Mrs. Jeffries Takes the Stage (10 page)

“But what about getting the body to the canal?” she asked. It was rare for her to be so confused, but that’s exactly what she was. “Unless a woman had extraordinary strength, how could she possibly do it?”

“She probably couldn’t.” Witherspoon smiled slowly. “But she could have had help.”

“Two people?” Blast. Why hadn’t the idea occurred to her? Of course he was right. Conspiracies to commit murder were rare, but not impossible. From what little they knew of the victim, there were plenty of people who hated him. But did two of them hate him enough to conspire in murder? From her observation of life, if it were two people, why not more? Perhaps the whole lot of them had gotten together to kill him.

“It’s highly unlikely that Miss Vaughan has anything to do with Hinchley’s murder,” Witherspoon continued. “But the possibility does exist. So you can see my quandry.”

“No, sir, I’m afraid I don’t.”

He drew back, a puzzled frown on his face. “Really, Mrs. Jeffries, I’m surprised at you. Do you honestly think it’s fitting to accept a social invitation from the lady when she’s a suspect in a murder I’m investigating? Then, of course, there’s Lady Cannonberry to consider. I realize there’s nothing formal between us, no understandings or anything like that. But I shouldn’t like to offend her.” A slight blush crept over his cheeks. “She’s become quite…er…important to me.”

Mrs. Jeffries decided that she couldn’t bluff her way out of this. She hadn’t been listening and she might as well own up to it. “Inspector, please forgive me, but as I said a few moments ago, I wasn’t listening properly when you were speaking. Precisely what invitation are you talking about?”

“Miss Vaughan’s invited me to a dinner party next Monday evening,” he said patiently. “She had her maid bring me a note before I left the theatre last night. But I
feel I really must decline. Suspect or not, accepting the invitation seems a bit disloyal to Lady Cannonberry.”

Ruth Cannonberry, their neighbor and a very dear friend, was off in the country visiting relatives. She and the Inspector were becoming quite close.

“I understand.” Mrs. Jeffries nodded in agreement. “Well, sir, then if I were you, I’d politely decline Miss Vaughan’s invitation. I’m sure she’ll understand that under the circumstances it would hardly be appropriate.”

“Yes, well, I certainly hope so. I quite admire the lady, but I wouldn’t hurt Lady Cannonberry”—he reached for his teacup—“for all the tea in China, as they say.”

“Did you discover anything else yesterday?” Mrs. Jeffries prodded. She decided to worry about her own abilities as a detective later.

Witherspoon told her about the interviews he’d conducted at the theatre and the background information he’d gotten from the the police constables.

“What did you think of their alibis?” she asked when he’d finished speaking.

He looked thoughtful. “I don’t really know what to think. The problem is, unless we know precisely when the man was killed, we’ve not much to investigate when it comes to alibis?”

“But you said you’re fairly sure it was late Saturday night or in the very early hours of Sunday morning?”

“Yes, but we don’t know for certain.” He sighed. “As most people are well asleep in their beds by the time Hinchley was probably murdered, it’s difficult to break the alibis of our suspects. Unless we come up with a witness or a cabbie or someone like that, we’ve really very little hope.”

“I see your point, sir.” She nodded in agreement.
“Then don’t you think it might be useful to find the last person who did see the victim alive? But, of course, you’ve already thought of that.”

As he hadn’t, it sounded like a jolly good idea. Witherspoon smiled broadly. “Mrs. Jeffries, I do believe you ought to take to the stage yourself. Perhaps as one of those mind readers at the music hall. That’s precisely what I’d decided to do. I’ll get the uniformed lads working on it straight away. The man had to get home somehow. Someone must have seen him.”

“Why, thank you, sir,” she replied, genuinely pleased by his words. “And of course you’re instructing the constables to ask about the neighborhood to see if any of them saw anything suspicious on Saturday evening?”

“We’ve already done that,” Witherspoon said. “Yesterday. But no luck there, I’m afraid. No one saw any bodies being trundled off to the canal and tossed off the bridge. We even inquired at the Regents Park Baptist College, in the hopes that one of them might have been out and seen something.” He sighed. “But no one had. The Baptists were a bit put out that we’d even asked, too.”

His words had given Mrs. Jeffries an idea. Hinchley, though a small man, had been dead weight. She wondered how long it took the killer to move the body. “I expect you’ll also be walking the route the killer must have taken from the victim’s house to where his body was actually found. Am I right?”

“Bravo, Mrs. Jeffries,” Witherspoon cried. Egads, that was a wonderful idea. He was amazed he hadn’t thought of it himself. “You’ve done it. That’s exactly what I’m going to do this morning. Frankly, I want to know precisely how long it would take to move a body. After all, the longer the killer was outside the house, the more likely it is that someone might have seen him.”

Wiggins licked the last of the sticky bun off his fingers, pulled out his handkerchief and then wiped his chin. He leaned against the base of the huge, shepherd’s hook-shaped lamppost and watched the front entrance of the Hayden Theatre. He’d been hanging about for an hour now and hadn’t seen anyone go in or out. He was almost ready to give up.

Despite the heavy foot traffic on the Strand today, none of those feet had turned toward the theatre. “Blimey,” he muttered under his breath, “this ’as been a waste of ruddy time.” He straightened and crossed the road to the pedestrian island in the center. The walk in front of the theatre remained empty.

Then he saw the front door open, and a young, dark-haired girl dressed in a plain brown dress darted out. She turned and said something to a man standing in the doorway. Then she hurried off, making for the corner.

Wiggins was after her like a shot. He skidded to a halt as he came round the side of building and saw her opening the door of an opulent black carriage. A moment later, she tugged a square wicker case out, heaved it awkwardly under her arm and started right toward him.

“Can I ’elp you with that, miss?” he asked, moving quickly and blocking her path. Up close, he could see that her face was long and thin and her eyes hazel.

She stared at him suspiciously for a moment. Her gaze raked him from head to toe, taking in his neatly pressed trousers, his clean white shirt and his new boots. She smiled flirtatiously. “That’s right kind of you. It is a bit heavy.” She dumped the box into his outstretched arms. “I’m just taking these things round the corner to the theatre.”

“My name’s Wiggins,” he said, falling into step next to her.

“I’m Rose,” she said.

Wiggins pretended to stumble. “Sorry.” He caught the box. “Cor, what’s in ’ere? Feels ’eavy.”

“It’s just a few costumes,” the girl replied. “My mistress is Theodora Vaughan.”

“The actress?” Wiggins couldn’t believe his luck.

“That’s right. She’s in a play at this very theatre,” Rose said proudly. “Plays the lead. She’s a star, she is.”

“You’re lucky to work for someone like that,” Wiggins enthused. “Must be ever so excitin’.”

“Oh, I am,” Rose agreed. “I’m Miss Vaughan’s personal maid. It’s not like I scrub floors or do any heavy work.”

“Is she nice then?”

“Nicest mistress I’ve ever had,” Rose replied. “Training me proper too. I’ve learned to do hair and take care of all her clothes…”

“Like these? Are you bringin’ ’em to the theatre for her?” he asked, trying desperately to keep her talking.

“Those are old costumes.” Rose waved her hand in dismissal. “She doesn’t need them anymore so she’s giving them to the Hayden.”

“Just old costumes?” He contrived to sound disappointed.

“You needn’t say it like that,” she snapped. “It’s right kind of Miss Vaughan to be giving away these things.”

“I’m sure it is,” Wiggins said quickly. They were almost at the door. He couldn’t lose her, not now. She worked for one of the suspects.

“Thank you ever so much for carrying this for me,” Rose said as they came close to the entrance. “It was heavy.”

Wiggins pretended to trip. The case flew out of his arms and landed right in front of the door. The lid popped open and a mass of black velvet and silk spilled out onto the pavement.

“Oh.” Rose dropped to her knees in alarm. “Garvey’ll ’ave my head if these things get dirty.”

“I’m sorry.” Wiggins dropped down beside her. “Tell this Garvey person it were my fault. I’m a big, clumsy oaf. My guv’s right. I’m too dumb to be let out without a leash.” He gave Rose his most pathetic, poor-little-me expression.

Her anger immediately evaporated and was replaced with a look of pity. “Your employer talks to you like that?”

Dumbly, wishing he could cry on cue, he nodded. “Yeah. He only keeps me on because I work real cheap.”

“Why, you poor thing,” Rose cried.

“Oh, it’s all right.” He made his lower lip tremble. “I’m used to it and my guv don’t mean no ’arm. That’s just the way ’e is.”

“That’s no excuse for treating you like dirt,” Rose declared. “I’d not put up with it.”

“But you work for a kind mistress.” Wiggins, who was quite enjoying himself by now, pointed to the velvet trousers that Rose was folding. “Generous, she is.”

“She has her moments,” Rose said chattily. She put the clothes back in the case and slammed the lid down. “Mind you, she’s no saint. She can be a bit…what’s the word Mr. Delaney always uses…temperamental. Yes, that’s it. Like all actors, she can be temperamental,” she repeated, obviously proud of herself for learning such a posh word. “Came back from the country house on Saturday in a right nasty mood. Complained about the train, complained about the weather, complained about the
crowds at the station. ’Course she were probably just het up because it was opening night.”

“Well, it’s nice of her to be givin’ away ’er costumes,” Wiggins said.

Rose laughed. “She’s only donating these things because she doesn’t want to do pantomime or trouser roles anymore. Claims those kind of parts is beneath her now.” She jutted her chin toward the door. “And this place can use all the help it can get.”

“What’da ya mean?” Wiggins got up and helped Rose to her feet.

Rose flicked a glance at the front door. “Well,” she said softly, “this isn’t the best theatre on the Strand. They haven’t had a successful show here in ages. I don’t know what Miss Vaughan was thinking of, agreeing to play here. She could have her pick of parts if she wanted to. Of course, this was probably the only place that would agree to produce Mr. Delaney’s play. Not that it’s a bad one, mind you. But if you ask me, it is a bit dull.”

“Then why does Miss Vaughan want to be in it?”

Rose laughed gaily. “Because she’s in love with him, that’s why. She’ll do anything for Mr. Delaney. Anything at all. Not that I blame her…but still, some say it’s not right.”

“What’s not right,” Wiggins asked, “her bein’ in love with Mr. Delaney?”

Rose yanked open the heavy wooden front door and stepped inside. “Shhh…” she cautioned. “You’ve got to be careful what you say around here. People are always running about carrying tales. Eddie, are you about, then? Blast!” She stamped her foot and looked around the huge foyer. “I told that man I’d be right back. Where’s he got to, then?”

“I’m right here, girl.” Eddie Garvey, holding a hammer
in his hand, frowned suspiciously as Wiggins popped out from behind a pillar. “Just leave the costumes there, girl,” he instructed the maid. “I’ll get them to the back.”

Rose nodded and flounced out the way she’d come. “It wouldn’t have hurt him to say ‘thank you,’” she muttered. She stalked toward the corner. “Ruddy stage manager. Thinks he’s too good to bother thanking the likes of someone like me.”

Wiggins desperately wanted to get her talking about Theodora Vaughan again. But he couldn’t think how to bring the subject up. Cor, he couldn’t lose her. Not now. “Uh, excuse me, Miss Rose.”

She whirled around. “What?”

“If I may be so bold, miss. Would you like to ’ave a cup of tea? I mean, if you’re not in a great ’urry to get back. There’s a Lyons just up the road.”

“I’m in no rush to get back.” Rose cocked her head to one side. “Tea, you say? Cakes too?”

Wiggins put his hand in his pocket. He had plenty of coins. “Cakes too,” he agreed quickly. “And sticky buns as well if you want ’em.”