rig slowed and came to a halt. He flung open the doors, leapt to the ground, and raced across the road.

Barnes heard running behind him and looked over his shoulder. He smiled slightly, not at all surprised by the footman’s sudden appearance. He was used to this sort of thing from the Witherspoon household. “Hello, Wiggins. What brings you here?”

“We’ve got a message for you, Constable,” Wiggins explained quickly. He glanced toward the Kettering house. “Get in the carriage and we’ll take you where you need to go. It’s from Mrs. Jeffries.”

“Right, then, let’s hurry.” Barnes crossed the road. “I’ve got to get to the local police station before I can go back to the house.”

 

Bernadine Fox wasn’t pleased to see him; Witherspoon could see that from the way she glared at him. He was standing in the center of her elegant drawing room. She hadn’t invited him to sit down.

“This is most inconvenient, Inspector,” she complained. “There is much work to be done today. I told Dorian and Patricia I’d do an inventory of the house for them. Haven’t your people already searched?”

“True, but we need to do it again,” he replied. “We’ll do our best to stay out of the way. Can you tell me if you’ve seen any strangers hanging about the carriage house in the last few days?”

“Strangers, no, why do you ask?” She regarded him warily.

“We—or rather, the gardener—found a burlap sack filled with items from the household in the little storage room just below here.”

“What items?” she demanded. “What are you talking about?”

“The knickknacks that have been stolen from the Kettering house this past year.”

“They were a bit more than knickknacks, Inspector,” she retorted. “Some of the items that are missing are very valuable and I know who took them. It was one of those wretches from the Society of the Humble. You really should search their premises. I’m sure you’d find all sorts of incriminating evidence if you did.” Her eyes narrowed angrily. “I can’t believe Olive was foolish enough to leave that confidence trickster a third of her estate. Well, we’ll see about that. I’ve spoken with Dorian and Patricia about taking the matter before a judge and I think I’ve made them see reason.”

“Be that as it may, ma’am, right at the moment, my concern is the return of the stolen goods.” He couldn’t put his finger on why this mattered, but he had a feeling it might be very important. “And whoever took them to begin with obviously decided to bring them back. They deliberately put them in a place where they’d eventually be found, the little storage room just below your flat. I was wondering if you might have seen anyone or perhaps heard strange noises.”