Mrs. Jeffries Wins the Prize (24 page)

“What happens if I don't do as you say?” Chloe picked up her parasol and placed it neatly on her lap.

Helena lifted her chin. “Then I'll have no choice but to speak to a few of my friends about you. I'm sure everyone is dying to hear about your relationship with Sir Jeremy Sanders or Lord Derring. I could say anything I want; it would be my word against yours.”

Chloe stared at her for a moment and then burst out laughing. “You're wasting all our time. I don't intend to do one thing to save your reputation, and frankly, I don't care what happens to mine. I'm a widow and both those gentlemen are unattached, so I hardly think they'll be unduly upset about any gossip you spread. But go ahead, do your worst.”

“I certainly intend to,” Helena snapped.

“Good, because I'll be cooperating fully with the police, and once this case comes to trial, I'm going to be a witness for the prosecution.”

“But you don't know anything!” Helena shouted. “How could you? You were gone by the time the body was discovered so what could you possibly say?”

Chloe laughed again. “You really are a fool, aren't you, Helena. Do you think the prosecution is going to bother asking me questions about this most recent murder? No, no, no, once they hear what I've got to say, the entire case will rest on the reason Filmore was killed.” Her smile disappeared. “And we all know that the motive for his death started years ago in India. Those murders are the ones I'm going to talk about. I'm going to tell them how your lie to Malcolm Rayburn got an innocent man killed. Was it worth it, Helena? Did two people have to die so you could manipulate Rayburn into marrying you?”

“Stop it, that's not true. He wanted to marry me.”

“No, he didn't. His eye had already started roving, and once you realized that, you came up with that disgusting story about Anthony so Malcolm would protect your so-called honor. Then he had no choice but to marry you. But was it worth it? I don't think so.”

“You're being cruel,” Isabelle cried.

Chloe turned on her. “Cruel? Don't make me laugh. You don't give a tinker's dam about cruelty. You backed up Helena's lies because she was your friend and you didn't care that other people suffered.”

“We were young and foolish,” Isabelle sputtered. “Listen to reason, this story getting out will hurt all of us.”

“It won't hurt me,” Chloe yelled gleefully. “Once the court hears what the three of you did to Anthony and Jairaj, one of you will hang and the other two will be completely ruined.” She locked gazes with Helena, who'd
now gone so pale her skin was almost green. “Once I've testified in court, your chances of getting on the Narcissus Committee will be about one in a million.”

“That's absurd,” Isabelle interjected. “You've no idea what will or won't be asked in a court case.”

“I most certainly do,” she snapped. “I'm not the poor nobody I was back then. I've got money and power. I'm going to make sure the truth comes out.”

Isabelle's hands balled into fists. “What does that mean? What truth? The fact that your former fiancé tried to rape Helena, or the fact that you acted the tart and married his half brother the moment the ship docked in America? You see, Chloe, you're not the only one who can smear a reputation with half-truths from the past.”

Chloe's eyes narrowed and she rose to her feet. “Those are lies and you know it.”

“So what?” Isabelle looked smug. “It'll be my word against yours, and people here have known me longer than they have you.”

“Try it, Isabelle, and we'll see who comes out the winner.”

Across the street, Witherspoon and Barnes came out of the house and stopped on the pavement. Not trusting the old handle, the constable carried the carpetbag under his arm as he glanced up and down the road, hoping to see a hansom cab. Witherspoon was staring at the front door of the Rayburn house.

There was a flash of movement at the entrance to the mews, just enough to catch Barnes' gaze. He stared at the location and Wiggins suddenly popped into view. He stood there for a brief second, making sure the constable
had spotted him and then gestured frantically toward the Rayburn house.

“Why don't we go and have a word with Mrs. Rayburn,” Barnes suggested. “Let's see if she can identify this stationery as hers.” He was thinking fast; he knew that Wiggins wouldn't have risked showing himself if it wasn't urgent. He hoped the inspector wouldn't insist on taking the carpetbag and its contents into evidence immediately. “And we can also see if she can identify that page we found crumpled in the bottom of the bag, the one we think was used as a sample for Mrs. Rayburn's handwriting.”

“That's an excellent idea,” Witherspoon said.

Inside the house, the three women stood in a semicircle, Chloe leaning on her parasol, Isabelle with her hands on her hips, while Helena clutched a handkerchief in her hand.

Unexpectedly, the door opened. Thea Stanway smiled at them. “May I join you?” She didn't wait for a reply; she just stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind her. “You really ought to keep your voices down, the servants will hear you.”

“They're in the butler's pantry.” Helena watched Thea warily.

“I know.” Thea smiled sweetly. “You provided them with a very elaborate tea so they'd be downstairs while you had your little chat with Mrs. Attwater.”

Helena swallowed heavily. “What do you want? Why are you here? How'd you get in?”

Thea reached in her pocket and took out the keys to the conservatory. “You really should have had the lock changed,” she chided her. “But you had the locksmith make
you a new key to the old one because he still had the mold. Honestly, Helena, stop being so cheap. How much more would it have cost you to get a brand-new one installed?”

“What do you want?” Helena repeated. “Say whatever it is and then get out.”

“Why, Helena, I'm hurt. Are you saying I'm not welcome?”

Helena straightened and got some of the starch back in her spine. “After your behavior yesterday, I'm surprised you'd want to come here.”

“Why? Just because you made a fool of me by having an affair with my husband?” She moved a few steps farther into the room and stopped. “That wasn't very nice of you, Helena.”

“She isn't a nice person.” Chloe straightened but kept a tight hold on the end of her parasol. “But then again, you know that. You're not a nice person, either, and neither is Isabelle. They're liars and cheats, but they haven't actually stuck a pair of gardening shears in a man's chest.” She gave them a quick, disgusted glance. “They kill with words. At least you used a weapon on Filmore. That's a bit more honest, I suppose.”

“Did that inspector tell you he thought it was me?” Thea asked.

“He didn't need to. By the questions he asked, it was obvious they think you're the most likely person to have murdered Filmore.”

“That's unfortunate.” She pulled a gun out of her other pocket. It was a small derringer. “I don't mind them putting me in their sights, but I did want Helena to suffer a bit
longer. She's like Nigel was when he confessed what he'd done and showed me the letters. He thought I'd forgive him. He was so sick, so weak, and it was so easy to hold that pillow over his face until he was dead.”

Helena choked out a sob, Isabelle gasped, and even Chloe raised an eyebrow.

Thea looked at their expressions and understood immediately what they thought. “Don't look at me like that. I'm not insane, I'm vengeful. There's a difference. No matter how long it takes, I eventually get back at those that wrong me. Just ask Nanny Gilchrist. I've always been this way. I like holding grudges.” She waved the gun at Chloe. “But I don't have anything against you, so you can go.”

Chloe didn't wait. She raced across the room and yanked open the door. Witherspoon and Barnes crashed through and into the room. Helena and Isabelle screamed as Thea whirled around just in time for Chloe's parasol to whack her on the arm. “Well, damn,” she cried as the derringer fell out of her grip. A loud bang rang out as it hit the floor; ignoring the danger, Thea dived for the gun. But she wasn't fast enough and the inspector, who'd landed hard on his knees, grabbed it and rolled away.

Thea crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him as he caught his breath. “I suppose you're going to arrest me.”

The inspector climbed to his feet and did a quick check to make sure everyone was in one piece. “Yes, ma'am, you're under arrest for the murder of Hiram Filmore and the attempted murder of . . . of . . . those two.” He waved at Helena and Isabelle.

“And Nigel Stanway,” Chloe added. “She just admitted to us she killed him, too.”

“Right, then, Nigel Stanway as well.”

*   *   *

Wiggins, Smythe, and Hatchet raced back to Upper Edmonton Gardens as soon as they knew the inspector and Barnes weren't dead and that Thea Stanway was under arrest.

“I don't mind tellin' ya, when I 'eard that gunshot, I liked to nearly died. That's twice now there's been a lunatic with a gun the inspector's 'ad to arrest,” Wiggins said to the others.

“I don't think she was a lunatic,” Smythe commented. “She sounded sane to me when they was leadin' her off to the station.”

“Did anyone see you there?” Mrs. Jeffries asked.

“No, Mrs. Jeffries,” Hatchet assured her. “A crowd had formed and we managed to stay out of sight.”

They were gathered at the table, but this time, Mrs. Goodge had broken out a bottle of sherry. “You were right,” she said to Mrs. Jeffries. The women had been talking about the murder since the men had gone. “What made you realize that it was Thea Stanway who killed Filmore?”

“It was the letters,” Mrs. Jeffries explained. “What bothered me all along was that we had too many suspects and too many reasons for all of them to want Filmore dead. But those reasons didn't make sense when one thought about it logically.” She paused and took a quick drink. “Filmore had been supplying Helena Rayburn and Isabelle Martell with orchids for years. So why kill him now, right before a flower competition that both of them desperately wanted to win?
Why kill the one man who might be able to get you the winning orchid? As for their motives, Helena and Isabelle were both under the impression that the lies Filmore had told on their behalf were well in the past. Why would he blackmail them now? He certainly wouldn't admit to lying at the civilian inquest for Anthony Treadwell.”

“You mean he'd not admit to committing perjury,” Phyllis said.

“Correct.” Mrs. Jeffries nodded approvingly. “When we found out about the love letters between Helena and Nigel, it looked very much like Filmore had decided to use them to blackmail Helena, and that, of course, would give her a motive for killing him. But then I got to wondering, how on earth did Filmore get those letters?”

“Maybe he stole them while the Stanways were still in India?” Luty suggested. “He coulda done that.”

Mrs. Jeffries shook her head. “I thought of that, then I remembered that Mrs. Stanway was at the infirmary every day and that her brother was a doctor.”

“And someone said that her skills were as good as her brother's,” Ruth said.

“Right.” Mrs. Jeffries smiled. “So her husband wouldn't have been in the infirmary. He was diagnosed with a fever, not a wound. They wouldn't have used an infirmary bed when she could give him better nursing care at home.”

“So Filmore couldn't have had access to the letters when he was in India,” Phyllis concluded.

“That was my thinking,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “And remember, the Stanways returned from India years before the others. I expect that he had the letters hidden away and she found them after he'd died. But that wasn't the
only thing that pointed to her. Remember that Dr. Bosworth said he was certain that Filmore had been stunned with blows from a police truncheon before the killer stabbed him. Thea Stanway was the only person who might have had access to such a weapon.”

“How would she have had something like that?” Luty demanded.

“Her old nanny bought a flat that had been owned by a policeman's widow,” she reminded them. “A truncheon could easily have been left behind, especially if it had been shoved in the back of a dark closet or cupboard.”

“And my source said that Thea Stanway insisted on helping her old nanny find a flat and that the one she encouraged Mrs. Gilchrist to buy was the most unsuitable of the lot,” Mrs. Goodge said.

“But she did it 'cause she wanted to keep an eye on the Rayburn home. She made her poor old nanny climb four flights of stairs just so she could spy on Helena Rayburn. That's right mean if you ask me,” Wiggins shook his head in disgust.

“And as a bonus, she must have found the truncheon she used to bash Filmore's head with,” Phyllis mused.

“That's the only explanation that made sense to me,” Mrs. Jeffries agreed.

“But why kill Filmore?” Hatchet asked. “Why not kill Helena Rayburn?”

Mrs. Jeffries thought back to everything they'd learned from Constable Barnes. “Filmore was closing up his shop to go on another orchid hunt. That takes a lot of money. I suspect he was trying to blackmail Thea Stanway to raise some additional cash.”

“But what could he know about her?” Phyllis asked.

“That she was the person stealing dead soldiers' personal effects.” She looked at Smythe. “Your source said that on several occasions when things went missing, Filmore wasn't at that infirmary. So it couldn't have been him who was the thief. The only other person who was there frequently was Thea Stanway. Not only that, but one of her tasks was to help write the letters that accompanied the personal items back to England, so we know she had access to the items. When she discovered Filmore was going to leave England, she knew she had to act.” She looked at Smythe. “Was your lad there when the police took her away?”