Mrs. Jeffries Stands Corrected (18 page)

“Haydon didn’t. Moira did.” Sarah smiled faintly. “Moira knew Michael’s work from when she used to visit
Aunt Lillian. She insisted that if Haydon wanted any money from her, he had to use Michael to etch the windows and do the wood carving. Haydon was livid, but he needed the money, so he did as she asked. But Haydon had his revenge. After he hired Michael, he threw us together and then stood back and watched us suffer.”

“How?”

“Haydon knew I’d never tell Michael the truth. I couldn’t tell him he had a daughter and that I loved him and I always had.”

“Why can’t you tell him the truth?” Mrs. Jeffries asked. Surely there was no reason for the two young people not to be together now. Neither of them was married.

“Because Michael would insist on acknowledging Amanda,” Sarah whispered miserably. “He’d want to change her name and tell the whole world she was his. I couldn’t allow that. I couldn’t allow my child to be branded a bastard.”

Mrs. Jeffries thought Sarah Hewett was being overly protective. Certainly, in some circles, it would be considered scandalous. But as the child’s parents would be married, she would hardly be considered a bastard any longer. However, considering what Sarah herself had gone through as a child, she could understand the woman’s anxiety about it, even if she didn’t agree. “Is it possible that Haydon might have told Mr. Taggert the truth?”

“No,” Sarah cried, “Michael doesn’t know.”

“Are you absolutely sure?”

Mrs. Jeffries thought about her talk with Sarah Hewett all the way back to Upper Edmonton Gardens. She didn’t like to think of either Sarah or Michael as a killer, but both of them did have a motive. With Michael Taggert, it could be as simple as rage. Sarah, an overly protective mother, could
have thought murdering Dapeers was the safest way to ensure that he never breathed one word of scandal about her child.

Furthermore, she told herself as she hurried down the back hall and into the kitchen, there were a number of unanswered questions surrounding both of them. But she quickly pushed the problem of Sarah Hewett and Michael Taggert to the back of her mind when she walked into the kitchen.

Inspector Witherspoon, a plate of food in front of him, was sitting at the kitchen table. “Ah, Mrs. Jeffries,” he cried happily. “I’ve been waiting for you. I do need to ask your advice about something rather important.”

Mrs. Jeffries smiled brightly. “Do forgive me for not being here, sir, but I had to—”

“Take them bad biscuits back to the grocer’s,” Mrs. Goodge put in quickly. “I’ve already told the inspector that.”

“Yes,” she replied, grateful for the cook’s quick thinking, “I’ve been to the grocer’s. Excuse me, sir, but why aren’t you eating in the dining room?”

Mrs. Goodge, standing out of the inspector’s line of sight, rolled her eyes heavenward.

“Oh”—he waved his fork in the air—“I didn’t want to bother Mrs. Goodge with running up and down the steps. As Betsy had to go to the fishmonger’s and Wiggins is over at the boot mender’s, I thought I’d just have a sit-down here.”

“I see.” Mrs. Jeffries glanced at the cook, once again, grateful that Mrs. Goodge had covered for them all. “What would you like my advice on?” she asked eagerly. Finally, the man had come to his senses and was going to start talking about this case. It was getting odd, investigating without the inspector’s information, a bit like poking about
in a dark room. If they weren’t careful, she and the rest of the staff were going to start banging into one another.

“Well, it’s rather awkward,” he replied. He pushed his now empty plate to one side.

Mrs. Jeffries realized he was probably embarrassed because he hadn’t confided in her earlier. “Now, now, sir,” she said soothingly, taking the seat beside him and giving him her most encouraging smile, “I’m sure you’ll find that if you just tell me what it is, you’ll find me most sympathetic and helpful.”

“Well”—he smiled hesitantly at the cook—“I’m not certain I can really explain what I need.…”

“Try, sir,” Mrs. Jeffries encouraged. Goodness, he really was embarrassed. But there was no need. She certainly wouldn’t gloat or make inappropriate remarks.

He cleared his throat and cast another quick glance at Mrs. Goodge. But she ignored him and stubbornly continued to cut up apples.

“Actually,” he said, “it’s a rather delicate matter.”

“I’m sure it is, sir,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “And I assure you, I’m most discreet.” She wished he’d get on with it. For goodness’ sakes, this wouldn’t be the first time he’d discussed his cases with her. Perhaps it was Mrs. Goodge’s presence that was inhibiting him.

“All right, then.” He took a deep breath. Gracious, this was becoming far more difficult than he’d anticipated when he’d decided to seek his housekeeper’s assistance. “You see, it’s a bit complicated.”

“Most things are complicated, sir,” Mrs. Jeffries said magnanimously. “All your cases are very complex. But you always solve them, don’t you?”

He stared at her blankly. “Cases? Oh no, Mrs. Jeffries, I’m afraid you don’t understand. I don’t want to discuss
this case with you. As a matter of fact, I’m trying a new method of detecting on this one.”

Stunned, she sat bolt upright in her chair. “You don’t?”

“Oh no.” He smiled happily. “This case is really quite simple, Mrs. Jeffries. As a matter of fact, I’m making a few inquires, and once those are done, I expect to make an arrest quite soon. Yes, indeed, it’s really a very simple matter.”

Mrs. Jeffries couldn’t believe her ears. He was going to be making an arrest soon! But that was impossible. This case wasn’t simple. It wasn’t simple in the least. They had half a dozen suspects and all of them could easily have committed the crime. But what could she do? A knot of panic twisted her insides. The inspector was going to make a grave mistake, she just knew it. And it would probably ruin his career.

Witherspoon didn’t appear to notice his housekeeper had turned pale. “I need your advice on a far different matter,” he said blithely. “A most delicate matter; one could even say, a matter of the heart.”

As she didn’t have a clue what he was talking about, she simply looked at him. He was heading for disaster. She knew it. She could feel it in her bones. Before you could say Bob’s-your-uncle, he’d arrest the wrong person and then he’d find himself back in the records room at Scotland Yard.

“Mrs. Jeffries, I do realize this isn’t a normal housekeeping duty, but I need your help most desperately.” He blushed like a schoolboy. “You see, Lady Cannonberry’s letter to me was most…affectionate, shall we say. And I need a bit of help in drafting an equally affectionate reply to her.”

That evening, as soon as dinner was over, Mrs. Jeffries didn’t waste one moment. The moment Luty and Hatchet
arrived, she bade them sit down, poured them both a cup of tea and then plunged right in and told them about her strange encounter with Inspector Witherspoon.

The others were as surprised as she had been except for Mrs. Goodge, who’d been in the kitchen when the Inspector had made his shocking announcement.

“You mean he’s close to an arrest?” Luty asked in disbelief. “But that’s impossible. We ain’t told him nuthin’.”

“’Ow does ’e know who the killer is when we don’t?” Wiggins exclaimed.

“Was ’e ’avin’ you on a bit?” Smythe asked incredulously.

“Excuse me, madam,” Hatchet said politely. “But are you sure you understood the inspector correctly?”

“He were dead serious,” Mrs. Goodge replied angrily, not giving Mrs. Jeffries time to open her mouth. “And if he’s not careful, he’ll not only ruin his career with the Yard, but he’ll muck up our lives good and proper too. Who does he think he is? Makin’ an arrest, indeed. He can’t possibly know who the killer is.”

Mrs. Jeffries felt somewhat as the rest of them did; however, she did feel she owed Inspector Witherspoon’s detecting abilities some show of respect. “Well, perhaps we’re all being a bit too hasty. Perhaps he knows something about this crime that we don’t.”

Smythe shook his head. “’E can’t. I’ve spent two days talkin’ to people about that killin’ and there couldn’t be anything ’e knows that we ain’t found out. Just take this McNally person; I found out today that ’e was at the Gilded Lily the night of the murder. Maybe ’e weren’t inside the pub, but ’e were seen ’angin’ about the back door.”

“Does the inspector know about McNally?” Hatchet asked.

“’E couldn’t,” Smythe replied. “Accordin’ to what
Velma told me, ’e ’asn’t been round to ask any questions.”

“So he doesn’t even know McNally is a suspect,” Mrs. Jeffries said thoughtfully. “Yet he feels he’s on the verge of an arrest. We can’t let it happen. Arresting the wrong person at this point will ruin his career.”

“How can we stop it?” Mrs. Goodge cried. “He’s not even talking to you? We don’t know what he knows, and even worse, he doesn’t know what we know! Why I even found out a few bits myself. Mind you, it wasn’t easy, seein’ as how the victim was only a publican.”

Mrs. Jeffries decided that wasting any more time lamenting Inspector Witherspoon’s odd behavior would be foolish on their parts. “What were you able to find out, Mrs. Goodge?” she asked the cook.

“Well, it’s not very nice, it isn’t, but I had a chat with Rupert Simmons, he’s my cousin’s second husband’s nephew and he works at the house right up the road from where the Dapeerses live. Rupert told me that he heard from the upstairs maid at the Dapeers house that Mrs. Dapeers has been carryin’ on with some preacher. And what’s more, she didn’t much care if the whole neighborhood knew about it. She’s completely taken leave of her senses over this man. Of course, this Reverend Ballantine is supposed to be as handsome as sin, not that he sounds like much of a man of the cloth to me.”

Betsy, who vividly remembered the awkward moments she’d spent that very afternoon at the Reverend Ballantine’s Missionary Society, felt a blush creeping up her cheeks and dropped her gaze to her lap. “He
is
handsome.”

Smythe gave her a sharp look. “’Ow do you know that?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Goodge asked tartly, giving the maid an irritated frown, “how did you find out what he looks like?”

Betsy glanced up and saw that everyone was staring at
her. “Because I saw him, that’s how. And Mrs. Dapeers is giving him pots of money now that her husband’s dead and can’t nag her anymore. The fact is that Reverend Ballantine told me himself that his society was coming into a lot of money. Called it a miracle, he did.”

“Did he actually say he was getting money from Moira Dapeers?” Mrs. Jeffries asked.

“He didn’t use her name, but from what he told me, I could tell it had to be her.”

“He told ya?” Smythe exclaimed. “And when did you meet ’im?”

Betsy glared right back. Just because she and Smythe occasionally “walked out” together didn’t mean he could boss her about. “This afternoon. I went round to the missionary society—”

“And this Reverend Ballantine just up and answered all your questions?” Smythe interrupted. He didn’t know that he wanted Betsy out and about and talking to strange men. Especially ones that was handsome as sin.

“Of course not,” she snapped. “I didn’t let on anything about the murder. It just came up in conversation, that’s all.”

Mrs. Jeffries could tell by the expression on the coachman’s face that he was bedeviled by a touch of the greeneyed monster, so she quickly said to the maid, “Were you able to find out anything else?”

“Not really. But Reverend Ballantine did seem to think that he’d had a miracle come his way. I’m certain he was talking about Dapeers’s murder. I think Mrs. Dapeers is in love with him, and what’s more, he knows it and is usin’ it to get what he wants from her.” Betsy quickly told them the rest of her tale and why she’d come to the conclusion that Moira Dapeers wasn’t precisely a grieving widow. The only part she left out was the embarrassing details, such as
how she’d finally had to give the good reverend a sharp kick in the knee and then bolted like a hare to get out of that house!

“You’ve done well, Betsy.” Mrs. Jeffries gave her an approving smile. “It seems quite clear that Moira Dapeers did have a motive for killing her husband, if, indeed, she is in love with this man Ballantine.”

“So did Sarah Hewett,” Luty put in. “I found out that Haydon Dapeers was tryin’ to make her his mistress. He was holdin’ something over her head, threatening to tell everyone some dreadful secret of hers if she didn’t cooperate with him.”