Mrs. Jeffries Takes the Stage (17 page)

Mollie was also the worst gossip on three continents and even better, she never forgot a face, a name or a bit of dirt.

“I was ever so pleased you decided to accept my invitation.”

Mollie smiled faintly and brushed an imaginary crumb off the sleeve of her severe black bombazine dress. “Lord and Lady Fremont are in France at the moment. He’s on a most delicate diplomatic mission for Her Majesty, so I’m not pressed for time. Normally, of course, I’ve such a large household to attend to I don’t dare even take my day out.” She glanced around the kitchen, her gaze sharp and calculating as she scanned the large, cozy room.

“Well,” Mrs. Goodge said chattily, “then I’m very pleased Lord and Lady Fremont are gone.”

“Is that Wedgwood?” Mollie jerked her chin toward the pale blue-and-white china on the dresser.

“Yes,” Mrs. Goodge replied, stretching the truth a bit. One of the pieces was a Wedgwood.

Mollie’s heavy eyebrows drew together in disapproval. “Really, don’t you think good china ought to be locked in the china room? You do have one, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Goodge replied smoothly. She was fairly sure that Mrs. Jeffries hadn’t the faintest idea where the key to the china room was. As a matter of fact, the last time the cook had glanced in the tiny room off the housekeeper’s bedroom, the only thing in there had been some old suitcases and other odds and ends.

“Then I don’t know what can your housekeeper can be thinking, leaving it out here where it could be so easily broken.”

“Mrs. Jeffries thinks that beautiful things ought to be used, not locked up.”

“One must maintain proper standards.” Mollie sniffed. “But perhaps this household isn’t very strict. Not at all like Lord Fremont. We do things absolutely correctly in his house.”

Mrs. Goodge clamped her lips together to keep from saying something rude. She took a deep breath and promised herself she wouldn’t lose her temper. At least not until she got what she wanted. “Inspector Witherspoon lives quite simply, considering, of course, how very wealthy he is.” She smiled in satisfaction as she saw Mollie’s eyes widen.

Mollie recovered quickly. “Really? I hadn’t realized Scotland Yard policemen were so well paid.”

“They’re not.” Mrs. Goodge was careful to speak properly. “But then again, he doesn’t really need his wages. Inherited wealth, you know. He only stays with Scotland Yard because he’s such a brilliant detective. Why, I don’t know what they’d do without him. Perhaps you’ve read of some of his cases in the papers.”

“Murders? Hardly.” Mollie stuck her chin in the air. “I’ve no interest in reading about such horrid things.”

Mrs. Goodge decided she’d had enough of tweaking Mollie’s nose. She didn’t want the woman too annoyed. The whole point of putting up with the silly biddy was to get some information out of her. With that end firmly in mind, she smiled broadly. “Oh, but you really should take an interest. Murder can be quite fascinating.”

She got up and bustled toward the cooling pantry. “Now, you just make yourself comfortable, Mollie. When I knew you were coming, I baked a seed cake. Oh, and I’ve bought us a bottle of Harvey’s as well.” When she got to the hall, she turned to make sure Mollie wasn’t going to bolt.

Mollie was staring at her, her expression pleased and a bit puzzled. “You baked a seed cake? Why, how very nice. It’s kind of you to go to so much trouble.”

Mrs. Goodge felt a flash of guilt. Some of the starch had gone out of her guest. As a matter of fact, the woman
looked almost pathetically pleased that someone had done something special for her. Perhaps Mollie wasn’t such a snob. Maybe she was just one of those lonely women who spend their lives in the service of others and forget that they have a right to want something for themselves.

“It’s no trouble at all,” the cook lied graciously. Baking that seed cake had taken hours, and the only reason she’d splurged and bought the sherry was because if she remembered correctly, Mollie couldn’t hold more than a glass or two before she lost control of her tongue. “I’ve a tray made up in the pantry. I’ll just go get it and we can have a nice, long chat.”

Wiggins reached down and pretended to wipe a bit of dust off his shoe. The girl was just ahead of him and twice now, he’d caught her looking back at him, like she knew she was being followed.

A second later, his worst fear was confirmed. She turned away from the shop window and charged toward him.”’Ere, are you followin’ me?”

For a moment, he was struck dumb. He hadn’t had a good look at her face when he’d seen her coming out of the Parks house; he’d only dashed after her as she set off down the road toward the shops. But even with an accusing frown on her face, she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. Her eyes were widely spaced, deep brown in color and framed with the longest lashes in the world. A small, turned-up nose, skin the color of pale cream, an adorable rosebud of a mouth and perfectly shaped winged brows came together to form a perfect face. Her hair was tucked under a maid’s cap, but it was the color of dark honey and curling tendrils escaped to dance around her long, slender neck.

Without thinking, Wiggins blurted out the truth. “Uh, yes. I was.”

For a few seconds, she eyed him suspiciously. Then her mouth curved in a slow, satisfied smile. “So, you admit it then?”

He could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. “I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t mean no ’arm. It’s just that…that…” What? His mind was completely blank.

“You’re not the first to follow me.” She laughed. “And you look harmless enough.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled, not sure if being called “harmless” was a compliment or an insult. “May I carry your shopping basket?”

“What? You’re wantin’ to follow me about and carry my shopping? Is that it, then?”

“Well, I’ve nothing else to do today,” he replied truth-fy. “It wouldn’t be any trouble and I do ’ate to see a delicate lady like yourself ’aving to trundle this great basket around.”

“You’ve a glib tongue on you.” She laughed again and shoved it into his hands. “This thing does get heavy. I accept. Come on, then.” Turning on her heel, she started toward the butcher shop on the corner. Wiggins grimaced at the sight of the hanging carcasses in the open air front. But the girl stalked on past the butchers, turned the corner and went toward the grocer’s. “Come on,” she called over her shoulder. “Hurry up. I’ve not got all day.”

“Sorry.” He dashed up to her and reached for the handle of the door. “Didn’t mean to dawdle.”

She gave him a dazzling smile. “That’s all right. I shouldn’t have snapped. But I’ve got a lot to do today and I want to get this ruddy shopping done. It’s not even my job. But the housekeeper quit all sudden like, and if we’re going to eat, I’ve got to get some food in. If I
waited for Mr. Parks to remember to buy it, we’d starve to death.”

Wiggins opened the door for her. “Is that who you work for, Mr. and Mrs. Parks?”

“Just Mr. Parks,” the girl said in a low voice as they went toward the back of the shop. A stern-faced woman wearing an apron stood behind the counter, watching them.

“Have you got your list, Annie?” the woman asked, holding out her hand.

“Right here.” She handed it to the shopkeeper.

The proprietress scanned the list with a frown. “Quite a bit, here, Annie.”

“It’s not all that much,” Annie said. Wiggins could hear a note of desperation in her voice. “Only a few things to get us through till the end of the week.”

“And will Mr. Parks be coming in to pay last month’s bill?” the woman asked.

“He said he would. He said he’d be in to settle up sometime this week.”

She tapped the paper against the top of the counter. “All right, then. But you tell Mr. Parks that if he doesn’t come in and pay up by Saturday, there won’t be any more credit. Do you understand?”

“Oh, yes,” Annie said quickly. “I’ll make sure I tell him.” She grabbed the basket out of Wiggins’s hand and shoved it on the counter. “Just put the things in this. I’ve got to go to the fishmongers and then I’ll be back for it.” With that, she turned and flew towards the front door, a puzzled Wiggins right on her heels.

“I hate going in that place,” she said as soon as they were outside.

Wiggins could understand why. “Then how come you shop there?”

“Because it’s the only shop that’ll give Mr. Parks credit,” she said. “Oh, I shouldn’t have said that, and I shouldn’t have let you carry my basket. Mr. Parks will have a fit if everyone in town knew he weren’t payin’ his bills.” She bit her lower lip and Wiggins watched in horror as her beautiful eyes filled with tears.

“Here now.” He stepped closer, using his body to shield her from the interested stares of pedestrians. “Don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry.” Annie covered her face with her hands and sobbed. “But I can’t seem to stop. You saw what happened in there,” she choked out. “It’s like that everywhere and it’s so ruddy embarrassin’.”

Panic hit him. What should he do? He couldn’t stand to see a woman cry. Suddenly, he remembered Mrs. Jeffries and the sensible, kind way she always dealt with weeping and wailing. Wiggins straightened his spine and glared at an elderly woman who was openly trying to peek around him at the sobbing girl. “Look, Miss Annie. You’ll make yourself ill if you carry on like this. Things is never as bad as ya think.”

“Yes, they are,” she wailed. “And they’re gettin’ worse too. What’s goin’ to happen when Mr. Parks doesn’t pay the bill? We’ll bloomin’ starve to death, that’s what.”

“There’s a tea house just up the road,” Wiggins said. “Let’s nip up and ’ave a nice cuppa.”

“I don’t have any money.” She sniffled. “Mr. Parks hasn’t paid me this quarter.”

“I do.” Taking her arm, he led her toward the corner. Wiggins thanked his lucky stars that he’d had the good sense to put some coins in his pocket before he left this morning. Mind you, he thought, without their mysterious benefactor he probably wouldn’t have had any coins. But
for the past year, someone in the household at Upper Edmonton Gardens had been buying them all useful presents. Nice things like note paper and shoe polish and even brand new shirts. So much so that when he got his quarterly wages, he put most of it in the post office account the inspector had opened for him. Consequently, he always had a few coins to jingle in his pocket. He was pretty sure he knew who their benefactor was; after all, he was getting pretty good at investigating. But Wiggins wouldn’t say a word to anyone. Not one word.

“This is very nice of you.” Annie hiccupped gently.

“I’m right pleased to do it,” he replied. “I ’ate seein’ a nice girl like you so upset.” He held her arm protectively as they reached the tearoom. Guiding her inside, he led her to a table and pulled out a chair for her. “You sit down and ’ave a rest. I’ll go get us some tea and cakes. Would you like that?”

She nodded mutely and then looked up and gave him an adoring smile. “I haven’t had proper tea cakes in ages.”

“You’re goin’ to ’ave some now,” he boasted. “As many as you like. What’s your favorite?”

“I think you’re the nicest man I’ve ever met,” she said softly.

Wiggins’s heart melted.

“Madam,” Hatchet hissed at Luty Belle, “you cannot go in there. It’s the St. James. Women aren’t allowed.” He shuddered as he thought of his employer hurtling through the doors of the most exclusive men’s club in London.

“Then how the dickens am I gonna git my information?” Luty started towards the stately club. “Stupid gol-darned rules anyway. No women allowed. Humph! What woman worth her salt wants to go in and watch a bunch
of fat geezers sittin’ around tiddling whiskey and flapping their lips? But that old fool’s been in there for hours and I need to talk to him.”

“Madam.” Hatchet grabbed her arm. “Please go wait in the carriage. I’ll go in and tell Mr. Stampton you wish to speak to him.”

Luty’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “That’s all you’ll say? You wouldn’t try pumpin’ the old goat yourself?”

Hatchet glared at her. That was precisely what he’d planned on doing. Now, of course, he couldn’t. “Certainly not,” he replied huffily. “I wouldn’t dream of doing something so crass.”

She snorted. “Pull the other one, Hatchet. You know danged good and well you ain’t found out diddly about this case. I can see you chompin’ at the bit to get your hooks into my source.”