Mrs. Jeffries Pinches the Post (6 page)

The housekeeper looked inquiringly at the inspector. He nodded, and she slipped her arm around her young mistress’s shoulder. “There, there, Mrs. Nye.”

“Why don’t you take Mrs. Nye up to her room,” Witherspoon instructed the housekeeper. It was obvious she was in no state to answer questions. “We’ll have a word with the staff.”

“Come on, my dear,” the housekeeper said softly as she led the sobbing woman out of the room.

Barnes walked over to the bellpull and gave it a tug. The butler appeared a moment later. “You rang, sir?”

“I’m afraid we’ve some very bad news for the household,” Witherspoon said. “Mr. Nye was found murdered early this morning.”

The butler’s mouth gaped open. “Murdered? Mr. Nye? But that’s … that’s … awful.”

“Of course it is,” the inspector agreed. He moved toward a settee. “Mrs. Nye took the news rather badly. She’s resting in her room. Your housekeeper is taking care of her. But we’ll need to question the staff. Can you arrange it please.”

He hesitated again, his expression uncertain. “Well, I suppose it’s all right.”

The inspector understood the man’s quandary. The master of the house was dead, and the mistress was hysterical, so there was no one to give them instructions. Witherspoon sat down on the settee. “Of course it’s all right. I’m sure the staff wants to cooperate with the police. Now, why don’t you go and arrange things. I’ll take full responsibility for whatever happens.”

Constable Barnes said. “Why don’t I go with him and interview the kitchen staff?”

“Excellent idea.” The inspector nodded approvingly, then looked at the butler. “Take the constable to your kitchen and then come back. I’ll start with you.”

Wiggins cautiously poked his head around the corner of Dunbarton Street and quickly stepped back out of sight. Blast a Spaniard! he thought. The whole street was crawling with police constables. He might have known. The inspector had probably ordered a house-to-house. Them ruddy constables would be there until they’d taken a statement from everyone who lived on the blooming street. That might take hours.

Sighing in disgust, he turned to go. “Ooh …” He was slammed from behind.

“Oh, I’m ever so sorry,” a young woman carrying a wicker shopping basket said quickly. “I come flying around the corner so fast I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, miss. Really, it wasn’t your fault. It was mine. I was dawdling.” As she was a rather pretty girl with big brown eyes, dark hair tucked up under a plain white maid’s cap and a lovely smile, he wanted to make a good impression on her.

“But I was walking too fast,” she said quickly. “I must get to the shops.” She gave him a cheeky grin and started to move past him.

But he’d been expecting that move and was ready for her. He fell into step beside her. “It were my fault. I was hangin’ about because I’d ‘eard there was a man found murdered ‘ereabouts.”

“He was killed right across the street from us. Mrs. Rather was all up in arms; just because her husband is day superintendent down at the pickle factory, she puts on airs. She didn’t like havin’ the police come ‘round with all their questions, but that made no matter to them.” She giggled. “It were ever such a sight watching her tryin’ to be so high-and-mighty with that old police constable.”

“The police asked you questions?” He made himself sound suitably impressed. He knew exactly how to handle her. Wiggins wasn’t being arrogant, he simply knew how hard, boring and tedious it was working as a servant. Especially a lone maid in a small, working-class house like the ones on Dunbarton Street. It meant the girl did everything from scrubbing the floors to pounding the carpets and probably for very little pay as well. Anything that broke the monotony of the day-to-day drudgery, even murder, was to be welcomed. Everyone on Dunbarton Street would be talking about this killing for months. Once they got over the shock of what had happened, they’d talk their heads off to anyone who’d stand still for ten seconds. “You mean you saw it ‘appen? ‘Ere, let me carry that basket for you. It looks ‘eavy.”

“Ta.” She handed him her basket. “I’m only goin’ up to the shops. Usually Mrs. Rather does all the shopping, but this here murder has got her all upset. Took to her bed, she did. My name’s Kitty. Kitty Sparer.”

“I’m Wiggins. Uh, if you’re not in a ‘urry, I’d be pleased to buy you a cup of tea and a bun at that cafe on Hurlingham Road. But you’re probably in a rush …”

“I’ve a few minutes,” she said. “Mrs. Rather was sound asleep when I left. To be honest, I was only rushin’ up to the shops to see if anyone knew anything more about the murder. It’s the most excitin’ thing that’s happened around here since Miss Geddy up and disappeared.”

“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand the question.” The butler’s heavy brows drew together in confusion.

Witherspoon didn’t think it a particularly difficult question, but he knew the staff had had quite a shock and therefore probably weren’t at their best. “What I want to know is if anything unusual happened to Mr. Nye last night?”

Duffy, the Nye butler, shrugged. “Not really, Mr. and Mrs. Nye hosted a dinner party last night, but that wasn’t unusual. They had dinner parties every week or so.” “How many people were here?” “The table was set for twelve, so there were ten guests.” “Can you get me a copy of the guest list?” Duffy looked doubtful. “I don’t think Mr. and Mrs. Nye’s guests would appreciate the police pestering them with a lot of questions.”

“Would you rather Mr. Nye’s killer go free?” “Or course not,” he protested. “But… this is very difficult. Mrs. Nye is the great-niece of Lord Cavanaugh. She’s very particular about observing the proper social etiquette. With her indisposed, and Mr. Nye dead … oh dear, I don’t quite know what to do.”

“I realize you’re in a delicate situation, but murder is murder. You really must cooperate. We need that guest list. I’ll take full responsibility.” Witherspoon was amazed that someone would be worried about etiquette when there’d been murder done.

“I suppose it’ll be all right.” Duffy sighed and started to get up.

The inspector waved him back to his seat. “You can get it when we’ve finished. I’ve a few more questions. Do you recall what time Mr. Nye left the house last night?”

“Oh dear, I’m not sure I know the exact time. But it was quite late.”

“Just give me your best estimate.”

“I know it was after eleven.” Duffy stroked his chin. “Because I’d overheard Mrs. Ryker ask Mr. Ryker for the time a few minutes before they actually left. They were one of the last to leave, and I’d gotten them a hansom. As I went back into the house to see if Mr. Lionel needed a hansom as well, Mr. Nye was coming out. He didn’t say where he was going, he simply instructed me to leave the back door unbolted.”

“I see.” Witherspoon nodded. “And you say this was about eleven o’clock?”

Duffy thought for a moment. “Maybe fifteen past the hour. I overheard the Rykers sometime before they actually left the house.”

“You’re sure Mr. Nye gave no indication of where he was going?”

“None whatsoever, and it wasn’t, of course, my place to ask.”

“Was Mr. Nye in the habit of going out late at night by himself?” Witherspoon thought that a rather good question.

“Well.” Duffy frowned thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t say he was in the ‘habit of doing’ such a thing. But he was a man who did as he pleased, if you get my meaning. There were several other occasions I can think of when he went out late at night.”

“Mrs. Nye didn’t object?” the inspector asked. Being a lifelong bachelor, he was no expert on marriage, but he did think that wives tended to be curious about their husbands disappearing in the middle of the night.

The butler glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was lurking about the hallway. Then he leaned closer to the inspector. “The first time it happened, she had a right fit. That was just after they married, two years ago.”

“But he continued doing it?”

Again, the butler looked over his shoulder. “He kept on doing it, but after that terrible row, he never went out until after Mrs. Nye had retired for the night.”

“Wasn’t he concerned that she’d wake up and want to know where he was?” This was getting very curious.

“No. Mrs. Nye never gets up once she retires. As a matter of fact, from the day she came to this house as a bride, the staff had strict instructions not to bother her after she’d gone to bed. Seems the mistress is a very light sleeper, and once she gets awakened, she’s up for hours. Of course, there are some in the household that think the mistress wasn’t to be disturbed because … well … oh dear, I really oughtn’t to say.”

“Say what? I assure you anything you say will be held in the strictest confidence unless it directly involves Mr. Nye’s murder,” Witherspoon promised.

“Well, we think Mr. Nye didn’t want us to disturb Mrs. Nye because she’s tied to her bed….”

The inspector felt a blush creep up his face.

“None of us have actually seen it,” the butler continued quietly. “But it would certainly explain why the master and the mistress were insistent she never be disturbed. Of course it stands to reason, doesn’t it?”

“Stands to reason,” Witherspoon repeated. He was too embarrassed to even look at Barnes. He’d heard of people doing unusual things in the privacy of their own bed chambers, but it wasn’t the sort of thing he was comfortable talking about.

“Of course it does,” Duffy replied. “She could hurt herself otherwise. I’m sure it’s rather undignified, but it’s better than letting her get hurt when she begins her nocturnal rambling.”

“Nocturnal rambling?” Barnes repeated. “Are you telling us that Mrs. Nye is tied to her bed because she sleepwalks?”

“That’s what we think,” Duffy said. “Not that we’ve discussed it very much, of course. Mr. Nye didn’t allow us to gossip. But Mrs. Nye was seen walking about the garden in her nightclothes on at least two occasions. I guess she must have gotten loose on those nights.”

Witherspoon sagged in relief. It sounded reasonable. People did walk in their sleep, and being tied to a bed post could be rather undignified. He wouldn’t want his servants seeing him in such a position. “Er, I take it she and her husband had separate bedrooms?”

“Of course. But there is, naturally, an adjoining door.”

The inspector thought for a moment. He rather wanted to get off the subject of where people slept. “What did you mean when you said you came back inside to see if Mr. Lionel needed a cab?”

“Mr. Lionel was one of the dinner guests. He’s a relation of Mrs. Nye, rather distant, I believe, but family nonetheless. He was actually the last to leave the house last night,” Duffy explained. “After I passed Mr. Nye on the stairs I came back inside. Mr. Lionel and Mrs. Nye were in the drawing room. I asked Mr. Lionel if he needed a hansom. He said he didn’t need one.”

“Mr. Lionel lives close by?” Barnes asked.

“Not really, he has rooms in Bayswater. He generally has us fetch him a hansom, but last night he didn’t. He said it was a nice evening, and he wanted to walk home.”

“So Mrs. Nye hadn’t retired by the time her husband left?” the inspector asked. “I thought you said he usually waited until she’d retired before he went out.”

“He did,” Duffy replied. “But last night he didn’t, and I just assumed he must have told her something or other because she didn’t seem upset. As a matter of fact, she smiled at him quite warmly before he left.”

“So you think he probably told her where he was going?”

He hesitated. “I would think so. Mr. Nye is quite a strong character, if you know what I mean, but he’s very considerate of his wife’s feelings. He wouldn’t want her to worry. I’m sure he must have mentioned something to Mrs. Nye. He was already a bit in the doghouse, if you know what I mean. What with that silly Mr. Daggett bursting in in the middle of the fish course and disrupting Mrs. Nye’s dinner party.”

Witherspoon stared hard at the man. “Would you mind explaining that please.”

“Mr. Oscar Daggett, he’s a business associate of Mr. Nye’s. He showed up here last night in the middle of a dinner party and demanded to see the master. I tried to tell him that it was impossible, but he made such a fuss that Mr. Nye came out of the dining room to see what was going on. He took Mr. Daggett off to his study and they were in there for over half an hour. The mistress was most displeased.”

“What time was this?”

“Let me see, we’d just served the trout…” His round face creased in concentration. “It must have been about half past eight. Yes, it was because the clock had just struck nine when Mrs. Nye left the table to go and get Mr. Nye.”

“Where does this Mr. Daggett live?”

“I’m not sure of the exact address, but I believe his house is in South Kensington. His address is in Mr. Nye’s study.”

“Could you get it for me when you get the guest list?” Witherspoon asked. He tried to think of what would be best to ask next. There really were so very many questions one could ask when someone had been murdered. Sometimes it was difficult to decide which were the right ones. “Did Mr. Nye have any enemies?”

Duffy shook his head. “He was a decent enough master to the household. None of us would want to kill him.”

“What about his business acquaintances?”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“Has there been anyone lurking about the neighborhood or anything like that?”

“Not that I’ve noticed.” Duffy smiled wearily. “I’m sorry. That’s not much help.”

“How long have you worked for Mr. Nye?”

“Since right before he and Mrs. Nye married two years ago.” Duffy smiled sadly. “Let me explain, Inspector. Mr. Nye bought this house two years ago. Most of us were already here. We worked for Mr. Miselthorpe. When he passed away, Mr. Nye bought the house and hired us at the same time. We’ve all only worked for him for the past two years and in that time, it’s been made quite clear to all of us that we’d best mind our own business.”

“I see.” The inspector nodded in understanding. “Are you saying that Mr. Nye was secretive?”

“I wouldn’t exactly say that. But he did keep his business to himself. Not that it was ever necessary, of course. None of the staff would have ever dreamed of asking the master or mistress questions that didn’t concern them.” He paused. “This is difficult to explain, but Mr. Nye went out of his way to protect his privacy. The day he moved in he called the staff together and instructed us to mind our own affairs.”