Mrs. Jeffries Wins the Prize (25 page)

“'E was, and he said it was the lady who met Filmore in the churchyard,” he replied, “the one who gave him what the boy thought was a letter.”

“And I suspect that Thea Stanway gave that letter to Filmore in order to convince him there was a much bigger catch in the pond. Namely, Helena Rayburn.”

“That was clever of her,” Betsy said. “Thea didn't have much money, but everyone thought Mrs. Rayburn had plenty, and if he had something to blackmail her with, he'd get more money than if he blackmailed Mrs. Stanway. But wouldn't she be upset that everyone would know her husband betrayed her?”

“It might have been the lesser of two evils,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “I suspect she was more concerned with vengeance than with her pride. Murdering Hiram Filmore was useful on two levels—it got rid of a blackmailer and it made the woman who'd stolen her husband's love suffer.”

“But why wait so long?” Phyllis asked. “Filmore and Mrs. Rayburn have been in London for years.”

“There were two reasons she acted. One, Filmore was getting ready to leave, and two, she realized she could use Filmore's murder to frame Helena Rayburn.”

“That lady holds a nasty grudge,” Wiggins muttered.

“Indeed she does,” Mrs. Jeffries agreed. She glanced at Betsy. “Remember what her maid saw her doing? She destroyed a letter to the housemaid that had left her to go work at the Rayburn house to get back at her, and she was also overheard saying that the two servants who'd left her had better plan on staying at Helena's for a long time as they'd never get a reference from her.”

“But holding a grudge for ten years.” Betsy shook her head. “That must take a lot of energy.”

“Another thing that bothered me was the notes.”

“Which ones?” Mrs. Goodge complained. “We've had so many of 'em in this case, I can't keep track of which is which.”

“Both of them,” Mrs. Jeffries smiled. “The inspector found a note from Mrs. Rayburn instructing Filmore to meet her in the conservatory and to bring her another plant . . .”

“She denied writing it,” Mrs. Goodge put in.

“That's because she hadn't written it. Thea Stanway did. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Amy Broadhurst, the Rayburn housemaid, told Wiggins a letter came through the mail slot on the morning of the murder and she was positive that's what sent Mrs. Rayburn out into the rain. Helena admitted to the inspector that she got such a letter but she denied writing the first note. That was one of the reasons I realized that Helena was innocent. Why admit to one letter—a letter that destroys any hope of an
alibi—but deny the other? I knew there could only be one reason. Helena never wrote the first note, the one telling Filmore to come to the conservatory.”

“But it was found in his things,” Mrs. Goodge protested.

“It was put there by the killer,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “Let's think back. It took the inspector and Constable Barnes two days before they could search the victim's flat and place of business. Plus, Filmore's keys were missing when his body was searched.”

“Thea Stanway took them,” Phyllis said. “And she used the keys to break into his flat and home to plant evidence against Mrs. Rayburn.”

Mrs. Jeffries beamed proudly. “That's my conclusion. I asked myself, who benefited from the delay in searching? The killer. It gave her time to plant evidence and to muddy the waters.”

“Is that why you wanted us to find out what the ladies were doing Monday after the body was found?” Ruth asked.

“Yes, and the only person who we know for certain was out until past ten o'clock that night was Thea Stanway.”

“But Isabelle Martell didn't go to the dinner party that night, either,” Hatchet reminded her. “And we don't know what Mrs. Attwater did after Sir Jeremy left that day.”

“That's true, but Filmore couldn't blackmail Isabelle Martell without incriminating himself. The only thing he really had on her was that she, along with him, had committed perjury during Anthony Treadwell's murder inquiry. He had nothing on Mrs. Attwater. From what we know of her character, if he'd tried to blackmail her, she'd have laughed in his face and told him to do his worst.”

“That's true.” Ruth giggled. “I like her and I'm hoping that once this is over and done with, she'll join our women's group.”

“Furthermore, I suspect Thea was the one that shoved the free return ticket through his landlady's front door. She wanted her gone so the search would be delayed and/or to plant evidence.”

“And Kevin did identify her coming out of the nanny's flat and heading into the mews right before the murder,” Wiggins said.

“My lad said she was also the one that was keepin' watch on Filmore's shop all those weeks before he died,” Smythe added. “Bloomin' Ada, that woman spent 'ours concoctin' this plan. She musta 'ated Filmore's guts.”

“She hated Helena Rayburn more,” Betsy murmured. “That's the reason she made it look like Helena was the killer. She wanted to see her hang.” She looked at Mrs. Jeffries. “She must have stolen the keys to the conservatory.”

“She wanted to make sure it remained unlocked,” Mrs. Jeffries agreed.

“And I'll bet she loosened those boards at the end of the garden.” Luty tossed back the rest of her drink. “She thought of everything.”

“Not quite, we all figured it out,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “Now we've just got to wait for the inspector to find out the rest of the details. What say we meet here tomorrow afternoon for the final report?”

Everyone agreed that was a fine idea.

The inspector got home quite late that night, but as per usual, Mrs. Jeffries was at the front door waiting for him.
“You look exhausted, sir, and Mrs. Goodge wanted me to let you know how grateful she was that you sent a constable to let us know you'd not be home for dinner. He said you'd made an arrest.”

“We arrested Thea Stanway.” He handed her his bowler. “At first, we thought she was insane, but she's not. Oh, I know it's late and you must be exhausted, Mrs. Jeffries, but do lets have a glass of sherry. I must talk this out or I'll not get a wink of sleep tonight.” He headed to his study.

She hung up his hat and hurried after him. Neither of them spoke until she'd poured him a sherry and taken her seat. “Now, sir, tell me what happened. How did you determine Mrs. Stanway was the murderer?”

“I began to have my doubts this morning.” He took a drink. “Actually, I began to doubt that Mrs. Rayburn was guilty several days ago. But I couldn't figure out who else it might be. Then some remark I'd made to Constable Barnes got him to thinking, I can't recall exactly what it was, but he wanted us to go back to the Rayburn home and have a word with one of the maids.” He told her about their meeting with Peggy Pooley. “Of course, that information got my ‘inner voice' as you describe it thinking that perhaps we ought to have a word with Mrs. Attwater.”

“Mrs. Attwater? Why?”

“Well, we originally went to see her to ask her to account for her movements on the Monday afternoon after the body was found, but Constable Barnes had heard some gossip from his wife and he blurted out the most extraordinary question.”

“Really, sir?”

He told her about Chloe Attwater's accusations and
how she wanted the killer caught so their past crimes could be brought to light. “Once she found out that Filmore was dead, she used her telephone to contact Sir Jeremy Sanders. Can you believe it, she used that instrument to contact him. I tell you, Mrs. Jeffries, in the future, everyone will have one of those contraptions. Now that I know how useful they can be, I'm thinking of getting one for us. Perhaps I can talk Lady Cannonberry into getting one installed as well. It would save us walking across the garden when it's wet out.”

“That's a wonderful idea, sir, but what happened next?” she prompted. Witherspoon loved gadgets, but it was getting late and she wanted him to tell her the rest before he collapsed from exhaustion.

He told her about their discoveries in Mrs. Gilchrist's flat. “Mind you, by the time we reached Mrs. Gilchrist, I was leaning toward Mrs. Stanway as the guilty party, and of course, what we found in the carpetbag confirmed my suspicions. The white note paper was a list of items that had been stolen from dying soldiers.”

“And Mrs. Stanway was the only person who was the common factor?”

“That's right. After we arrested her, we confronted her with the list. She admitted she'd taken the items, and she'd sold them and had quite a tidy sum saved. She claimed she deserved them, that she'd spent hours nursing a pack of disgusting men who couldn't be bothered to say a proper ‘thank you.' But then Filmore got suspicious and blackmailed her. That's where he got the seed money for his first orchid hunt. From Thea Stanway's thefts.”

Mrs. Jeffries felt a rush of relief. She'd been guessing
earlier that Thea was one of Filmore's blackmail victim's. She had deduced it had to be because Filmore realized if he wasn't the thief, it had to be her. It was so good to be proved right. “Then you went to Mrs. Stanway's and made the arrest?” She knew that wasn't true, of course, but she had to pretend ignorance.

“No, we went across the street, to the Rayburn house. I tell you, Mrs. Jeffries, it was extraordinary. I don't think I'll ever understand women. Who would have thought that Thea Stanway would set foot in Helena Rayburn's home after the way she behaved just yesterday?”

She listened carefully as he told her everything that had transpired. “Gracious, sir, that's amazing. What was she going to do with the gun, murder Helena Rayburn?”

“She never actually admitted to that,” he replied. “But I expect that's exactly what she had in mind. She told us she'd come to Mrs. Rayburn's today because she'd overheard a police constable saying that with the evidence we had against Mrs. Rayburn, there was a good chance she'd not be convicted. Mrs. Stanway said she couldn't take that risk, that Helena had to pay for her crimes.”

“But what about the crimes Mrs. Stanway committed?” Mrs. Jeffries pointed out. “Surely she doesn't think everyone will turn a blind eye to her murder of both her husband and Hiram Filmore.”

He grew thoughtful. “For some odd reason, she thinks her case will never come to trial.”

“Why would she think that, sir?” Mrs. Jeffries finished her sherry.

“When we were questioning her, she kept saying that she was the sort of woman who'd spent her whole life watching
and listening. That everyone had secrets, too, even very important people.”

“What does that mean?”

“She said that when she was working in the infirmary, that as the men lay dying, they often confided in her. Not just the soldiers, but the officers as well. She said they confessed all manner of sins they didn't want on their consciences as they went to meet their Maker. She wrote everything down, and she said that when she gets to court, there will be a lot of important men, powerful and wealthy men, who won't want the world to hear what she's got to say.”

“But surely that's nonsense. Surely she can't possibly believe that justice won't be done because she might embarrass a politician or an aristocrat.” But as the words left her mouth, Mrs. Jeffries was uneasy. She didn't like to think that in this modern world justice could be so easily perverted. But she wasn't sure.

They discussed the case for a few more minutes and then the inspector retired. Mrs. Jeffries locked up the house and went upstairs. But despite the fact that the crime was solved and the killer caught, she didn't sleep well that night.

Over the next few days, she pushed the case to the back of her mind. But it was brought sharply back into focus one afternoon as she went down the front hall toward the drawing room. She heard someone coming up the front stairs so she went to the door and opened it.

A young man in footman's livery stood there holding a flower with beautiful red blooms. “Are you Mrs. Jeffries?” he asked.

“I am.” She couldn't think of anyone who'd send her a potted plant.

“This is for you, then.” He put it in her hands, nodded respectfully, and left. The plant was heavy so she shoved the door shut with her foot and took it downstairs. Mrs. Goodge was at her worktable slicing strawberries and Phyllis was cleaning the cooker. Both of them stopped what they were doing and gaped at the gorgeous blooms.

“Goodness, Mrs. Jeffries, those are lovely.” Phyllis draped her cleaning rag over the cooker handle.

“Maybe you've an admirer.” Mrs. Goodge grinned as she wiped her hands on a tea towel and came to have a closer look.

“I've no idea who sent it.” Mrs. Jeffries lowered the heavy terra-cotta pot to the table.

Phyllis pointed to a white envelope propped in the soil. “That should tell you.”

Mrs. Jeffries pulled it out, opened the flap, and read the note. She laughed. “It seems I'm not the only one with an admirer. This is for all of us to enjoy.”

“Read it then,” Mrs. Goodge demanded.

Mrs. Jeffries cleared her throat importantly and began to read.

Dear Mrs. Jeffries and the others at Upper Edmonton Gardens,

Thank you for your help in bringing to light a terrible miscarriage of justice. Don't worry, your secret is safe with me and I know how to hold my tongue.

Please accept this small token of my gratitude and esteem. It is a prize-winning orchid, but as I am no longer a member of the Mayfair Orchid and Exotic Plant Society, I would like you and your friends to enjoy its beauty.

By the way, I'll see to it that no matter how many secrets Thea Stanway threatens to share with the world, she will stand trial and pay for her crimes. So will the others.

Regards,

Chloe Attwater

“I don't know what to think about this,” Mrs. Jeffries said when she'd finished.