Mrs. Jeffries Weeds the Plot (18 page)

Mrs. Jeffries glanced around the table. “As no one appears to object, go ahead.”

He grinned and took a deep breath. “All right, then. I found a woman who used to clean at the school. She knew McIntosh. ’E wasn’t much liked. Seems ’e liked runnin’ to the ’eadmaster and tellin’ on people.”

“I’ll bet the students hated that.” Betsy laughed.

“Not just the students,” Wiggins said. “The staff did, too. From what Stella told me, just about everyone ’ated the fellow. But I don’t think any of them killed ’im. The school’s been closed since spring term.”

“Maybe someone was biding his time,” Luty suggested. “I knew a miner once who waited twenty years to shoot the man who jumped his claim. Waited till the fellow was walkin’ up the aisle of the church for his weddin’ and then he shot him right in the back.”

“Why’d he wait so long?” Betsy asked

“He wanted to wait till the happiest day of the feller’s life before he killed him, least that’s what he said at his trial.”

“I don’t think McIntosh was killed on the happiest day of ’is life,” Wiggins said with a frown. “From what Stella said, ’e was ’appiest when ’e was tellin’ tales on someone.”

“Did she know what McIntosh had done before he was the caretaker?” Hatchet asked.

“He worked at sea.”

“Like a sailor?” Betsy asked.

“’E weren’t really a sailor, ’e worked for passenger liners. More like a porter or a steward. You know, fetchin’ and carryin’ and doin’ for the passengers. But he stopped doin’ that and got a job as the caretaker at the school.”

“I wonder why he gave up the sea,” Luty murmured. “Can you find out what passenger line he worked for?”

Wiggins nodded eagerly. “I expect I can. Stella give me the address of one of the cooks from the school. I’m ’aving a word with ’er tomorrow.”

“You’ve learned a great deal, Wiggins,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “Who would like to go next?”

“I might as well,” Betsy volunteered. “I found that maid that worked for the Cookseys.” She glanced at the cook. “The one you heard about.”

“The one that was scared of her own shadow.” Mrs. Goodge nodded.

“She didn’t act scared when I was with her,” Betsy said. “What’s more, she was a real talker, too. I didn’t even have to come up with any reason for asking so many questions.” She told the others everything she’d learned from Eliza Adderly. “And when I asked her if they’d give her a reference,” she finished, “Eliza told me they had to, that if they didn’t, she’d go right to Miss Gentry and tell her what the Cookseys planned to do next.” She took a quick sip of her tea.

“Don’t stop now,” Luty demanded. “Go on.”

“That’s just it,” Betsy admitted glumly. “That’s the one thing she didn’t tell. Another girl from Eliza’s village happened to come into the waiting room just then and I couldn’t get anything more out of her.”

“Maybe you can manage to run into her again,” Luty suggested.

“I thought about that, but I don’t think I can manage
it. She wasn’t sure which train she was taking back and I can’t spend my whole day hanging about the St. Pancras station.” Betsy wanted to get over to Clapham and pay a visit to St. Andrew’s. She wasn’t going to waste her precious investigating hours waiting for Eliza Adderly to turn up. Especially since she thought the maid might have been exaggerating just a bit. But she didn’t want to share this with the others. She might be wrong.

“But you’ve got to find out,” Wiggins insisted. “It might be right important.”

“Maybe you can manage to see her again after she’s come back to the Cookseys’,” Hatchet suggested. “From what we know of their financial circumstances, they don’t have a large staff.”

“They don’t,” Betsy agreed. “They used to have a cook but she quit last month. Now it’s just Eliza.”

“Then it would be my guess that this young lady does most of the errands for the household,” Hatchet said.

“She does.” Betsy brightened immediately. “I know because she was complaining about having to go to the fishmongers for Mrs. Cooksey before she left. She was afraid she’d get on the train smelling of fish. I’ll wait until early tomorrow morning and then have another try at it. If there’s shopping to be done, she’ll be doing it then.”

“Can I go now?” Smythe asked. He had a lot of information to share with the others.

“By all means,” Mrs. Jeffries replied.

He told them what he’d learned from Blimpey Groggins without, of course, mentioning where he’d got the information. “So you see, not even the street toughs ’ave any idea who killed Porter.”

“Is your…er…source a reliable one?” Mrs. Jeffries hated to ask such a question, but it was necessary. “Oh dear, that sounds awful.”

“No offense taken.” The coachman grinned broadly.
“I know what you’re askin’. Take my word, the source is a good one. If ’e says no one on the streets knows anythin’ about this murder, it’s the truth.”

Luty frowned in confusion. “The one thing I don’t understand is why your source thinks Porter was blackmailing someone. There’s lots of other ways to get a wad of bills—”

“I know,” Smythe interrupted. “My source weren’t sure, ’e were only tossing the idea out because it seemed to be the only one that fit. But you’re right, there’s lots of ways to get money.”

“But Porter is alleged to have said there was more coming,” Hatchet reminded them, “and that implies that he had access to a steady source of cash. He wouldn’t have made such a statement if he’d been referring to robbery or pickpocketing. The first is too risky and the second is too unreliable.”

“So what we know is that no one knows why Tim Porter was murdered and there is some evidence he was also a blackmailer,” Mrs. Jeffries said.

Smythe nodded. “That’s about it. I’ve got my sources workin’ on who Porter’s victim might ’ave been.”

“Maybe it was Stan McIntosh,” Luty ventured.

“Now, madam, let’s not jump to conclusions. We’ve no evidence the two men even knew one another,” Hatchet warned.

“I know that,” Luty replied. “But it would sure make this case easier if that was so.”

“But even if it were McIntosh that murdered Porter, we’d still have the problem of who killed McIntosh,” Mrs. Goodge said. “And so far, we’ve no idea.”

“But we will,” Mrs. Jeffries said firmly. “No matter how complicated this case gets, we’ll keep digging until we find the truth.”

Inspector Witherspoon smiled gratefully as he accepted the glass of sherry. “Thank you, Mrs. Jeffries.”

“You look like you’ve had a very tiring day, sir,” she said, taking her usual seat.

“Indeed it was, Mrs. Jeffries. I must say, it wasn’t too awful until right at the very end. There was a bit of a scene in the chief inspector’s office.”

Alarmed, she stared at him. “A scene, sir?”

“I’m afraid so.” He sighed and took a sip of his sherry. “Inspector Nivens seemed to feel I was trespassing on his case. I don’t know how he found out so quickly, but he’d heard I was asking questions about the Porter murder. He wasn’t pleased.”

“I’m sure he wasn’t, sir,” she replied. Nivens had probably had an apoplectic fit.

“Luckily, the chief understood my reasoning, you know, about the cases being related.”

Mrs. Jeffries wondered precisely how the inspector had explained the connection. “You told him about Miss Gentry?”

“Of course. Well, I think Miss Gentry’s case is connected—” He broke off and frowned. “I mean…oh drat. I’m not sure what I mean anymore. But somehow, I believe that Miss Gentry being threatened is connected to McIntosh’s death. It seems to me those threats must be somehow connected to her dog finding that pickpocket’s body. Oh dear, you see how confusing it’s becoming. But luckily, the chief quite understood.” He took another quick gulp of sherry. “Unfortunately, Inspector Nivens didn’t quite see the situation in the same light. He was rather unhappy with me. I was going to offer to share any information I received with him, about the Porter matter, but for some odd reason, the chief decided it would be best if I took a hand in that investigation as well.”

“I think that’s a jolly good idea, sir.” She fought hard
to keep her expression neutral. It wouldn’t do to let him see she was elated at the thought of Nivens being out in the cold.

“I’m flattered by your faith in me, Mrs. Jeffries.” Witherspoon sighed again. “But I’m not sure it’s justified. I’ve no idea what to do next. Even with the new information I received from Inspector Nivens, it’s all still so muddled and confusing.”

Mrs. Jeffries knew his confidence was slipping. She had no doubt that this was due to the confrontation with Inspector Nivens. Witherspoon was no coward, but he hated doing anything underhanded or unfair. She was quite certain that Nivens, knowing Inspector Witherspoon’s good character as he did, had taken very unfair advantage of the situation and made all sorts of ridiculous allegations. “It might be muddled, sir, but you’ll soon sort it out. You always do.”

“In the past I have.” He drained his glass. “But as Inspector Nivens pointed out, one can’t be right all the time. I’m bound to fail eventually.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Jeffries said briskly. She was furious, but she didn’t allow it show. “You have a gift, sir. An inner voice that guides you. Of course you won’t fail. I think it’s quite unfair of Inspector Nivens to make you doubt yourself like this.”

“Oh, now, we mustn’t blame Inspector Nivens, he had good reason to be upset. He’d made some progress on the Porter case, and of course, it is still his case, so to speak.”

“But he’s not made enough progress, sir,” Mrs. Jeffries said. Drat, the fool was still on the case. “Otherwise the chief wouldn’t have asked you to lend a hand.”

“I’m sure Inspector Nivens is doing his best. Perhaps he simply needs more time,” Witherspoon replied. “As I said, he’s made some progress on the case. He’d found
out that Tim Porter hadn’t been working his usual pickpocket routes.”

“Where had he been?” Mrs. Jeffries asked.

Witherspoon frowned. “Inspector Nivens hadn’t found that out. But he’d not been picking pockets, that was for certain. No one had seen him on the streets for a good week prior to his death.”

“Inspector Nivens actually managed to determine the right time of death?”

“The body hadn’t been in the ground more than a day before it was found.” The inspector suppressed a shudder. “And taking that fact, along with witness statements of the last time Porter was seen, means it was easier to pinpoint the time of death.”

“Pardon my saying so, sir. But if that’s all Inspector Nivens found out in two weeks, it’s not very good.” She watched him closely as she spoke, hoping to tell by his expression if there was more to come.

“I know.” He sighed again. “But perhaps it’ll be the best anyone can do. There are some murders that can’t be solved, Mrs. Jeffries.”

“And there are plenty that can,” she told him. “Anyway, sir, other than a rather dismal meeting with Inspector Nivens, how did your day go?”

He brightened a little. “Quite well, actually. I think we’re making progress.” He told her whom he’d interviewed, what they’d said, and more importantly, what was left unsaid. Mrs. Jeffries listened carefully. She took each and every fact and tucked it away in her mind. Despite her bravado with the inspector, she knew these murders were going to be difficult to solve.

But she refused to believe that it was going to be impossible.

“And, of course, when I went back to the Caraway house to interview Mrs. Caraway, she’d not come home yet. I’ll have to try again tomorrow. I tell you, Mrs.
Jeffries, it’s shocking how little respect some people have for the police.”

“Dreadfully shocking, sir,” she agreed. She clucked her tongue in reproof. “And didn’t you say that Elliot Caraway was a barrister?”

“Which means he ought to know better,” Witherspoon replied.

Mrs. Jeffries wanted him to know that Caraway was in dire financial straits. Of course, she couldn’t come right out and tell him. “I’m sure he does, sir. But it
is
a puzzle, isn’t it. You’d think that as he’s a barrister, he’d be more sympathetic to any officer of the court. But then again, perhaps he’s not had much luck in front of the bench and he blames the police for his failures. You know what I mean, sir. Perhaps he’s lost a number of criminal cases. Goodness, sir, how very odd…Porter was a criminal and Caraway is a barrister. Do you think it’s possible they knew one another?” She hadn’t meant to plant that particular seed, but now that she had, she decided perhaps she’d see what grew. Maybe there had been a connection between Porter and Caraway.

Witherspoon stared at her for a moment. “Why, Mrs. Jeffries, that’s a wonderful idea. I’ll certainly look into it right away.”

She didn’t want him thinking she was giving him “wonderful” ideas. That could lead to all sorts of consequences. “It’s very nice of you to say so, sir, but let’s be honest here. We both know I was merely saying what you were already thinking—” She held up her hand as he opened his mouth to protest. “Now, now, sir, don’t be so modest. Even if the thought wasn’t precisely in your head the moment I spoke, you know good and well that by tomorrow morning you’d have been thinking along those lines. Just like you’ll be thinking about how important it is to find out what you can about Miss Gentry’s relations. After all, sir, as you always say, there are
many motives for murder, but the usual ones generally turn out to be correct.”