Mrs. Jeffries Forges Ahead (15 page)

“Then where is the danged thing?” Luty cried. “It didn’t just git up and waltz away on its own.”

“I think Mrs. Jeffries is right,” Betsy said. She was standing by the coat tree, putting on her hat. Smythe was next to her. “I think the killer took it and hid it somewhere in the house until he or she can sneak back and get rid of it.”

Mrs. Jeffries refrained from pointing out that she’d not exactly said those words. It was actually an interesting idea. From what they’d learned thus far, it had only been the public, downstairs rooms that had been thoroughly searched on the night of the murder. Perhaps she’d have a quick word with Constable Barnes when she saw him the next morning and suggest another search might be in order.

“Let’s ’ope the rest of us find out something today,” Wiggins muttered. He was still smarting over having nothing to report at the previous day’s meeting. “I’m going to work double ’ard to find a servant from the Banfield house. Somebody is bound to stick their nose out of the place today.”

“Do the best you can, lad.” Mrs. Goodge smiled. “It’s still early days. She was only murdered two days ago.”

Lady Cannonberry patted his arm in commiseration as they started for the back door.

“And you aren’t the only one that hasn’t found out anything,” Luty told the footman as she and Hatchet fell into step behind them. “I haven’t had any luck, either. But I will today, that’s for danged sure.”

As soon as the kitchen was empty, Mrs. Goodge went to her work counter and pulled out her big brown bowl. “I’m going to make another batch of scones,” she announced.

“Will there be enough left for our tea today? Everyone dearly loves your scones,” Mrs. Jeffries said. She went to the coat tree and pulled down her jacket and matching bonnet.

“There ought to be, I’m making a double batch. Where are you off to, then?”

“St. Thomas’ Hospital.” She put on the hat and slipped her arms into the coat. “I want to prevail upon Dr. Bosworth to help us. They still haven’t given the inspector a full report, so we don’t know the exact kind of poison that was used to kill Mrs. Banfield. Now that Dr. Bosworth is an official police surgeon for his district, he might be able to get us that information.”

Dr. Bosworth was another of their special friends and his expertise was very useful to them.

“What about Phyllis?” Mrs. Goodge pulled out her flour tin from the shelf and plonked it next to her bowl. “Do you want me to keep an eye on her?”

Mrs. Jeffries sighed heavily. “No, let’s leave her alone. I’ve thought long and hard about what to do about the situation and I’ve decided we must trust the girl unless we see that she’s not to be trusted, if you know what I mean.”

The cook nodded in agreement. “I do. I’ve been watching her when the inspector is around the house and there’s not been any indication she wants to say anything to him about us.”

“That is my conclusion as well.” Mrs. Jeffries walked over to the pine sideboard and opened the top drawer. Reaching inside, she pulled out her good purse and tucked it into her pocket. The purse was always kept in this drawer and always had a minimum of two pounds in it. She’d instructed the household that it was to be used if any of them needed money for a cab or any other expense that might crop up when they were “on the hunt.” “I think we were so surprised by her less than enthusiastic response to our invitation to include her that we assumed she might be less than trustworthy. Generally, people are most eager to help us.”

“She would be, too, if she wasn’t such a scared little rabbit.” Mrs. Goodge opened the flour tin. “Phyllis won’t do anything that she thinks might threaten her job. Mind you, I think she’s had some very hard times in her past and she likes it here.”

“We all like it here. Even if the inspector did find out what we were doing, I don’t think he’d sack us.” As she stepped into the hall and walked briskly toward the back door, she wasn’t certain, but she thought she heard Mrs. Goodge say, “I’d not be too sure of that.”

 

Witherspoon and Barnes’ first interview of the day was with Sir Ralph and Lady Fetchman. The Fetchmans lived in a huge white Regency-style house on a side street near Hyde Park.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.” Sir Ralph, a tall, balding man with a huge gray mustache, swept into the drawing room with his hand extended. “But when Vinner told me you were here, I dashed upstairs to tell Henny to hurry up and come down. My wife is always fussing about something and I knew you wanted to speak with both of us. This is a terrible business, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir, it is,” Witherspoon agreed as he shook hands. “I’m Inspector Gerald Witherspoon and this is my colleague Constable Barnes.”

Barnes stood just a bit straighter as he shook Fetchman’s hand, pleased that his superior officer had introduced him as a “colleague.” That was another reason the rank-and-file men admired the inspector so much, he always treated them with respect in front of civilians. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

“I know who you both are. You introduced yourselves the other evening. Let’s sit down.” Sir Ralph gestured toward a pale gold sofa and two matching chairs in front of the fireplace. “We might as well be comfortable. Would you like tea?”

“Not for me, sir,” Barnes answered quickly.

“Nor for me, sir, but it was kind of you to offer.” Witherspoon took a seat on one end of the sofa as Barnes settled down at the other and whipped out his notebook. Fetchman took a chair.

“Sir Ralph, can you give us an account of what happened at the ball?” Witherspoon asked.

Fetchman closed his eyes briefly. “It’s not something I like to think about. That poor woman struggling to breathe has given me nightmares, Inspector. But I know my duty. Where would you like me to begin?”

“Start from when you arrived and don’t be afraid to mention anything, no matter how trivial it might seem, that struck you as odd or out of place,” he said.

Fetchman nodded in understanding. “Henny and I took a hansom to the ball. The carriage clapped out this winter and, frankly, a horse and four or even two is such an expense in the city that we didn’t bother getting another. But you’re not interested in our domestic arrangements.” He smiled self-consciously. “We went inside and went through the receiving line to greet the Banfields. Arlette looked lovely and Lewis, of course, was gracious. Geraldine Banfield and her friend Mrs. Bickleton were in the line as well.”

“What about the other houseguest, Mrs. Kimball?” Witherspoon asked. “Wasn’t she in the line?”

“No, she wasn’t.”

“What happened after that?” Barnes prompted. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the drawing room door open a crack.

“We passed through and went into the ballroom. The buffet wasn’t ready as yet and there were servants going back and forth from behind the screens to the halls, but there were waiters serving wine, so I got Henny and myself a couple of glasses of Bordeaux and we went out to the terrace. Henny loves red wine.”

“I’m not the only one.” A short, plump, dark-haired woman wearing a mint green skirt and white blouse stepped into the room. She smiled as she came toward them.

As she approached, Witherspoon could see that she was older than he’d initially thought. There was a substantial amount of gray in her dark hair and laugh lines deeply etched around her eyes and mouth. He, along with the other two men, started to rise.

She waved them back to their seats. “I’m Henrietta Fetchman. I know why you’ve come and I want to do everything I can to help. Ralph, as usual, has left out some very important information.”

“What have I left out?” Her husband frowned at her.

She took no notice but kept her attention on Witherspoon as she sat down in the chair next to him. “Quite a bit, darling. To begin with, you didn’t mention that not only wasn’t Rosalind Kimball in the receiving line, but she snubbed Arlette when she came into the ballroom. She walked straight past her and Lewis to his aunt and Margaret Bickleton. For God’s sake, Ralph, the woman was right in front of us. I can’t believe you didn’t notice her. Don’t you remember when I poked you in the ribs? I could see that Lewis was furious over the breach.”

“My gracious, was that why you were poking me? I thought it was because I stepped on your dress,” he exclaimed. “And she was right ahead of us in the receiving line?”

“Yes, dear, and she didn’t bother to say hello to us, either.” Henrietta sighed in exasperation. “Men don’t notice anything.”

Witherspoon would have liked to argue that point, but in all fairness, she might be right. He, however, made it a point to observe as much as possible regardless of where he was at any given moment. But then, he was a trained police officer. “How did you come to your conclusion that Lewis Banfield was upset?”

“He clenched his jaw and his fist,” she replied. “And Arlette squeezed his arm and whispered in his ear. She knew he was riled, but he managed to get hold of himself by the time he greeted us.”

Barnes looked up from his notebook. “Was she angry over the breach as well?”

Henrietta shook her head. “If anything, she was amused. After she calmed Lewis, she looked at Rosalind Kimball, who, by this time, was looking in our direction. Arlette stared her down and it was Rosalind who looked away.”

“Do you know of any reason why Rosalind Kimball would dislike Mrs. Banfield?”

Witherspoon knew he was probably wasting his breath by asking the question. No doubt the animosity sprang from the fact that Mrs. Banfield wasn’t of the same class and background as the Kimball family.

“She didn’t dislike her, Inspector; Rosalind hated her,” Henrietta said.

“Now, Henny, you mustn’t exaggerate,” Fetchman warned his wife. “We don’t know that for a fact.”

“Yes, we do,” she charged, giving her husband a good glare. “I was there when it happened and I saw and heard it with my own eyes and ears.”

“Saw and heard what?” Witherspoon said sharply.

She turned back to him. “Rosalind Kimball threatened Arlette and, what’s more, she did it in front of everyone.”

 

“Mr. Widdowes can see you now, Mrs. Crookshank,” the young man said as he crossed the elegant foyer toward Luty.

“Why, thank you, young feller.” She got up from the straight-backed chair she’d been occupying while she waited in the outer office of Widdowes and Walthrop, Merchant Bankers. She hadn’t waited long. Her large diamond brooch and the pearls around her neck, coupled with her expensive, flamboyant clothes, American accent, and general air of friendliness to everyone who came within ten feet of her, guaranteed that the clerk would let John Widdowes know she was here and waiting to see him.

“It’s right this way, ma’am.” He grinned and led her across the foyer. Just then the door in front of them opened and a middle-aged, rather handsome man with thick, graying blond hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and dark eyes stepped into view.

“Luty, what a delightful surprise. Now that you’ve finally come to see me, I hope you’ve brought all your money.” He smiled broadly and stepped toward her, his hands outstretched to grasp hers.

Luty laughed and grabbed his fingers. “Not all of it, John, but maybe I’ll give you some of it to play with.” Of all the merchant bankers she knew, she liked Widdowes the best.

“Bring us a pot of tea, please,” Widdowes instructed the clerk as he ushered Luty through the door and into his office.

“Right away, sir,” the lad replied.

Luty gasped as she entered the office. Directly in front of her were three wide windows opening the room to a panorama of the river. “My goodness, John, how the dickens do you get any work done with that view?”

“That’s why I’ve got my back to it, Luty. If I saw it every time I looked up, I’d spend the whole day watching it.”

Barges, fishing boats, ferries, and steamers all plied up and down on the wide green-gray ribbon of water. The Thames was a rich and vibrant slice of life, constantly moving and changing shape as the river traffic moved in each direction.

Widdowes helped Luty into a chair in front of his wide desk and then stepped behind it and sat down.

She took a moment to adjust her voluminous skirt so that she was comfortable. When she’d finished fidgeting with the material, she looked up and saw that he was staring at her speculatively. “I’ll bet you’re wonderin’ why I’m here.”

He smiled slowly. “I think I might have some idea.” He turned his head as the door opened and the clerk came in carrying a tea tray. “Put it just there.” He pointed to an occasional table next to the window and got up. He went to the table and poured the tea into elegant blue and green china teacups. “Do you take cream or sugar?”

“Both: one lump of sugar and a smidgen of cream,” Luty replied. She’d forgotten how smart Widdowes was; unlike most of the bankers she knew, he’d actually worked his way up in the financial world. He wasn’t going to be an easy mark. Dang. Maybe she should just ask him for some investment advice and go somewhere else. But where? John Widdowes knew more about the financing of manufacturing companies than anyone in London and that’s where the Banfields made their money. They owned two factories right here in London. “It’s right nice of ya to take the time to see me,” she began.

He handed her a cup of fragrant tea and put a plate of biscuits within easy reach on the edge of his desk. “Help yourself.” He picked up his own cup and went back to his chair. “And of course I wanted to see you. Not only are you one of the richest women in the country but I find you one of the most delightful people I’ve ever met. Now, the more important question is why you wanted to see me.”

Luty took a sip from her cup. She had to be careful here. She wasn’t going to insult the man by underestimating his intelligence. “I was wonderin’ if you could give me some advice. I’m thinkin’ about investing in a factory that makes railway equipment for export. I understand they make a lot of money.”

He said nothing for a moment; he simply looked at her, his expression thoughtful. “You’re aware there are already two facilities manufacturing railway supplies and material here in London?”