Mrs. Jeffries Takes the Stage (24 page)

Betsy swallowed heavily. There was only one way to do this. “I went over to Whitechapel because I wanted to put some money in the collection plate at St. Jude’s,” she said. “Five pounds. I gave them five pounds.”

Smythe waited for her to continue. But she was staring straight ahead, her gaze blank and unfocused. He was going to have to coax the story out of her. “Why’d ya give ’em so much?” he asked gently.

“I owed it.”

“Owed it?”

She nodded stiffly. “Yes. Would five pounds pay for a broken window?” That had been worrying her. She hoped she’d put in enough.

“Depends on how big the window was,” he admitted honestly. “But unless you smashed a great painted-glass one, I’d say you give ’em enough.”

She looked relieved. “Well, that’s why I went to Whitechapel.” She started to get up, but he put out his arm and gently pushed her back down. “That’s not all of it, lass, is it?”

“No.” She sighed. “But it’s such an ugly story. I’m ashamed, Smythe. I want you to think well of me, and once you hear what I did, I don’t think you will.”

“There’s nothin’ you could ’ave done that would make me think less of you,” he said honestly. And he meant every word too. “I know what it must ’ave been like for you tryin’ to survive in the East End.”

She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Survival’s one thing. Bein’ deliberately wrong is something else. What I did was wrong, and even worse, I did it to the house of God.”

“Tell me about it,” he urged softly. “I don’t want there to be any secrets between us, lass.” Maybe if she shared all of her past with him, he’d find the courage to tell her about his secret.

“It was years ago,” she began. “I told you, I had two sisters.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“And I told you that one of them got sick and died of a fever—do you remember that as well?”

“I remember everything you told me,” he assured her.

“Well, when my sister got sick, we knew she was real bad off. Mum wanted to take her to the doctor, but she was only workin’ as a barmaid and it took every penny we had just to pay the rent and buy a bit of food.” She drew in a deep breath as the memories came flooding back. “So Mum went over to the parish church, St.
Jude’s. The vicar that was there had been known to lend a hand every now and again. But they had a new one, a Reverend Barnett and his wife. He didn’t believe in givin’ the poor money, said it only made the problem worse. So he turned her away with nothin’. Ann died two days later.” She swiped at a tear. “We was heartbroken. A few weeks after that, a crowd had gathered in front of the church. I don’t know why they was there; I expect I knew at the time but I don’t remember. But it wasn’t the first time crowds had come round there and caused trouble. A scuffle broke out and before you knew it, people was pickin’ up stones and bricks and hurling them at the church.” She closed her eyes. “I don’t know what come over me; maybe I was half out of my mind with grief. But I picked up the biggest brick I could find and I hurled it right at one of the windows. Broke it too.”

“Then what ’appened?”

“About that time someone called out that the police were coming, so I ran off.”

“How old were you, Betsy?”

“Thirteen, maybe fourteen.” She shrugged. “Old enough to know better. But I was so angry…they wouldn’t help my mum. They wouldn’t part with a few pennies to buy medicine or get a doctor for a dying child. And we’d not done anything wrong. We were just poor.”

Smythe reached for her hand. “Betsy, why didn’t you tell me this?”

She looked at him, her expression incredulous. “Don’t you understand? I broke a church window. Deliberately. I sinned against the house of God. I was part of a mob…”

“You were a child still ’urtin’ over losin’ your baby sister,” Smythe said angrily. He couldn’t believe she’d risked herself goin’ all the way to bloomin’ Whitechapel
to make up for something she’d done years ago. She’d spent her hard-earned money to boot. “And all you did was break a window in a buildin’. If it’d really been God’s ’ouse, that old preacher would ’ave ’elped your mum. I can’t believe you went all the way back there to give ’em the money. Cor blimey, it’s not like the Church of England is poor, lass. They’ve got more ruddy money than the Queen.”

Mrs. Jeffries stood in front of the last house on a row of terraces near Clapham High Street. She wondered for a moment precisely what approach to take and then decided that she’d make up her mind when she had a look at Roberta Seldon.

She walked up the walkway to the front door, noting that though there were cracks in the paving stones, the small lawn was neatly tended and someone had planted several rose bushes under the front window. The house was neatly painted too.

Taking a deep breath, Mrs. Jeffries climbed the two steps and knocked.

A moment later, she heard footsteps coming down the hall.

A short, dark-haired woman who appeared to be in her mid to late thirties stuck her head out. “Yes?”

“Mrs. Seldon?” Mrs. Jeffries smiled brightly.

“I’m Roberta Seldon. Have we met?”

“No, but I do hope you’ll be able to help me.” She wanted to get inside and talk to the woman. What she needed to know about Albert Parks couldn’t be obtained by standing on a door stoop.

“Help you how?” Roberta Seldon replied. “Are you collecting for a charity?”

“No, no,” Mrs. Jeffries said quickly. “I’m actually
seeking some information for my employer. I’m sure you’ll understand when I tell you it’s most confidential, most confidential indeed.”

“What kind of information?” The woman was still wary, but Mrs. Jeffries could see that she was interested too.

“About Albert Parks,” Mrs. Jeffries replied, deciding to go for the direct approach. “I believe you used to be in his employ.”

Roberta Seldon said nothing; she simply stared at her. Mrs. Jeffries was afraid her bold approach had failed.

Finally, she said, “You’d better come inside, then. I’ve got quite a bit to say about Albert Parks.”

Wiggins couldn’t make up his mind what to do. If he went back to meet the others at Upper Edmonton Gardens, he’d lose her. He hesitated at the corner, keeping one eye out for the omnibus and the other on the clock over the bank. Across the street, he could see the girl from Hinchley’s house tapping her foot impatiently as she waited at the bus stop.

The omnibus came around the corner. Wiggins made up his mind and sprinted across the street. The girl’s head swiveled as she heard his footsteps pounding towards her.

“Didn’t want to miss it,” he explained, jerking his chin toward the omnibus and giving her his most charming smile.

She wasn’t impressed. She turned her head and went to pick up her case.

“Let me,” he said quickly as the vehicle drew up and stopped.

Startled, she drew back, raked him with a swift, calculating
gaze. Apparently finding him harmless, she said, “Go ahead, then.”

They climbed aboard and Wiggins, though he dearly loved riding up top, dutifully followed her inside the bus. She took a seat by the window. Wiggins put the suitcase down in the aisle and dropped down next to her. “You don’t mind, do ya?” he asked.

She shrugged. “It’s all the same to me where ya sit. Thanks for carryin’ my case. Thing’s heavy.”

The conductor came and they paid their fares. Wiggins noted the girl paid all the way to Victoria Station. He cursed himself for not letting her pay first, as he’d only paid to Hyde Park.

“Goin’ on a trip?” he asked.

“Wish I was.” She snorted delicately. “It’s all right for some. But the rest of us has got a livin’ to earn.”

“My name’s Wiggins.” He tried again. If this girl was Lilly, the one Betsy had talked to, then she’d changed in the last couple of days. Betsy had claimed that girl would talk a fence post deaf. “What’s yours?”

She kept her gaze straight ahead. “That’s not your concern now, is it?”

“Sorry.” He cringed. “I wasn’t tryin’ to be bold, miss. Just friendly.”

The girl turned, looked at him for a moment and then gave an apologetic shrug. “My name’s Lilly. I’m not in a very good frame of mind, if you know what I mean.”

“Is there somethin’ wrong?”

“Well, I’ve had better days, I can tell ya that.” She turned and gazed out the window again.

Wiggins wondered what to do. Something had happened at the Hinchley house—he was sure of it. But he sensed that Lilly’s mood was as changeable as the weather. Women were funny creatures. You never knew
when you’d say the wrong thing and they’d shut up tighter than a biscuit tin. He didn’t want that. Then he remembered how Mrs. Jeffries often got people to talk. He dropped his voice slightly. “I ’ate to see a pretty lass like yourself lookin’ so sad,” he said sympathetically.

“You’d look sad too if you’d put up with what I’ve ’ad to lately,” she retorted. “Bloomin’ solicitors.”

“You’ve ’ad a bit of a rough time.” He patted her arm. “Maybe it would ’elp to talk about it some? Make you feel better.”

She sighed. “Don’t see what good talkin’ about it will do; won’t change things none. But as I’m stuck on this ruddy omnibus all the way to Victoria, I might as well.”

By one-fifteen, Inspector Witherspoon had finished his lunch and gone to meet Constable Barnes at the Yard. As soon as the door had closed behind him, Mrs. Jeffries hurried down to the kitchen.

The others were already seated around the table. Mrs. Goodge had put out plates of bread, cold roast beef, buns and turnovers for the household’s meal.

“If you don’t mind, Mrs. Jeffries, we’ll eat as we talk,” she said as the housekeeper took her seat. “I’d like to get this kitchen cleared as quickly as possible,” Mrs. Goodge explained. “I’ve got more people droppin’ by this afternoon.”

“That’s a splendid idea,” Mrs. Jeffries agreed. “We are a bit pressed for time and I, for one, have quite a bit of information to share.”

“So do I,” Luty said, helping herself to a turnover. “Are we goin’ to wait for Wiggins?”

“I wouldn’t,” Smythe said. He helped himself to a slice of brown bread.”’E were goin’ back over to the
Hinchley neighborhood to snoop about. As ’e’s not back yet, ’e’s probably on to something.”

Mrs. Jeffries nodded and reached for the teapot. “Then I’ll start.” She told them everything she’d gotten out of the inspector at lunch. “He was quite shocked, poor man. I don’t think he’d ever met a woman quite like Theodora Vaughan. As he put it, ‘in one breath she announced she’s divorced and a moment later, she’s announcing her engagement.’ Poor man. He was quite taken with the woman too—until this afternoon.”

“Actresses,” Mrs. Goodge muttered darkly. “And her older than him by a good ten years!”

“But Rose told Wiggins that the divorce was off,” Betsy exclaimed. “There was some sort of legal muck-up.”

“Apparently, Miss Vaughan’s American lawyers straightened it out.”

Betsy shook her head. “But why wouldn’t her personal maid know that?”

“From what I gather,” Mrs. Jeffries said, “Theodora Vaughan only found out herself last week. Maybe the maid didn’t know.”

“And now the woman’s fixin’ to marry Delaney,” Luty said incredulously. “Some women just don’t learn. She finally sheds one husband and now she wants another one.”

“Really, madam.” Hatchet clucked his tongue. “That’s rather a cynical point of view. Marriage is an honorable estate…”