“We’ve only just sat down.” Mrs. Jeffries poured her a cup of tea as she took her chair. “As you can see, Phyllis has decided to join us today. When today’s meeting is finished, I’ll bring her up to date, so to speak, on the progress of our case.”
“You don’t have to do that. I’ve been listening most times at the door,” Phyllis blurted out. When she realized what she’d just said, she blushed a fiery red. “Oh no, I don’t mean that in a bad way . . . it’s just I so wanted to help and—and—”
“Don’t fret, child,” Luty interrupted with a laugh. “I’ve listened at doors many a time. We all have. It’s one of the best ways of finding out things.”
“We understand what you meant, Phyllis,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “Now, who would like to go first?”
“Let me,” Betsy offered. “I’ll not take long. I spoke to one of the maids from another house on Wallington Square, and the girl knew who the Banfields were, but the only thing she could tell me was that a few days before the ball, she’d seen a lady come out of the back of the Banfield house and she was carrying a jug and small tin.”
“Was it a servant?” Ruth took a sip of tea.
“No, the woman was well dressed. But she was heavily veiled, so the girl wasn’t able to see her face.”
“What color was the veil?” Wiggins asked. “If it was the blue one, I know who she was,” he declared.
“It was the blue one.” She grinned triumphantly. “I made a point of asking the color. But that’s about all I heard today. The maid didn’t know anything else.”
“Wiggins, you go next,” Mrs. Jeffries suggested. She helped herself to a slice of brown bread.
Without mentioning that he’d pretended to be an assistant private inquiry agent, he told them about his meeting with Emma Carr. “I also asked her what day it was that she and Fanny had seen Mrs. Bickleton and it was last Friday.”
“Margaret Bickleton is the lady in blue,” Mrs. Jeffries mused. “And she’s the one who went to Battersea, not that that in and of itself means anything. But it is curious. I wonder what she was doing in the mews.” An idea flew into her head and then just as quickly vanished.
“I wish we knew.” Betsy sighed. “But it was probably something perfectly innocent.”
“I’ll go next, then,” Mrs. Goodge offered. “My sources were short on the ground today, but I did find out that Rosalind Kimball could easily get her hands on the kind of poison used to kill poor Mrs. Banfield.”
“Cor blimey, that doesn’t sound as if your sources were short of anything,” Wiggins exclaimed. “’Ow’d you find that out?”
She laughed. “One of my former colleagues came by today. He used to be a footman but now he owns a tobacco shop. Bernie Poole has come up quite a bit in the world. But he happened to run into Ida Leahcock, and she gave him my address, so he stopped in to say hello, but that’s not what you’re interested in hearin’. Bernie didn’t stay very long, but we had a cup of tea and naturally I started dropping names left and right, hopin’ he’d know one of them. Well, he did. Turns out his brother works as a butler for the Harpers and they live next door to the Kimballs in Mayfair. But more importantly, it seems the Kimball house is in such a miserable state that they’re overrun with vermin and, rats bein’ what they are, they invaded the Harper mansion. Well, the Harpers weren’t havin’ it. They sent Bernie’s brother next door with a big brown bottle of poison and you’ll never guess what this poison was made of: prussic acid. Bernie’s brother makes it up himself.”
“Did you find out when this happened?” Mrs. Jeffries asked. She glanced at Phyllis and noted that the girl was staring at the cook with an expression of interest, not fear.
Mrs. Goodge beamed proudly. “Bernie couldn’t remember the exact date, but he knew it was sometime last spring.”
“And we know that Rosalind Kimball hated Arlette Banfield,” Hatchet added. “But, then, from what we’re learning, there were a number of people who were displeased with Mrs. Banfield the younger.”
“Who would like to go next?” Mrs. Jeffries asked.
“My turn,” Smythe volunteered. He told them what he’d learned from Blimpey Groggins. “So it seems as if Lewis Banfield isn’t quite as ’onorable as he lets on.”
“They never are,” Mrs. Goodge interjected dryly. “Especially when it comes to affairs of the heart. Poor girl, she must have been humiliated when Banfield didn’t keep up his end of the bargain.”
“Helen Bickleton might not ’ave known about it,” Smythe said quickly. “My source told me the marriage agreement wasn’t in writing and was deliberately kept quiet. Hiram Bickleton didn’t want his daughter thinking he’d bought her a husband. Still, it does put Lewis Banfield in a whole different light, doesn’t it?”
“This ain’t fair—all of you found out all sorts of things and I spent the whole day dashin’ from place to place without learning one danged thing worth mentioning.” Luty turned and stared at Hatchet. “I’ll bet you found out all sorts of interesting bits and pieces.”
“One doesn’t like to boast, madam, but I did have a very successful day.” He smiled smugly and then told them about his visit to the Manleys. He took his time in the telling, making certain he didn’t forget any of the details. There was a general murmur of excitement when he finished by telling them the connection he’d found between the Banfield and the Montrose families. “So you see, all our instincts were correct.”
Everyone began to talk at once. “I knew there had to be something more to the Montroses not wanting their daughter to marry into that bunch,” Luty declared.
“Cor blimey, I wonder if Arlette Banfield knew her husband’s uncle was once in love with her father’s sister,” Wiggins added.
“It doesn’t seem like much of a connection,” Smythe muttered. He wondered why Groggins hadn’t uncovered this particular fact.
“And even if old Mr. Banfield was supposedly in love with Arlette’s aunt, it doesn’t seem to be a motive for murder,” Mrs. Goodge added.
Mrs. Jeffries said nothing. Her mind was working furiously as one theory after another was considered and then discarded. She had no idea how this latest news would fit into the overall picture; if anything, she was more confused than ever.
“I’m sorry to interrupt.” Ruth raised her voice over the din to be heard. “But may I go now? I’ve a dinner party this evening and I must get home to change before I go.”
Mrs. Jeffries smiled apologetically. “Please go on. We’re the ones who ought to be apologizing to you. What happened today?”
“The funeral was very much as you’d expect, except that all the friends of the Montroses sat on one side of the church while the Banfields sat on the other,” she replied. “It was the same at the reception, too. Crispin and Elizabeth Montrose took over one end of the room while the Banfields held court at the other end. I learned nothing directly from any of them but I did overhear two other conversations that might be of interest.” She told them about Mrs. Peyton and the gardener. “Then two minutes later, I stepped outside to get some fresh air and I overheard another extraordinary conversation.” She recounted the exchange between the two servants. “But I couldn’t see who was doing the talking; I could only hear them. After they left, I went back inside to express my condolences to both families but I heard nothing useful and I was one of the last people to leave. Lady Stafford was leaving at the same time, and I offered her a lift in my carriage. She had quite a bit to say.” She smiled as she repeated the chat she’d had with the old woman. “She told me that Geraldine Banfield was a blood relative of the family, not just related by marriage. Isn’t that extraordinary—no wonder the woman is so keen on family honor and duty.”
They broke up soon after that and Mrs. Jeffries took Phyllis upstairs to help her in the dining room. As they laid the table, the housekeeper gave her a full report on everything they’d learned thus far.
“But you don’t need to go over it for my benefit,” Phyllis protested. She put a crisp white serviette by the inspector’s silverware. “I’ve been listening to most of your meetings. I’ve missed one or two, but I think I’ve heard enough to catch on. I don’t want you thinking I’m slow.”
“I’d never think anything of the sort.” Mrs. Jeffries opened the cupboard and took down a water goblet. “Frankly, I’m going over all this as much for my benefit as for yours. We’ve learned so much today that it could easily get very confusing. I find one of the best ways to keep the facts straight in one’s mind is to say them out loud. Now, what do you make of what we heard today?” She wasn’t trying to put the maid on the spot, but she did want to know how good her memory might be.
Phyllis bit her lip and looked down at the floor, then she took a deep breath and said, “Well, to begin with, Betsy told us that a veiled Mrs. Bickleton was seen out in the mews a few days before the murder,” she began. She went on to recall everything they’d discussed at the meeting.
As Mrs. Jeffries listened, the oddest idea began to form in her mind, and this time she wasn’t going to let the wretched thing get away. As Phyllis recited more and more facts, the idea changed and took on a different, but just as important, shape in her mind.
When the girl finished, Mrs. Jeffries smiled but said nothing.
Puzzled, Phyllis stared at her. “What are you lookin’ at me like that for?”
“You don’t understand, do you?” The housekeeper laughed in delight. “I’ve no idea why you think you’re thick or slow, Phyllis. You’ve remembered every single detail and, furthermore, hearing you has helped me. I don’t quite understand everything yet, but I’m well on my way.”
Witherspoon was late getting home that evening. “I got called to the Yard,” he explained as he handed his bowler to Mrs. Jeffries. “I’d gone to the local station to go over the interview reports that their inspector had done on our behalf when I got the message that the chief inspector wanted to see me.” He sighed as he slipped off his jacket. “So it took even longer than usual to get to the Yard, and I’m sure you can imagine what the CI wanted.”
Mrs. Jeffries took his suit jacket and hung it next to the hat. “He wants this case solved right away, doesn’t he.”
“He didn’t come right out and say that,” the inspector said glumly. “But Chief Inspector Barrows told me he was getting messages from the Home Office two and three times a day asking for progress reports and wanting to know if an arrest was imminent.” He sighed heavily. “I’ve never considered myself particularly astute when it comes to politics, but even I managed to take his point. He wants an arrest as soon as possible. But honestly, Mrs. Jeffries, I can’t just go around arresting someone because the Home Office is putting pressure on the CI. It simply wouldn’t be right.”
“Of course not, sir, and I’m sure Chief Inspector Barrows is very much aware that you’ll only arrest someone when you’re sure that person is guilty. Now come along, sir, a nice glass of sherry will do you just fine.”
Witherspoon followed her down the hall and into the drawing room. He sat down, and she went to get the glasses and the bottle of sherry she had put on the cabinet earlier and poured both of them a drink. “Other than your trip to the Yard, how was the rest of your day?” She handed him his Harvey’s and sat down opposite him.
He took a long sip of his sherry before he answered. “We had a good start to the day in that we were able to interview Rosalind Kimball immediately after the funeral service.”
“She didn’t go to the reception?”
“She didn’t go the funeral,” he replied. “So we went to Mayfair as soon as the cortege left for the cemetery. I must say, she might have a posh address, but the house is in a terrible state. But it was a successful interview in that she revealed a bit more than she intended.” He told her all the details of their visit. She listened closely, occasionally breaking in and asking a question or making a comment. When he’d finished, he drained his glass and said, “But then the day seemed to get away from us. Constable Barnes went to the Banfield house to speak with the butler, and I went back to the local station to go over the reports on the interviews with the other people sitting at the Banfield table.”
She stared at him in surprise. “You didn’t interview them?” That wasn’t like the inspector.
He shook his head. “Unfortunately, we simply ran out of time, so yesterday I asked the local inspector if he could do it for us. He interviewed both the Fortnoys and the Kingsleys and to his credit he did an excellent job.”
“I’m sure he did, sir,” she muttered. Blast, this wasn’t good, this investigation was moving far too fast. She’d not deliberately ignored the people who’d been sitting at the Banfield table, but thus far, their snooping about hadn’t revealed any real connection between the victim and the other two couples. But she’d meant to dig a bit deeper. Still, it was very frustrating. There seemed to be so many avenues that weren’t being explored.
“Both the Kingsleys and the Fortnoys are business acquaintances of Lewis Banfield, and neither couple seemed to have any connection with the victim. But, of course, I shall confirm that with Mr. Banfield when I see him tomorrow.”
“You’re going to interview him again?” She noticed his glass was empty and she started to get up. “Would you like another sherry?”
“Only if you’ll have another one with me.” He handed her his glass. “And I most certainly do intend to speak to Mr. Banfield tomorrow. I’m afraid I’ve been a bit derelict in my duty and I mean to rectify the situation immediately. Honestly, Mrs. Jeffries, sometimes a very important bit of information seems to fall right out of my head.”
“We all forget things occasionally and you’ve never been derelict in your duty, sir.” She poured them both another sherry. She went back to her seat, pausing long enough to hand him his drink.
“That’s kind of you to say, but the postmortem report revealed an interesting fact about the deceased and, for the life of me, I either neglect to bring it up when I’m asking questions or I simply forget it altogether.”
She was pretty sure she knew what it was and, truth be told, she’d wondered why he’d kept silent on the matter. “What was it?”