Mrs. Jeffries and the Best Laid Plans (20 page)

“But you’re not telling tales, are you?” the inspector said kindly. He noticed her front tooth was chipped.

“I’m tellin’ the truth. I know what I saw,” she said indignantly. “I don’t know why Letty’s always makin’ up nonsense about me, but I don’t tell lies.”

“Why don’t you tell us what it was that you did see,” Barnes suggested. There was a hint of impatience in his tone.

“I saw a fellow climbing over the fence that separates the Boyd property from the mews,” she replied. “You can see it as clear as day from the top of the back steps.”

“Is that were you were standing?” Witherspoon asked.

Lorraine nodded. “I’d gone outside to get some air. It was so hot in the kitchen I almost couldn’t breathe, so I nipped out for a bit of fresh air. I was standing on the top step when a bit of movement caught my eye. When I took a closer look, I saw it was a man climbing over Mr. Boyd’s fence.”

“What time was this?” Barnes glanced at the inspector. If by chance the girl had seen something, this might give them the time the murder had been committed.

“I don’t rightly know.” Lorraine shrugged.

“Come now, surely you’ve some idea,” Witherspoon coaxed. He knew he oughtn’t to lead the witness, but this might be very important. “Was it just after breakfast?”

“No,” she frowned. “I’d done the breakfast dishes much earlier so it was well past that. It was fairly close to lunch. I know that because that’s why the kitchen was so boiling hot. The mistress was having a luncheon and cook had both ovens on. I think it was around half past eleven.” She nodded to herself. “Yes, that’s right. I remember now. I’d looked at the clock just a few minutes before I went out.”

Witherspoon wished he’d not pressed the girl. He couldn’t tell whether she was telling the truth. “You’re certain about this?”

“I said I was, didn’t I?” She looked irritated. “Honestly, I don’t know why everyone believes Letty and not me. When I saw the man, I ran back to the kitchen to tell the others. Go and ask Annie if you don’t believe me. I drug her outstide to have a look as well, but by the time we got back out here, the fellow was gone.”

“Who is Annie?” Barnes asked.

“She’s the tweeny. She’ll tell you I’m not makin’ it up.”

“Can you tell us what the man looked like?” Witherspoon asked.

“Not really. There’s a lot of greenery by Mr. Boyd’s fence. I just barely saw the top of the fellow’s head and shoulders as he nipped over. He had on a flat black cap and what looked like a long black coat.”

“You didn’t get a good look at the man, but you could tell he was wearing a long coat?” Barnes voice was skeptical.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” Lorraine snapped. “I didn’t get a look at his face as the top of the ruddy pine tree kept blocking my view. But I noticed the coat because it blew open as he reached the top of the fence.” She got up off the rickety chair she’d been sitting on. “I’ve got to get back to the kitchen. Cook will have my guts for garters if I don’t get them carrots peeled. I’ve told you what I saw, and you can ask Annie if I didn’t come running in to get her when it happened. I tried to tell cook about it, but she’s a silly old stick and wouldn’t listen to me. I’ll admit that sometimes I do tell a bit of a story, but I’m not tellin’ one now.” She stared defiantly at the two policemen.

“Thank you, Miss Johnston. Your information has been very helpful.” Witherspoon smiled kindly at her. “We appreciate your cooperation. Now, could you please send Annie into us?”

She nodded, dropped a quick curtsey, and then hurried out.

“Do you think she’s telling the truth?” Barnes glanced at the inspector.

“That’s just what I was going to ask you,” Witherspoon replied. From behind the closed door, he could hear voices.

“I do,” Barnes said softly as the pantry door opened again and another young woman stepped into the room.

“I’m Annie Barker,” the girl said. She was tall and slender with light red hair, blue eyes, and a wide mouth. “Lorraine said you wanted to speak to me.”

“We do. Please have a seat.” Witherspoon gestured at the chair Lorraine had just vacated. “We’ll not take much of your time.”

Annie sat down in the empty chair and stared expectantly at the two police officers on the other side of the table.

“Do you remember the day Mr. Boyd died?” Witherspoon began.

“It was only a couple of days ago.” Annie laughed. “Of course I remember it.”

“Did Lorraine come and fetch you that morning and ask you to step outside to see something?” He was careful to avoid saying too much. He wanted only her recollection of the event.

“She come running into the kitchen saying there was a man climbing over Mr. Boyd’s fence. So I went outside to have a look with her, but I didn’t see anyone,” Annie replied.

“Why didn’t anyone mention this event to the police constable when he was here?” Barnes asked.

Annie shrugged. “Because no one paid any attention to Lorraine when she come running in; the kitchen was noisy, so she couldn’t get anyone to listen to her.”

“You listened,” Witherspoon pointed out.

“I was in the hallway getting more polish out of the cupboard. Besides, I felt sorry for her. Lorraine likes to natter on a bit too much, so some of the others aren’t very nice to her. Frankly, I wasn’t sure that she wasn’t making something up, but I went outside so her feelings wouldn’t be hurt.”

“So you’ve no idea if there actually was a man or not?” the inspector pressed.

“No.”

“And Lorraine does sometimes make up stories?”

Annie sighed. “Everyone ignores her. Sometimes she makes things up just to get a bit of attention, if you know what I mean.”

“Do you think she’s making this up?”

Annie shook her head. “I don’t think so. She saw someone climbing over that fence and came running into the kitchen to tell someone about it hours before we knew Mr. Boyd had been murdered.”

 

Betsy spied the young maid coming out the servant’s entrance to the Sapington house and instantly changed her plans. The neighborhood shopkeepers could wait. Here was someone who actually lived in the house, and even better, she was dressed for a day out, not for running an errand for the mistress of the house.

The girl started down the street and Betsy hurried after her. She followed her for several blocks, not allowing herself to get too close until the girl halted at the omnibus stop. Betsy walked up and stood next to her. She could see the girl was quite pretty with black hair, blue eyes, and very fair skin.

“Excuse me,” Betsy said, “but do you know when the next omnibus is due?”

“The one for the train station is due any minute,” the girl replied. “The one for Baker Street isn’t due for another half hour.”

Betsy wasn’t sure how to respond. She wanted to make sure she got on the same one as this girl. But before she had to comment, the girl continued. “I’m goin’ to the station. It’s my day out and I’m going to visit my gran.”

“That’s what I’m doing as well.” Betsy smiled shyly. “I mean I’m having my day out. Where are you going? That is, if you don’t mind my asking.”

“I’m going to Reading,” she announced. “I’m actually going to get to spend the night with my family. I’ve some exciting news to tell them and I wanted to do it in person, not by post. Oh look, here comes the omnibus. Where did you say you were going? My name is Margaret Blakley, but everyone calls me Meg. What’s yours?”

“I’m Lizzie. Lizzie Thompson.” Betsy lied. She mentally calculated how long the train journey would take from London to Reading and back. She was taking a big risk here; she might waste hours and find out nothing. On the other hand, she’d seen the girl coming out of the Sapington house. She had to know something. “Gracious, isn’t this a coincidence? I’m going to Reading as well.”

“It’ll be lovely to have someone to ride with,” Meg said eagerly. “I hate taking train journeys on my own.” The omnibus pulled up and they clambered on board. “There’s two in the back.” Meg pointed to the only empty seats in the conveyance.

Betsy pushed her way down the narrow aisle and eased into the seat nearest the window. Meg slid in next to her. “We ought to make the 10:33. My family will be ever so pleased to see me. I’ve not been home in almost a month.”

“Your mistress doesn’t allow you an afternoon out every week?” Betsy grabbed the handhold as the omnibus lurched forward.

“She does,” Meg replied. “She’s a hard enough time keeping staff, what with that stingy husband of hers, so we get our day out. It’s just that I’ve been spending mine in London.” She laughed merrily. “That’s why I’m going home. I want to tell them I’m engaged. They’ll be ever so pleased for me, especially my sister Clara. She used to be in service too until she married Bert and they moved back to Reading to open a shop.”

Betsy fought the temptation to mention her own engagement. “Is your fiancé in service with you?”

“Oh, no.” Meg shook her head. “Billy works down at the Edgington Arms—that’s a pub just up the road from me. His father owns the place, so when we marry, I expect I’ll be working there as well. Mind you, it’ll be a lot easier than what I’m doin’ now.”

“What position do you have now?” Betsy was beginning to think this was a mistake. Maybe when they reached the station she could come up with some excuse not to board the train. Yes, that’s what she’d do; she’d claim she’d forgotten her mother’s medicine or something like that.

“I’m the tweeny.” Meg made a face. “It’s a miserable job. The mistress is all right, but the master is as tight as two ticks on a fat dog’s tail. I’ve never seen such a miser, and you’d think that him comin’ from ordinary people, he’d be a bit more generous. But he’s the kind that’s only good to himself, not the rest of us.”

“That’s too bad.” Betsy’s spirits were sinking by the minute. “Maybe he doesn’t have much money to spare.”

“Don’t be daft. He’s a ruddy banker,” Meg snorted. “And he’s got the first shilling he ever made. He’s always goin’ on about how he got where he is by hard work and good planning.” She snorted again. “But he actually got where he is by marrying a rich man’s daughter. Honestly, he’s an arrogant pig. He comes down and checks the larders to make sure we’re not sneaking food. He’s so miserly with the heat in the winter in our part of the house, that one of the maids walked about with bronchitis for two months. Mind you, he had it nice and toasty in his study and the mistress’s bedroom. But that’s the way he is, tight with us and really extravagant when it comes to him or her. The silly fool tosses out anything that isn’t perfect, and his wife is almost as bad. But picking up after their leavings isn’t reason enough to stay. Last month Mr. Sapington threw out two good shirts just because the collar was frayed. The footman got his hands on those before I could grab them for my Billy. The month before he tossed out two good pair of trousers, and of course, that little weasel of a footman, George, got to them before anyone else could. I did manage to get hold of one of Mr. Sapington’s kerchiefs for me dad. All it had was little stain on the corner. One little stain on his bloomin’ handkerchief and Mrs. Sapington tosses it in the bin and orders me to go clear across town to buy him a new batch. And they couldn’t be any old kerchiefs, could they? Oh, no, I had to go all the way over to Bond Street to buy those fancy ones that cost the earth. I’ll be glad to get out of there, believe me.”

“Sapington? Now where have I heard that name before? Was it in the papers recently?” Betsy dangled the bait and hoped Meg would mention the Boyd murder.

Meg didn’t appear to have heard her. She continued talking like Betsy wasn’t even there. “I told Evelyn—she’s the one that had bronchitis—to keep an eye on Mr. Sapington, and the next time he tossed out a perfectly good piece of clothing, I told her to grab it before George could get his hands on it. It’s not like he needed the things, either. He sells whatever he gets his hands on at the Saturday market.” The omnibus rolled to a stop and half the passengers got off. Moments later, another bunch took their place.

“Oh dear, that isn’t very nice,” Betsy murmured.

Meg laughed. “That’s all right. She beat George to Mr. Sapington’s boots and gave them to her brother. George was furious that he’d lost them but he didn’t have the nerve to complain. When Evelyn started bragging about how there wasn’t anything wrong with them exceptin’ for a few stains on the back heel, George got up and stomped out of the butler’s pantry. We all had a good laugh.”

“The Sapingtons don’t sound very nice at all.” Betsy craned her neck to look out the passenger window. How much longer before they were at the station?

“They’re mean and nasty. He can’t be bothered to heat the house properly, but he spends plenty of money trying to impress important people. He and Mrs. Sapington are always entertaining, and it’s not because they’re sociable or nice. It’s so Mr. Sapington can move up in the world. He’s always plannin’ this or that or something else. That’s his favorite activity, making plans. She’s a bit nicer, but not by much. Mind you, at least she doesn’t watch every bite we eat like he does. The man drives us all mad.”

Betsy thought she was going to go mad as well.

 

Witherspoon and Barnes stood in the drawing room of the Boyd house and waited for Leeson. “Exactly why are we back here, sir?” Barnes asked. “I thought we were going to have a word with Mr. Glover this morning.”

“We’ll see him soon enough,” Witherspoon replied. “But as we were in the neighborhood, I thought it might be a good idea to double-check a few details. I want to make sure that everyone who went to that funeral on the day of the murder can actually verify they were in the church.”

The door opened and the butler entered. “You wanted to see me?” He tried to smile but couldn’t quite manage it.

“Yes, we’ve a few more questions to ask you,” Witherspoon said.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Leeson moved toward them. “Mr. Boyd’s lawyer, Mr. Oxley, has been badgering me about Mr. Boyd’s painting. He says it’s got to come back to be inventoried. I told him I wasn’t sure who took it in the first place.”