Mrs. Jeffries and the Best Laid Plans (29 page)

“You told Sapington he’d not got it?” Barnes clarified. “Why?”

“Because Boyd had invited him to the luncheon that day and I suspected he’d done it so he could enjoy watching Sapington be humiliated when he learned he’d been passed over. Sapington was certain he was going to get the honor, you see.” Gibbons smiled slyly. “I didn’t want Sapington to be taken by surprise by the announcement. In other words, I wanted to ruin it for Lawrence Boyd.”

“Thank you, sir. This information is most helpful.” Witherspoon hoped he could keep it all straight in his head. Gracious, people did do awful things to one another. “But you still need to tell us why you were on the Queens Road that day.”

“I was ruining Boyd’s big surprise, Inspector.” Gibbons laughed. “You see, he’d gotten the honor by agreeing to give the society a huge donation. After I resigned, I came home that night and thought about what to do. The answer was so simple. I sent the other trustees a message asking for an emergency board meeting wherein I rescinded my resignation and informed them I’d double whatever donation Boyd was prepared to make. They agreed to my terms.”

Barnes looked surprised. “But hadn’t they already told Boyd he had it.”

“Yes, but it wasn’t official,” Gibbons replied. “So we took another vote, and we voted to give the honor to Arnold Sapington. That’s why I was on the Queens Road that morning. The society meets at the Promenade Club.”

“Which is on the Queens Road,” Witherspoon muttered.

“So you see, Inspector, I had no reason to murder Lawrence Boyd.” Gibbons rose to his feet, walked over to a walnut secretary by the door, and pulled an envelope out of the top drawer. He waved the envelope at the two policemen. “This was my revenge, and the sweetest part was that he had no idea. The only people who knew were me and the other trustees. For once, Lawrence Boyd wasn’t going to get what he wanted, and furthermore, this time, I was going to get to watch him be humiliated.”

 

“My feet are achin’ and I ain’t learned anything at all today.” Luty flopped into her chair, took her bonnet off, and tossed it onto the empty seat next to her. “I hope some of you did better than me.”

Mrs. Goodge glanced anxiously toward the back door. Mrs. Jeffries still hadn’t returned, and she wasn’t sure how long to wait before starting the meeting. Everyone else was here. “Mrs. Jeffries should be here any time now.”

“It’s already close to five,” Betsy said. “We got a late start. Where’d she go?”

“I know I was late gittin’ back,” Luty apologized. “But my hansom got stuck in an awful traffic jam on the Brompton Road.”

“You’ve no need to apologize,” Betsy said quickly. “We were all late. I only got here a couple of minutes before you did, and Wiggins only arrived seconds before me.”

“I was ’ere on time,” Smythe said smugly.

“And I got caught in the same traffic mess as madam,” Hatchet supplied. “That’s why I was tardy.”

“Let’s go ahead and start then.” Mrs. Goodge decided to take charge of the meeting. “Mrs. Jeffries told me she might be late getting back, and as to where she’s gone, I’ve no idea. She wouldn’t say. Now, who has something to report?”

They all stared at her, their expressions glum.

“Surely one of us must have learned something,” the cook exclaimed.

“I did hear a bit of gossip about Maud Sapington,” Smythe said. “But I don’t know that it’s got anything to do with our case.”

“Tell it anyways,” Luty ordered. “Doesn’t seem like the rest of us have much to say.”

Smythe hesitated. “My source told me that Maud Sapington is spyin’ on her husband. It looks like she’s tryin’ to catch him out.” He broke off, not sure how to say what he meant.

“You mean your source thinks she’s tryin’ to catch him with another woman?” Wiggins asked eagerly. “Cor blimey, that’d set the cat amongst the pigeon. Does she peek in windows?”

“My source thinks that might be the case,” Smythe admitted. Leave it to Wiggins to get to the heart of the matter. “So it doesn’t look like her trailin’ him has anything to do with Boyd’s death. She started sneakin’ about and watchin’ him days before the murder.”

“Did she follow him when he left the house in the evenings?” Betsy asked.

Smythe shrugged. “She might ’ave, but my source just said she were spotted hangin’ about the bank neighborhood and trailin’ him when he left during the day.”

“I’ll bet she did it in the evenings as well,” Betsy said. She looked pointedly at the coachman. “If he was being untrue to her, she ought to leave him. Marriage should be taken seriously.”

“’Course it should, love,” Smythe soothed. “But there’s two sides to every story. We don’t know for sure why she was following him.”

“Humph,” Betsy snorted delicately. “We do. She’s tryin’ to catch him out because he’s being unfaithful.”

The back door opened and Mrs. Jeffries footsteps pounded up the hallway. “I’m here,” she called. “I’m so sorry to be late, but the train was late.”

“A lot of trains are late these days,” Wiggins observed. “Betsy ran into the same trouble the other day.”

Mrs. Jeffries tossed her shawl and bonnet onto the pine sideboard as she hurried to the table. “What have I missed?” she asked as she slipped into her chair.

“Not very much.” The cook put a cup of tea in front of her. “Smythe has a source that says Mrs. Sapington has taken to following her husband about without his knowledge.”

Mrs. Jeffries arched her eyebrow. “Really? Did the source have any idea why she was following him?”

“He’s bein’ unfaithful,” Wiggins snickered. “And she’s tryin’ to catch him out.”

“We don’t know that. She might be trailin’ him for another reason,” Smythe argued. But even to him, the words sounded weak. It was a tale as old as time: marriage vows simply didn’t mean much for some people. This close to his own wedding day, he didn’t want his beloved thinking all men were like Sapington. He would honor his wedding vows until the day he died.

“Sure she was,” Luty added sarcastically. “Maybe she wanted to make sure he had his umbrella with him in case it rained.”

“Let’s move along, shall we?” The cook looked at the housekeeper. “Are you goin’ to tell us where you’ve been?”

“Of course. I went to Slough.” Mrs. Jeffries smiled at their confusion. “I’ll explain in a minute. Were you able to get the information we discussed?”

“Yes, I had to send a street arab over to Ida’s place with a note.” Mrs. Goodge reached into her pocket and took out a slip of paper. “He came back with her answer, but Ida’s handwritin’ is awful.” She squinted at the note. “I think it says it happened twelve years ago.”

Mrs. Jeffries nodded. “That fits.” She looked at Luty. “Can you find out when Arnold Sapington got the chief clerk’s position at Cutlip and Reese?”

“I expect so.”

“Can you do it now?”

Luty’s eyes widened. “You mean right now?”

“Yes. I think I might have the answer, but it’s so odd I daren’t say anything until I have a few more facts at hand.” Mrs. Jeffries was sure she knew the identity of the murderer, but proving it was going to be almost impossible.

Luty got up. “One of my bankers lives just up the road apiece. He ought to be able to help.”

“I’ll go with you, madam.” Hatchet rose to his feet. “And before you protest, let me remind you that your banker probably isn’t home as yet, so you may have to wait for some time. My presence will make it look much more like an eccentric social call . . .”

“Eccentric?” she protested.

“Of course, madam. Barging in late in the afternoon without so much as a calling card is considered eccentric, even by your rather loose standards. At least with me along, people will see that you’re not madly rushing about the London streets all alone with the evening approaching.”

“Oh, horsefeathers. Come on then. Let’s go.” Muttering under her breath, Luty headed for the hallway.

“We’ll have the information for the meeting tomorrow,” Hatchet called over his shoulder. “If madam’s banker doesn’t know, I’ve some sources of my own.”

“He’ll know,” Luty yelled.

Mrs. Jeffries looked at Smythe. “I need you to go out as well. Do you think you can find out where Nicholas Cutlip drowned?”

“I’m not sure, but I can try,” he said.

“Good, but don’t stay out too late. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day for all of us.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he promised. He dropped a quick kiss on Betsy’s forehead and left.

Mrs. Jeffries waited until he was gone and then looked at Betsy. “I’ll need you to go out tonight as well. Wiggins, I want you to go with her.”

“Me?” Betsy smiled in delight. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to go to the Sapington house and have a quick word with Meg.”

“The girl I went to Reading with?” Betsy looked confused.

“That’s correct. When you speak with her, here’s what you need to find out.”

Mrs. Jeffries spent the next few minutes giving Betsy and Wiggins their instructions. When the others had all gone, Mrs. Goodge looked at the housekeeper. “Do you know who did it?”

“I’m not sure,” Mrs. Jeffries admitted. “It simply doesn’t make sense, but on the other hand, it’s the only thing that makes sense. Let’s just hope they bring me back the answers I need.”

 

Arnold Sapington waved Barnes and Witherspoon into the two chairs in front of his desk. “I hope this won’t take long, Inspector. I’ve a meeting in an hour.”

“We’ll be as brief as possible,” Witherspoon said as he and the constable took their seats.

“Mr. Sapington, can you tell us if you had a meeting with Walter Gibbons prior to seeing him at Mr. Boyd’s house on the day of the murder?” the inspector asked. He’d decided to verify Gibbons statement as quickly as possible. If Gibbons statement proved to be true, it would give him one less suspect.

Sapington looked surprised by the question. “I’m not sure what you’re asking. I’ve been acquainted with Mr. Gibbons for a number of years. We’ve worked together on numerous committees for the Benevolent Society.”

“But did you have a meeting recently wherein you discussed who was going to get the honorary chairmanship of the society?” Barnes asked.

Sapington said nothing for a moment. “I suppose you found out about it from Mr. Gibbons. It wasn’t my idea. Gibbons contacted me and said we needed to meet. That he had some important information for me.”

Witherspoon pushed his spectacles up his nose. “How long ago was this?”

“A week or ten days before the luncheon.” Sapington shrugged. “I don’t recall the exact date. We met at the Bankers Club one afternoon.”

The inspector watched Sapington’s face as he asked the next question. “What information did Mr. Gibbons share with you?”

“Come now, Inspector.” Sapington’s smile was amused. “You already know the answer to that question. Gibbons told me that Boyd was getting the honorary chairmanship of the society. He was very sorry, but there was nothing he could do. Boyd had promised the trustees a rather large donation if they’d give it to him.”

“I take it you were disappointed?” Barnes looked up from his notebook.

“Very. I’d worked hard for the society, and by right, the honor should have come to me. But I wasn’t surprised. Boyd had a reputation for buying his way through life.” Sapington’s eyes narrowed. “He’s supposed to be this great artist just because he’s exhibited at the Royal Academy. But he doesn’t get it right. That last painting he was working on was all wrong. It’s supposed to be the outside of the Bankers Club, but the color of the bricks is all wrong, the windows are out of proportion, and he’s even made a mistake on the color of the cat that hangs around the place. Old Tom’s a gray and white tabby, but Boyd painted him black as the ace of spades.” He smiled bitterly. “But when you’re as rich as Boyd was, people tend to overlook the fact that you’ve neither talent nor character.”

 

It was very late by the time Mrs. Jeffries picked up the lamp from the table and went up to bed. Smythe had been the last one to come home, and he’d confirmed what she suspected. So had all the others, though Wiggins had said he was fairly sure the hansom driver hadn’t believed them for an instant. Apparently, Wiggins wasn’t very convincing pretending to be a private inquiry agent, but the driver had been willing to part with the shoes for a price.

Betsy had been elated to be out and about at all. She said Meg had been surprised to see her, but once she’d passed her palm with silver, Meg had told her where to find Evelyn’s brother. Mrs. Jeffries sighed and stepped into her room. It was too bad they had to pay for so much information, but sometimes it was the only way. She blew out the light and went to her rocker. Sitting down, she tried to think of a way to present her suspicions to the inspector so that he would come to the same conclusion she had reached. When he’d told her about his “chat” with the chief inspector, she’d been quite alarmed. Barrows was telling him to solve this case and to do it quickly.

He’d been very tired this evening, but over a glass of sherry and a good meal, she’d managed to find out the details of his day. Nothing that she learned from him contradicted the conclusion she’d already reached, but she still had no idea how to prove any of it. Yet something he said nagged at the back of her mind, something about the Royal Academy . . . or perhaps it was the Bankers Club . . . She gave up. Perhaps she’d remember it in the morning.

Mrs. Jeffries got up and got ready for bed. She was sure she wouldn’t sleep a wink, but she dozed off as soon as her head hit the pillow.

But she didn’t rest easy. In her half-sleep state, images, ideas, and words drifted willy-nilly through her mind. Suddenly, she sat bolt upright. “Oh, my Lord, I’ve been so foolish. The proof is right there.”

Mrs. Jeffries wasn’t able to go back to sleep, so she spent the wee hours of the morning going over every detail about the murder. She got up before dawn, went downstairs, and made a full pot of tea. By the time Mrs. Goodge and Samson came into the kitchen, she’d gone over the facts so many times, she knew she had to be right. Nothing else made sense. The only piece of the puzzle that was missing was the detail she’d asked Luty to confirm with her banker.