Mrs. Jeffries Speaks Her Mind (6 page)

“What night was this?” Witherspoon sat up straighter.

“Two nights ago,” she replied. Her eyes filled with tears. “But that wasn’t the first time she’d claimed she heard someone about the place. Oh dear, I feel so awful. None of us believed her. We all thought she was just getting fanciful. It happens sometimes to people as they get older.” She broke off and clasped her hands together. “And last week we did find wet footprints in the hallway outside her bedroom. But at the time, I thought they were caused by one of the servants forgetting to clean their shoes when they came in from the outside and not wanting to own up to it. Miss Kettering was real particular about everyone wiping their feet before coming into the house.”

“So she’s been worried about someone being on her property for some time now?” he pressed.

“Yes, but as we couldn’t ever find anyone about the place nor did we ever hear anything,” the woman cried, “we thought she was just imagining things.” She dabbed at her cheeks with the back of her hand. “None of us took her seriously and now she’s been murdered.”

“I’m sure you did the best you could at the time,” he said. “Now, please go on. What sort of things did the staff think she was imagining?”

“She’d come in to breakfast and claim that someone had been on the balcony outside her door during the night.” Mrs. McAllister dabbed at her cheeks. “But my room is just above hers and I’m a light sleeper, so if there really had been someone there, I’d have heard them as well. But I never heard anything. I was never awakened.”

“Was that the only time she complained of hearing things?” he asked.

“No, sometimes in the evenings, when she was in the drawing room, she’d ring for me and say that she heard someone walking in the room above her, her morning room. I’d always go check, but there was never anyone there.”

“Did Miss Kettering have any enemies?” He always felt foolish asking this question. The woman had been murdered so there was obviously someone who hated her.

The housekeeper sighed again. “That’s hard to say. It’s not that she had what I would call ‘enemies.’ It’s more like for the last few years, she’d gone from being mildly annoying to downright mean.”

“Could you explain that, please?”

“Well, she’s always been an exacting employer, but she wasn’t rigid in her attitudes. I mean, she wouldn’t get furious and stop speaking to someone because they disagreed with her about their religious beliefs.” She paused. “But that changed about a year ago. She suddenly became very religious, but not in a nice sort of way.”

Witherspoon frowned in confusion. He wasn’t particularly religious himself, but he did believe in God and go to church occasionally. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I understand. Could you be a bit more specific?”

“It’s hard to explain, Inspector.” She sighed. “But you know how some people when they get religious become very kind and very concerned that the less fortunate have enough to eat and a roof over their heads? That didn’t happen to Miss Kettering. When she started going to the Society of the Humble Servant, which, by the way, isn’t a proper church at all but meets in the front room of Reverend Richards’ house, Miss Kettering became less kind and less concerned about the fate of the poor. She certainly didn’t become any more humble, either.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “And furthermore, it was about then that she started acting as if the staff was doing terrible things behind her back. She started watching us like we were a bunch of thieves.”

“Thieves?” he repeated. “Were things missing from the house?”

“A few,” she replied. “But it wasn’t the servants that were stealing from her, it was those odd people from that religious society. But she wouldn’t believe that; she always accused us when something went missing. But why would any of us steal from her? We needed our jobs. If we didn’t, we’d certainly not have stayed here.”

“What kind of objects were taken?” he asked.

“Little things mostly.” She pointed to a nearby table. “There used to be a silver bowl that sat there. It held some pretty-colored stones that Miss Kettering’s father had found in India. That was the first thing that went missing and it was right after she’d allowed the society to begin meeting here.”

“And you know for certain it was stolen, not simply moved somewhere else.” He glanced around the room. Gracious, this house was so large, if someone moved an object, it might take years before it turned up.

“Of course, Inspector.” She gave a delicate, derisive snort. “I’m not a fool. The stones were scattered about on the tabletop. The thief had dumped them out to be able to slip the bowl into their pocket.”

“Did you notify the police?”

“No, that’s how I knew it wasn’t any of the servants who were doing the stealing from her. Dulcie, the downstairs maid, noticed the bowl was missing when she came in to clean the next morning. When I told Miss Kettering, her first reaction was that one of us had taken it.” Her eyes narrowed in remembered anger. “She actually wanted to search all our rooms. I couldn’t believe it. I told her if she was going to distrust her servants so, then she ought to notify the police so the search could be done properly. Then I pointed out that none of the servants had been in here after her church meeting had ended and that perhaps one of those visitors had taken the wretched thing. I reminded her that just prior to everyone arriving, I’d been in this room making sure everything was ready for her guests and I’d not noticed the bowl being gone.”

“And as you were in here to ascertain that all was in order, I’m sure you’d have noticed if it was missing,” he mused. “Was that the only thing that has gone missing?”

“Oh no, we’ve lost quite a number of things. A Dresden figurine of a shepherdess was taken out of the morning room, a cherrywood box with a carved ivory top is missing from the library, and over there”—she pointed to the mantel—“used to be two tall silver candlesticks. But they’re gone as well. What’s more, it’s always after the Society of the Humble Servant has met here that something is missing.”

 

In the dining room, Constable Barnes was interviewing the scullery maid, Susan Edwards. “When did your cook actually die?” he asked.

“Friday morning,” she replied. She was a fair-haired girl who looked to be in her late teens. Her skin was pale, her eyes brown, and she was thin as a rail. “Mrs. Grant took a turn for the worse during the night and died that morning. Miss Kettering had finally sent for the doctor, but by then it was too late.”

“That’s unfortunate, but we’ve heard that the cook had been ill for some time, is that correct?” He wanted to verify the information they’d heard from Bernadine Fox.

“That’s right.” Susan tucked a strand of hair that had slipped out from beneath her cap back behind her ear. “I overheard the doctor telling Mrs. McAllister that he thought she might have had the cancer.”

“And was there a great deal of resentment over the fact that Miss Kettering delayed calling in a doctor?” He wanted to find out how angry the staff was at their mistress. He didn’t think any of them would have been furious enough to kill, but such acts weren’t unknown.

“If you’re askin’ if we was angry about her lettin’ Cook lay there and die, then the answer is yes.” Susan cocked her head to one side and crossed her arms over her chest. “We were all at Cook’s funeral, so even though we didn’t like Miss Kettering very much, none of us coulda killed the woman. If you don’t believe me, you can ask anyone who was at the funeral. The whole village turned out, and Cook hadn’t lived there in years.”

“What’s the name of the village?”

“Leston,” she replied. “Mind you, they thought it mean that Miss Kettering couldn’t be bothered to pay her respects.”

Barnes nodded thoughtfully. “Why didn’t Miss Kettering go to the service? I understand Elsa Grant had been the cook here for ten years.”

“Mrs. McAllister asked her if she was coming—I know because I was standing in the back stairwell and I heard her as clear as a bell—but Miss Kettering just said she couldn’t, that she was too busy.” Susan snorted and uncrossed her arms. “Too busy, can you believe that! She didn’t have anything to do today.”

“Perhaps Miss Kettering didn’t want to go out in the storm,” he suggested. “Or perhaps she was expecting a friend to come for a visit.” He had no idea why the victim had decided to stay in today, but his years of experience had taught him that a good way of learning more was to toss out a bit of idle speculation.

“She’s not got any friends,” Susan exclaimed. “None of her relatives like her enough to visit. Mrs. Fox is civil because they’ve known each other for years, and those people from the Society of the Humble only butter her up because she gives them money. Besides, I know the real reason she didn’t want to go to the funeral.”

“And what would that be?”

Susan smiled grimly. “She was scared to leave the house!”

“We’ve a name and an address, that’s enough to get started,” Betsy declared as she got to her feet. “There’s enough time for me to get to Brook Green and ask a few questions.”

Betsy was very talented at getting information about both victims and suspects out of the local merchants. She was also determined to prove to the others and herself that just because she and Smythe had married and didn’t live in the house, it would make no difference in her ability to contribute to their cases!

“Be careful, Betsy, the news of the woman’s death might not have spread to the locals as yet,” Mrs. Jeffries warned.

“And it looks like it might be goin’ to rain some more.” Smythe had gotten to his feet as well and was staring at the window over the sink. “Are you sure you want to go?”

“I’m sure.” She went to the coat tree. “I’ve got a good cloak and a big umbrella, so I’ll be fine.”

Smythe was right on her heels. He grabbed her cloak and draped it over her shoulders. “Right, then, mind you’re back in time for supper. If you find out anything, maybe we can ’ave a short meetin’ before the inspector gets home.”

Mrs. Jeffries stared at Betsy. “You’ll have to hurry; it’s already past four and it’ll take you a good half hour to get to Brook Green.” She suspected that the maid’s determination to start the case immediately had less to do with justice and more to do with her state of mind. Betsy seemed to be trying to prove something, either to herself or to them. Mrs. Jeffries wasn’t sure which it was, but she’d recently realized that Betsy hadn’t quite adjusted to the recent changes in her circumstances. She loved her husband and her new home but she hadn’t warmed up very well to Phyllis coming into the household. Mrs. Jeffries had noticed that though Betsy was always polite to the girl, she’d rebuffed her efforts to become friends. That wasn’t like Betsy; she was generally the first to offer the hand of friendship. Oh well, she was sure it would sort itself out eventually.

“We can get her there in fifteen minutes in the carriage,” Luty interjected as she got up. “We’d best be goin’. I’ve got to git ready to go out tonight. Maybe I’ll have a bit to contribute tomorrow at our mornin’ meeting. I’m goin’ to Lord and Lady Palmer’s tonight.” She giggled. “And I know that someone there will have heard about the Kettering murder.”

“Really, madam.” Hatchet gave her a sour look. “You must be careful tonight, we can’t let anyone realize we’ve found out about the poor woman’s murder . . .”

“You always think I don’t have a brain in my head,” Luty interrupted with a glare at her butler. “Of course I’ll be discreet. I’m the very soul of discretion.”

Hatchet raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He got up and went to the coat tree for their outer garments. “We’ll be here at our usual time tomorrow.” He glanced at Mrs. Jeffries as he returned to the table and draped Luty’s cloak over her shoulders.

“You might want to come a few minutes earlier,” Betsy said as she stepped away from her husband. “Just in case Phyllis takes it into her head to come early. I’ve noticed that she’s getting here before nine.”

“I told her she could come early and have a bit of breakfast,” Mrs. Jeffries said.

“They’re a bit stingy with food at her cousin’s house,” Mrs. Goodge added. “Which I think is downright sinful, considerin’ what they’re chargin’ her for lodgin’ with them.”

“Oh, I see.” Betsy forced a smile. “I didn’t know that. No one’s mentioned it before. Well, then, that’s alright. I just hope it doesn’t interfere with our morning meeting.”

“Come along, madam, Miss Betsy.” Hatchet ushered them toward the back hall. “We must get moving if we’re to have anything useful to report tomorrow morning.”

“Mind you get back here on time,” Smythe called to his wife as the three of them disappeared. He grabbed his coat and put it on. “I might as well see if I can find out anything else. There was another pub in the neighborhood. Maybe lightning will strike twice and I’ll find out something else.”

“Do you want me to come, too?” Wiggins asked.

Smythe shook his head and started for the back door. “No, I’ll go on my own. Sometimes it’s easier to get people to talk when there’s only one of you.” He could also pass a bit of silver about more easily if he was by himself. Money did wonders in getting tongues to loosen up.