Mrs. Jeffries Wins the Prize (20 page)

“I've already told you what I know, which is nothing. I don't see why you two keep darkening my door, but as you have, can you please ask your questions and be done with it.”

“Did you know that Mrs. Rayburn was having an illicit relationship with Nigel Stanway?” he blurted out. He'd tried to think of a tactful way to phrase the question but hadn't been able to come up with anything.

Stunned, she gaped at him for a few seconds before she caught herself. “How on earth did you find out about that?”

“Then it's true, they were on intimate terms?”

“Oh dear, you misunderstood me, Inspector.” She swallowed heavily. “I meant, how did you hear that old gossip?”

“I don't think that's what you meant at all,” Barnes interjected. “And before you say anything else, you ought to know that a little while ago, Thea Stanway identified Mrs. Rayburn as the author of a number of romantic letters written to her late husband. We found those letters in Hiram Filmore's shop. We suspect he was using them to blackmail her.”

“As you can imagine, Mrs. Stanway was most upset,” Witherspoon added.

Isabelle closed her eyes and crossed her arms in a protective, hugging gesture. “What do you want from me? No matter what I say, I'll be betraying one of my friends.”

“Just tell us the truth, Mrs. Martell. Hiram Filmore might not have been your friend, but he deserves justice.”

“Really, Inspector? There are plenty of people who think he got precisely what he deserved.”

*   *   *

“I didn't realize that Mrs. Attwater was one of your patrons.” Ruth Cannonberry smiled at Jeannette Bourcier, her dressmaker. She had stopped in at the Bourcier shop after receiving a note from Octavia Wells. Octavia's note had been short and to the point.

“You and Chloe Attwater share the same dressmaker. Isn't it time you had a new dress?”

It hadn't taken much effort to get Jeannette talking. Even though she was someone who relied on repeat business, she had no hesitation in gossiping about her patrons. Perhaps she knew she could get away with it because she was so talented she could add a touch to an inexpensive day dress that made heads turn when one walked into a room, but her greatest talent was in fooling the observer's eye. Her outfits made even the portliest of matrons fashionable and svelt.

“She's been coming to us since she moved to London.” Jeannette pulled a bolt of blue chiffon off the shelf and put it on the table. She was a slender, black-haired woman in her mid-forties, dressed in an elegant gray dress with huge muttonchop sleeves and a tight bodice of pale coral and gray stripes. “Like you, she prefers classical lines in her clothes. But as you're acquainted with her, I'm sure
you know that. What do you think of this fabric? It's a bit heavy, but it would make a good gown that could be worn well into the autumn.”

“I like it very much,” Ruth said. “Shall we look at some dress patterns? I'm not really acquainted with Mrs. Attwater, but I'd like to be. Several of my friends have tried to interest her in our women's group, and she's been very supportive and donates to our great cause, but to date we've not been successful in getting her to join.”

Jeannette moved the bolt of cloth to one side and waved at her apprentice. “Madeleine, please bring me the pattern book from the back, the new one that just arrived from Paris.” She turned back to Ruth. “I'm surprised she has not joined your group. Like you, she is very much the egalitarian. She is English, but she has lived many years in the American West, but you know that,
n'est-ce pas?
” Jeannette was French and her English was excellent, but occasionally, she slipped into her native tongue.

“I've heard that, but as I said, I've never met the lady.”

“She is like you, a lovely widow.” Jeannette paused while Madeleine put the pattern book on the table. “I think there are designs in this section which would suit you very well.” She flipped the pages until she found what she wanted and then pushed the book to Ruth.

“A lovely widow,” Ruth repeated as she glanced down at the open page. “That's very kind of you. This dress is beautiful. I wonder if Gerald would like it?”

“It would look wonderful on you, and your Gerald will like it very much. He is your police inspector,
n'est-ce pas?
”

“He is.” Ruth tried to think of a way to bring the conversation back to Chloe Attwater.

“Two lovely widows and such different men. You have the police inspector, and Madame Attwater, she has the advisor to the home secretary.”

“Sir Jeremy Sanders?”

Jeannette made sure her apprentice was too far away to hear her and then she leaned close to Ruth. “I am glad you stopped by today. Otherwise, I thought of sending you a note. I know you pass along the tidbit to your inspector,
n'est-ce pas?
But I wasn't certain it was wise to repeat what I heard.”

Taken aback, Ruth wasn't sure how to respond. Then she realized denying it would be insulting to both of them. “I do, madame, but you understand, I try to do it discreetly.”

“But of course, the man must never know the woman is not just his equal, but his superior in intelligence.” She reached across the table and patted Ruth's arm. “Do not look so worried, your secret is safe with me. You do not know it, but you and the inspector's household once saved a friend of mine, a very dear friend, from being arrested for a murder he did not commit.”

“I'm glad our efforts were useful in keeping an innocent man from the gallows.”

“He isn't that innocent,” Jeannette replied, laughing, “but he was never guilty of murder.”

Ruth was tempted to ask who it was but decided that as Jeannette hadn't volunteered the information, she might not want to share it. Ruth had heard stories that Jeannette wasn't overly concerned with her gentlemen callers' marital status. “What did you hear?”

“On Monday afternoon, I took a dress to the Attwater house, but the mistress had another visitor so I waited in
the small sitting room next to the drawing room. There's a small connecting door between the two rooms and it was cracked open a tiny bit.”

Ruth nodded in encouragement, though in truth, she'd bet her next hot dinner that Jeannette's foot had cracked it open even farther.

“That was when I heard about the murder,” Jeannette said. “Mrs. Attwater was asking Sir Jeremy to use his influence with the home secretary to make sure that Inspector Witherspoon was given anything he needed to solve Hiram Filmore's murder.”

Ruth pursed her lips. “Are you sure this was Monday?”

“
Mais oui
, of course. It was Monday afternoon.”

“Do you remember what time you were there?” Ruth didn't understand it. The murder had only happened on Monday, and Chloe Attwater had only learned about the murder from the lad she'd paid to keep watch on the Rayburn home. How had she had time to get a message to the Home Office and then for Sir Jeremy Sanders to get to her house?

“It was four. I looked at the clock because I wondered why Sir Jeremy Sanders was at the Attwater house in the afternoon instead of at the Home Office. But even that question was answered. I overheard her apologizing. She said she hoped she'd not taken him away from anything important and that the home secretary wouldn't be annoyed. In other words, she'd sent for him and he'd come running. But then again, I've heard that both he and Lord Derring are in love with Mrs. Attwater.”

*   *   *

Mrs. Goodge gave Hatchet a good frown as he dashed into the kitchen, whipping off his top hat as he headed for his
seat. “I'm so sorry to be late, but I couldn't hurry my source along any faster.”

“Phyllis and I were late, too,” Ruth said. “We just arrived ourselves.”

Mrs. Jeffries scanned the faces around the table. “I've a feeling there's a lot to report.”

“So let's get on with it,” the cook ordered. “Otherwise, we'll all still be sitting here when the inspector gets home. If no one objects, I'd like to go first as I need to make the puff pastry for the chicken pie.” She paused for a moment, and when no one objected, she continued. “I had three sources come by today and two of them didn't even know there'd been a murder committed much less anything about either the victim or the suspects.”

“You mean the ladies at the luncheon,” Wiggins clarified.

“Who else? According to what Constable Barnes told us this morning, half a dozen constables have interviewed Filmore's neighbors, his customers, and the people working around his shop, and they've not found anyone else who wanted him dead.”

“What about his competitors?” Smythe remembered what he'd found out from Blimpey. “My source says Lord Pennington's syndicate paid a street lad to keep an eye on Filmore.”

“Most competitors don't actually murder their competition,” the cook replied. “But can I get on with my report, please, that pastry isn't goin' to mix itself. Now my third source, she was useful and passed along some information about Isabelle Martell. Her nephew is a gardener and he used to work at number 10 Barrington Road in Bayswater,
right next door to Isabelle Martell. He was friendly with the young man that Mrs. Martell had workin' in her greenhouse, and he run into him a while back and they got to chattin'. Isabelle Martell used to buy all her orchids and fancy flowers from a French plant collector in Paris. but two years ago, she suddenly started giving some of her business to Hiram Filmore.”

“Two years ago?” Mrs. Jeffries said. “She told the inspector she started using him five years ago when Helena Rayburn introduced him to her gardening club.”

“That's not what my source heard, and what's more, she says the Martell gardener told her nephew that he couldn't figure out why Mrs. Martell bought any of her plants from Filmore.” She reached for the teapot and poured a second cup. “He says the plant supplier in France gave her much better specimens than Filmore ever did.”

“Then why did she give Filmore any of her business?” Mrs. Jeffries asked.

“She didn't know, but my own feelin' is that Isabelle Martell just wanted to keep her hand in the game, so to speak. Maybe she gave Filmore business to try and get him to give her better plants than he was givin' the other women.” Mrs. Goodge scraped her chair back, got up, and picked up her cup of tea. “I've got to get that pastry sorted so talk loud enough for me to hear.”

“Can I finish my bit now?” Smythe complained. He told them the rest of what he'd learned from Blimpey Groggins. “So it looks like there was at least two people keepin' a close eye on Filmore. You'd think with so many people watchin' the fellow, that someone would have seen who killed 'im,” he finished.

“This is very confusing,” Mrs. Jeffries muttered. “I can understand why Filmore's competitors wanted to know what he might be up to at any given moment, but who on earth was the mystery woman watching him? I expect we'll be even more muddled before things become clear. Who would like to go next?”

“I'll have a go,” Betsy said. “I didn't find out very much today, but the lad who clerks at the chemist's on the Kensington High Street told me that Thea Stanway has developed a nervous condition and has started buying laudanum again.”

“Again?” Ruth repeated.

“Apparently the same thing happened about ten years ago when she was nursing her husband before he died. She took laudanum then, too.” She cocked her head toward the cook's quarters, where Amanda was taking a nap, but must have heard nothing as she relaxed. “That's all I've got.”

“Can I go now?” Luty whined. “I found out so much today I'm gonna bust if I don't tell it.” She paused for half a second before telling them about her meeting with Sir Nathan Ramshaw. Luty forced herself to slow down as she spoke, making sure she left nothing out.

When she stopped to take a breath, Hatchet said, “Are you certain your information is correct?”

“Sir Nathan is old but he ain't senile,” Luty retorted. “We spoke about it for a long time, and as we talked, he recalled more and more details. I got to thinkin' about everything he told me and I suspect that I know who killed Hiram Filmore.”

“Tell us the rest of the details,” Mrs. Jeffries said.

“As I told ya already, Anthony Treadwell was supposedly
accidentally killed by Malcolm Rayburn and his military buddies because he'd tried to force his attentions on Helena Blackburn as she was then. But when Treadwell's half brother, James Attwater, started raising a fuss and got a proper inquiry started, Sir Nathan remembered that when Attwater's lawyer tried to discredit Helena's story to clear his brother's name, one Isabelle Martell, the new wife of the Major Edward Martell, backed up her friend and claimed she'd witnessed the incident. Another witness to the supposed incident was none other than Hiram Filmore. They both claimed they'd seen Treadwell grab Helena and try to kiss her. Attwater knew they were all lying, but he couldn't prove it.”

“So he took Chloe Camden and Kareema Dariwal with him and went home to America,” Ruth murmured.

“That's about right,” Luty said. “James Attwater fell in love with Chloe, too, and they got married soon after they reached San Francisco.”

“You think that Mrs. Attwater murdered Hiram Filmore?” Mrs. Jeffries asked.

“I think she's startin' with him,” Luty replied. “And I think she's fixed it so that Helena Rayburn is goin' to hang by making it look like she murdered Filmore. You know, killin' two birds with one stone.”

“You think that Mrs. Attwater planned it to happen this way?” Hatchet stared at her incredulously.

“Don't look so surprised,” Luty shot back. “I think she's a smart woman who carried on her husband's vendetta against the people who were responsible for Anthony Treadwell's death.”