Mrs. Jeffries Forges Ahead (10 page)

Her butler, Hatchet, came behind her at a more sedate pace. He was dressed in his usual black suit jacket, white shirt, cravat, and black trousers. He took off his top hat. “Good morning, everyone.” He put the hat on the coat tree.

Luty and Hatchet were old friends of the household. They’d been witnesses in one of the inspector’s first cases, and Luty, with her sharp eyes, had figured out what the inspector’s household was up to when she’d spotted them asking questions of her servants. After that case had been solved, Luty had come to them for help with troubles of her own. Ever since, both Luty and Hatchet insisted on helping out on every one of the Witherspoon murders.

Luty was an elderly American who had more money than the Bank of England and could find out almost anything about anyone. She had access to cabinet ministers, aristocrats, bankers, financiers, and just about anyone else of consequence in London. She had no qualms about using her money to bribe a clerk or a crooked lawyer into revealing the contents of a will. She’d been born poor, but married an Englishman who was in the American West seeking his fortune and they’d struck silver, literally.

Hatchet, a tall, white-haired man, was devoted to his elderly employer and had sources of his own he could tap for information. He had a mysterious past but he was good, true, and honest. Both Luty and Hatchet were devoted to the cause of justice.

“Ruth should be here any moment,” Mrs. Jeffries said as the two newcomers took their seats. “I’d like to wait for her before we begin.”

“But we do have us a murder, don’t we?” Luty interrupted. “Wiggins said we did but when he mentioned poison, I wasn’t so sure. There’s lots of poisonin’ death about from just eatin’ plain old bad food.”

“Ruth was there and she said the doctor who examined the victim was quite sure of his diagnosis. She was deliberately poisoned,” Mrs. Jeffries said. She broke off as she heard a knock on the back door. “Ah, that’ll be Ruth. You’d best hear the details from her.”

“I’ll get it.” Wiggins shoved back his chair and got up. He disappeared down the back hall. They heard the door open and a few seconds later he escorted Ruth into the room.

“I’m so sorry to be late,” she apologized as she took her seat. “But I had an unexpected visitor this morning. Mrs. Stadler from across the street came over to complain about the gas lamps again. She wants me to write a letter to the council. It took ages to get away.”

“That’s alright, we don’t mind waiting,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “Now, would you tell what happened last night. I know you’ve already told it once, but I’d like Luty and Hatchet to hear it from you as well.”

Ruth nodded her thanks as Mrs. Goodge handed her a cup of tea. “First of all, let me say that when you’re actually sitting at the same table with someone who dies, it’s very, very upsetting. I didn’t sleep very well last night, but that’s neither here nor there. I’ll not do Arlette Banfield any good by having an attack of nerves. Here’s what happened.” She told them everything she could remember from the time she arrived at the Banfield house until the moment she left. When she’d finished, she took a deep breath, picked up her tea, and took a drink.

No one spoke for a moment, then Luty said, “It must have been awful for you.”

“It was,” Ruth admitted honestly.

“But if you’d not been there, there’s a good chance that whoever killed Arlette Banfield might have gotten away with it,” Betsy added. “After all, you kept them from clearing off the table and getting rid of the evidence. So perhaps you were meant to be there, for her sake.”

Under the table, Smythe squeezed his wife’s hand and then gave her a quick, proud smile. She always knew just the right thing to say.

“Thank you, Betsy, that does make me feel a little better about the whole situation, but I will tell you all this, I’ll never be cavalier about the inspector’s cases again. There’s too much pain and misery for those left behind when someone’s life is deliberately taken by another.”

Luty tapped her finger against the top of the table. “Banfield, Banfield, I know I’ve heard that name before.”

“Of course you have,” Mrs. Goodge said. Last night, as she’d fallen asleep, she’d realized why that name had sounded so familiar and then she’d remembered where she’d heard it before. One of the few good things about aging was that sometimes you couldn’t remember who was the current prime minister, but as the years went by, it became easier and easier to recall the past. “They’re one of the richest, oldest families in the country. My old colleague Thomas used to say they walked about with their noses in the air so high you’d think a Banfield came over on the boat with the Conqueror.”

“Cor blimey, not another aristocratic lot,” Smythe muttered. “That sort is always a bit of trouble for the inspector and for us.”

“They’re not aristocrats,” the cook said quickly. “But they’ve served the crown for hundreds of years. Thomas worked for them at their country estate. He was the butler, then he got offered a better position here in London—this was many years ago, mind you. I was cook in the house where he came to work and he used to tell us how the Banfields considered it a point of honor to serve without getting any reward for it.”

“That’s something you don’t hear very often.” Luty snorted in disbelief. “From what I’ve seen, them that works hard like to get a title for it.”

Mrs. Goodge shook her head. “That’s usually true; that’s why the Banfields are so highly regarded. Titus Banfield was the old head of the family in those days and he was one of the Queen’s ministers. His grandfather had served as adviser to one of the Georges, I forget which one, but Thomas told us how old Mr. Banfield would lecture his grandchildren that there was no honor in taking a reward or a title for doing one’s duty. Honor was everything in that family.”

“So there’s not any lords, ladies, or sirs among the bunch.” Wiggins grinned cheerfully. “That’ll make it a bit easier.”

From upstairs, there was a series of thumps against the ceiling and everyone looked up.

“Don’t be alarmed, it’s just Phyllis moving the side table out from the wall so she can polish the furniture in the drawing room,” Mrs. Jeffries explained. “It always makes that noise. Now, time is a-wasting, so let me tell you what I found out from the inspector last night and what Mrs. Goodge and I heard from the constable this morning.”

When she’d finished, Luty said, “Well, we’ve not got much to go on.”

“I know,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “But then, we never have very much information at the beginning of a case. I suggest we start where we usually do.”

“You mean find out who benefits the most from her death,” Mrs. Goodge muttered. “Let’s hope it’ll be that simple. Maybe someone murdered the poor woman just because they hated her.”

“That’s a possibility,” she replied.

“If Arlette Banfield wasn’t rich in her own right, I can’t see why killin’ her would help anyone. But you never know, so I’ll go and have a word with some of my friends in the City. Let’s see if the Banfields are as rich as everyone seems to think.” Luty turned to Hatchet. “What are you goin’ to do?”

Hatchet smiled craftily. “I’ll keep that as a surprise, madam. But I do have something interesting in mind.” He and Luty were very competitive with one another when they were on a case. He also had a connection that would serve him well.

Smythe glanced at Betsy. He didn’t quite have the nerve to order her to stay home and put her feet up because he knew she simply wouldn’t do it. “Are you goin’ to be chattin’ with the shopkeepers near Wallington Square?”

Betsy tried not to look surprised by the question. She’d been certain they were going to have words over her going out. “Of course, but I’ll be very careful.” She patted her tummy. “I’ll not tire out the wee one. I’ll stop and rest often, I promise.”

“Betsy, if you’d prefer to stay in, I can speak with the shopkeepers,” Ruth offered. “I’m not as good at it as you are, but I might learn something.”

Betsy shook her head. She wasn’t going to give up their cases just because she was having a baby. “Thank you for offering, but I’d just as soon be out in the fresh air and walking about. I feel better when I’ve had a bit of exercise. Besides, with your connections, don’t you think you’d learn more by asking . . .” She broke off, not sure how to phrase what she was trying to say.

“People that I see socially about the Banfields,” Ruth finished for her. “You’re right, of course. I’m going to a luncheon today with one of Lord Cannonberry’s aunts. I’ll see what I can find out there. I’ll also try to speak to some of the ladies from the suffrage group. As I told you, Arlette’s mother is one of our members. Perhaps I’ll hear something useful from that source. Oh dear, I’m never quite sure what to ask . . .”

“We don’t know, either,” Mrs. Goodge assured her. “I’ve got two or three people comin’ by today and I’ve no idea if I’m going to find out anything that will end up being useful to catch this killer. But we just start asking whatever comes into our heads and see what happens. It’s often the bits that you don’t think make any difference that end up bein’ the clues that point to the killer, isn’t it, Mrs. Jeffries?”

“That’s very true,” she replied. “But however confusing this case may be now, there is one thing we do know. Whoever murdered Arlette Banfield must have been desperate to do it in such a public place. If the doctor’s assumption is correct, the fatal dose was probably in the champagne she was served at the ball.”

“Why would that mean the killer was desperate?” Luty asked. “From what you told us, everyone knew that Arlette Banfield only drank champagne. Seems to me that dropping poison in a champagne bottle is pretty danged easy.”

“Only if no one sees you do it,” the housekeeper said. “And remember, according to the inspector, not only were there dozens of guests, but there were dozens of servants, and the champagne bottle was kept in a cooler in the butler’s pantry.”

“That doesn’t mean anything, Mrs. Jeffries,” Hatchet argued. “The sort of people who get invited to a Banfield ball wouldn’t have any qualms about walking into a butler’s pantry and doing their worst. With a large social gathering like that, there would be plenty of time when no one was in the pantry at all. The servants would have been out on the floor serving the guests.”

Mrs. Jeffries thought about it for a moment and nodded. “You’re right. But still, I think the killer took an awful risk.” She glanced at the footman. He was staring off into the distance with a dreamy, unfocused expression on his face. “Wiggins, are you alright?”

He started. “Oh, sorry, I was just thinkin’ . . .”

“And what were you thinkin’?” Smythe asked.

“I was thinkin’ that if Arlette Banfield didn’t bring any money to the family when she married her husband, then maybe the person who killed her is someone she knew before she married. I’ll try to find one of the Banfield servants and see what I can find out.”

“Right, then, if we’re finished, I’ll get out and about.” Betsy stood up. She didn’t want Smythe to have second thoughts about her going out and start nagging her to stay here.

Smythe shoved back his chair and rose as well. “I’ll walk you to the hansom stand.”

“But I don’t need a cab, I can take an omnibus . . .” Her voice trailed off when she saw the set of his jaw. “Fine, walk me to the hansom stand.” Some battles simply weren’t worth fighting. “But it’s a waste of money.”

Within a few moments, the kitchen was silent save for the ticking of the clock on the pine sideboard. Mrs. Goodge looked at Mrs. Jeffries, her expression quizzical. “I expected Phyllis to join us.”

Mrs. Jeffries sighed. “It seems, Mrs. Goodge, that I may have made a mistake in speaking to Phyllis. Come on, I’ll help you get the apples and the mince from the wet larder for your tarts. I’ll tell you all about my little chat with her and you can tell me what a complete fool I’ve been.”

The walls of the morning room were papered in a cream color with a pattern of pink and green climbing roses. Pink silk curtains hung at the two windows and a carpet in various shades of green was on the floor. Margaret Bickleton sat on a chair upholstered in pink satin while Inspector Witherspoon was perched on the edge of a matching chaise.

“I didn’t really know Mrs. Lewis Banfield very well,” Margaret Bickleton declared. “I’m here as a guest of Geraldine Banfield.”

“How long have you been here?” he asked.

“A week,” she replied. “There were a number of social occasions I was expected to attend and I wanted to spend some time with Mrs. Banfield.”

“Were you here at the Banfield house yesterday before the ball?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Where else would I be? As I told you, Inspector, I’m a guest.”

“But even guests go out and shop, you know, that sort of thing,” he replied. “Did you see Mrs. Lewis Banfield during the day?”

“I did; we had luncheon together. Everyone was here. Even Lewis was present, and he is usually at his office at that time of the day, but Arlette—Mrs. Banfield—apparently insisted he come home.”