Mrs. Jeffries Stands Corrected (23 page)

Wagging his tail furiously, the dog leapt at the inspector, his forepaws landing on Witherspoon’s knees. Fred immediately butted his head against the inspector’s arm. It
was the dog’s favorite trick, one that guaranteed him a walk in the park.

“I’m quite pleased to see you too, Fred.” Witherspoon patted the animal’s head. “Do you want to go for a walk? Yes, of course you do, old fellow. We’ve not been walkies in quite a while.”

Though Mrs. Jeffries was fond of Fred, she shot him a fierce glare. “But what about your dinner, sir?” she said as the inspector put his sherry down and got to his feet. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Oh, as you said, it’s a cold supper. Come on, boy, let’s go get your lead.” He started for the door. “Dinner will keep.”

“I want you to stick to him like a piece of flypaper today,” Mrs. Jeffries told Smythe. They were all seated around the dining table in the kitchen, eating their breakfast. Mrs. Jeffries had made one last stab at getting the inspector to talk last night, but she hadn’t been successful. Right after he’d finished his dinner, he’d announced he was dead tired and gone right to bed.

The housekeeper had told the others what little she’d learned of the inspector’s plan, and they were agreed they had to find a way to stop him from making the worst mistake of his career.

The coachman shoved his empty plate to one side. “And ’ow exactly am I to do that?” he asked.

“You’ve got to think of some way, Smythe,” Betsy said earnestly. “Mrs. Jeffries said he was getting ready to make an arrest. If he ends up back in the records room, the rest of us’ll spend our lives polishing silver and scrubbing floors. There won’t be any dashing about looking for clues and following suspects.” She broke off as the coachman shot her a quick frown. She and Smythe had already had a
rather heated discussion about the matter of following suspects.

“You’d better come up with something quick,” the cook added. “The inspector’s almost finished his breakfast.”

“Bloomin’ Ada, what do you want me to do? I can’t just trail after the man all day, he’ll see me.”

“Let’s think,” Mrs. Jeffries said. But she’d thought about it half the night and hadn’t come up with one logical reason for Smythe to go along with Inspector Witherspoon. “Perhaps you could just follow him at a distance.”

Smythe shook his head dismissively. “I don’t think that’ll work. I’d ’ave to stay too far behind, otherwise the inspector or Barnes would notice. Barnes is a right smart copper; not much gets past ’im.”

“We’ve got to come up with something,” the cook cried passionately. “I refuse to give up investigatin’ murders just because Inspector Witherspoon’s got a bee up his bonnet about listening to his ’inner voice.’ I won’t give it up, do you hear? This is important. For the first time in my life I’m doin’ something that matters. Really matters. We all are and we’re not goin’ to get the wind knocked out of us just because the man’s got some idea he can solve this one on his own.”

“What do you suggest?” the coachman snapped, goaded into anger because he agreed with everything Mrs. Goodge said and was just as scared as she was that it was all coming to an end. “I can ’ardly make myself invisible.”

“There’s no call to be rude, Smythe,” Betsy said, raising her voice.

“All this arguing isn’t solving our problem,” Mrs. Jeffries began.

“I’ve got an idea,” Wiggins said softly.

Everyone turned and stared at the lad.

“
You’ve
got an idea?” Smythe said incredulously.

The footman blushed. Maybe his idea wasn’t so good after all. Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut.

“Don’t be sarcastic,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “Let’s hear what Wiggins has to say.”

“Seems to me it’s right simple,” Wiggins said nervously. “Seems to me that all Smythe ’as to do is tell the inspector that Bow and Arrow is lookin’ peaked because they ain’t been out in the fresh air for a long time. Smythe could offer to drive the inspector to wherever he needs to go today.” He waited for the others to tell him his plan was silly.

But no one said a word for a moment. Finally, Smythe said, “Out of the mouths of babes.” He grinned broadly. “You’ve done it, lad, you’ve come up with the solution. The inspector’s daft about them ’orses. ’E loves ’em.”

“It
is
a good idea,” Mrs. Jeffries said. She smiled at Wiggins and then glanced at the clock. “How fast can you get the carriage here?”

Smythe was already getting to his feet. “Fast enough. I’ll pop upstairs and ask the inspector if it’s all right.”

“Lay it on thick, Smythe,” Mrs. Jeffries said as he started for the backstairs. “You must stay with him today. You’re our only hope.”

“What do you want the rest of us to do?” Betsy asked as soon as Smythe was gone.

Mrs. Jeffries had thought about that too. She wasn’t sure where the inspector was going with this case, but after listening to him last night, she’d come up with one possible scenario. “This morning, I want you to get out and find out as much as you can. I’ll leave where you go and what you do up to you. At this point finding out anything might be helpful.”

“In other words, you’re as muddled as we are about this
case, so it doesn’t really matter what we do,” Betsy said glumly.

“Correct.” The housekeeper smiled sadly. For all the thinking she’d done, she really hadn’t any idea who the killer was or why the victim had been killed. She didn’t think the inspector had any idea either. But she didn’t think that would stop him from making an arrest. However, she refused to acknowledge defeat. There was one thing she could do to mitigate what she was sure was going to be a disaster. If they were lucky, she might buy them enough time to solve this case. But right now her first task was to keep the inspector from making a complete fool of himself and losing the precious reputation they’d worked so hard to give him. Tomorrow they could go back to work on catching Haydon Dapeers’s killer; today they had to avert a disaster.

“But just because we haven’t solved this particular puzzle doesn’t mean we won’t. Get out there and find out what you can. As I always say, any information is useful. You never know what little bit of gossip you’ll pick up that will be the missing piece we need to put it all together.” She got to her feet. “I would like all of you back here this afternoon. Wiggins, could you please pop around to Luty’s and tell her and Hatchet to be here as well. We don’t know what’s going to happen tonight and we ought to be here in case we have to do something drastic.”

“What are you going to be doin’ this mornin’?” Mrs. Goodge asked.

“I’m going to go and see Sarah Hewett,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “If my idea works, I’ll be bringing her back with me this afternoon. Betsy, I’d like you to take a note around to Michael Taggert’s house. Make sure he reads it. If he shows up here before I get back, don’t let him leave.”

Smythe was just coming out of the dining room when
Mrs. Jeffries got upstairs. “’E went for the idea,” he whispered, jerking his thumb toward the closed door. “I’ll be back in a bit with the carriage. But ’e said something funny, though. ’E said ’e was plannin’ on askin’ me to ’elp ’im out with something tonight. This plan of ’is, I reckon.”

“Excellent, Smythe,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “And whatever he asks you to do, do it.”

“You don’t need to tell me that, Mrs. J.”

“I’m sorry. Of course I don’t.” She started for the front door. “In any case, stay close to him. We’re all depending on you. You may be the only thing standing between Inspector Witherspoon and the records room.”

Mrs. Jeffries reached for the brass knocker on the late Haydon Dapeers’s front door. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she was doing the right thing. But there was no other answer. She’d thought and thought about every aspect of this case. If she were wrong, she might be interfering in a private matter which could be disastrous to the people involved. But if she was right, she might be saving Sarah Hewett untold misery and grief. She knocked on the door.

A maid answered. “Can I help you, ma’am?” she inquired politely.

“I’d like to speak with Mrs. Hewett,” she replied.

The maid showed her inside and then led her down the hall to the drawing room. “If you’ll wait here, ma’am, I’ll see if Mrs. Hewett is receiving.”

A few moments later Sarah rushed into the room. “What are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to you,” Mrs. Jeffries said firmly. “Is there someplace where we can speak in private?” She didn’t want Moira Dapeers suddenly popping in on them.

“We can talk here.” Sarah frowned in confusion. She
gestured at the settee. “Moira’s gone to the missionary society.”

“Good. Then we won’t be interrupted.” Mrs. Jeffries sat down.

Sarah sank down next to her. “I really wish you hadn’t come here,” she began.

Mrs. Jeffries interrupted. “I’m sure you don’t,” she said bluntly. “But believe it or not, I’m here to help you.”

“Help me?” Sarah repeated. “But I don’t need help.”

“Did you tell the inspector everything you told me about your movements on the night of the murder? Did you tell him you’d gone back into the pub
before
the brawl on the street was over?”

“Well, yes,” Sarah said defensively. “I wasn’t going to lie to him.”

“And you also told him that while you were inside the room was empty and you saw no one?” Mrs. Jeffries pressed.

“I told him that I was there for a few moments on my own and that I hadn’t seen anyone go down the hall toward the taproom,” Sarah said gravely. “But I also told him that several other people began to drift in while I was still at the bar.”

“Did any of those people see you standing at the bar?”

Sarah shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Do you know any of those people who came in?”

“They were all strangers. That’s what I told the inspector. But what’s that got to do with anything?” she cried shrilly, her voice rising in panic. “I tell you I was there. I was standing by the bar. Why are you here? Why are you trying to scare me?”

“You need to listen to me very carefully. I’m not here
to cause you grief or stir up trouble, but it’s imperative that you do precisely as I say.”

Sarah’s eyes were as wide as saucers. “Why? Why should I do anything you tell me?”

“Because if you don’t, you might be arrested for the murder of Haydon Dapeers.”

Mrs. Jeffries was still wondering if she was doing the right thing when she arrived home at Upper Edmonton Gardens. She took her hat off and hurried down the stairs to the kitchen. Luty Belle, Hatchet, Betsy, Wiggins and Mrs. Goodge were sitting around the kitchen table, their expressions glum.

“Hello, everyone,” Mrs. Jeffries said brightly, determined to lift all of their spirits.

There was a general murmur of greeting, but it was singularly lacking in enthusiasm. Mrs. Jeffries hadn’t seen so many long faces at one table since Mrs. Edwina Livingston-Graves, the inspector’s dreadful cousin, had visited them last year.

“Sarah Hewett will be here about one o’clock.” She took her usual seat and smiled at Betsy. “Did you get the message to Michael Taggert?” she asked.

Betsy nodded. “Yes, I saw his landlady give it to him myself.”

“What’s this all about, Hepzibah?” Luty asked. “We’ve been sittin’ here like a bunch of sinners waitin’ for the angel Gabriel to blow his trumpet for judgment day. Would you mind tellin’ us just what in tarnation is goin’ on?”