Mrs. Jeffries Weeds the Plot (8 page)

“If you ask me, it’s got to be the dead man,” Mrs. Goodge said stoutly.

“But what about Miss Gentry, then?” Betsy asked. “Just because someone’s been strangled, we can’t ignore her problem. Someone is still trying to do her in.”

“I think Miss Gentry’s troubles must be related to the dead man,” Hatchet interjected. “It would be a very big coincidence to have a murder and an attempted murder within a hundred yards of one another.”

“I agree,” Mrs. Jeffries said quickly. She was in a real quandary. On the one hand, it might be prudent to wait until after the inspector returned home this evening before they began their investigation, while on the other, she felt one should strike while the iron was hot. “And as at least one of the attempts on Miss Gentry appears
to come from the school property, I think we can safely assume the incidents are related.”

“Right, then.” Smythe grinned widely. “Let’s get crackin’.”

“Before we do anything,” Mrs. Jeffries said, “we need to discuss what we know. In the interests of logic, my suggestion is that we discuss the details that Miss Gentry gave us earlier today. Perhaps by then, Wiggins will have returned.” She took a quick sip from her teacup.

“Do you think Miss Gentry might have killed this fellow?” Mrs. Goodge asked. “I mean, perhaps she found out he was the one trying to do her in and took matters into her own hands, so to say.”

“That’s possible, of course,” the housekeeper said thoughtfully. “But I’m not sure it’s likely. From what Wiggins told us, he heard noises in the shed at about the same time we were speaking with Miss Gentry.”

“Now, just a fast minute here,” Luty said. “You’re forgettin’ something. You haven’t told Hatchet and me much of anything yet. Come on, tell us everything that’s happened so far and don’t be leavin’ out any details.”

“Oh dear, I
am
sorry. You’re quite right. We have let things get out of hand a bit since you arrived.” Mrs. Jeffries gave Luty and Hatchet a complete report. “So you see,” she concluded, “we’ve got ourselves a very complicated case here.”

“What did you find out from Miss Gentry this morning?” the cook asked. She needed names. Her methods of investigating depended on cajoling gossip out of visiting tradespeople and working a network of informants from one end of London to the other.

“We found out who benefits if Miss Gentry suddenly meets her Maker,” Betsy announced. “And quite a few other things as well.”

“What about the body her dog discovered?” Mrs. Goodge frowned. She already had that name, but one
never knew what other name might pop up in connection with the pickpocket. “We mustn’t forget him. He might have something to do with this mess.”

“Miss Gentry had no dealings with Tim Porter before Miranda dug him up.” Mrs. Jeffries said. “She claims she knows nothing about him. But we won’t forget him. You’re quite right, Porter may have more to do with this than meets the eye. Now, as Betsy was saying, the first thing we did was to find out who gains in the event of Miss Gentry’s death.” Of the murders they’d investigated, money was by far the most common motive for killing.

“What does she have to leave? I thought you said she was a spinster lady who lived in a little house over on Orley Road,” the cook said.

“Is she rich?” Luty asked bluntly. She was always one to get to the heart of the matter.

“She is now,” Betsy replied. “Miss Gentry just inherited a huge house and a large fortune.”

“And her relatives aren’t precisely pleased by her new circumstances,” Mrs. Jeffries added. “She’s got two married sisters, both of whom have already let it be known that they feel a single lady shouldn’t be in charge of such wealth. They’re putting pressure on her to let one of their husbands oversee Miss Gentry’s money. But she’s not having it. She wants to do it herself.”

“Who left her the goods?” Smythe asked.

Betsy laughed. “Her almost mother-in-law. A woman named Clara Dempsey. A few years back, Miss Gentry was engaged to Cecil Dempsey, Clara’s son. He died, so they never married. Miss Gentry kept on seeing Mrs. Dempsey. The women were very close. Miss Gentry helped take care of Mrs. Dempsey in the last years of her life, when the poor old thing was ill. No one knew it, but Mrs. Dempsey was rich. When she died, she left
her big house and a huge number of stocks and bonds to Miss Gentry.”

“She had a big house but no one knew she was rich?” Luty looked skeptical.

“The house is very run-down. Miss Gentry’s having a lot of work done to fix it up.”

“I take it that Miss Gentry has been pressured to make a will?” Hatchet said.

“Oh yes.” Mrs. Jeffries smiled cynically. “As soon as her sisters heard about her inheritance, they hustled her to a solicitor and got a will drawn up. One of the sisters is married to a barrister.”

“I’ll bet he was the one who recommended which solicitor Miss Gentry used,” Smythe finished.

Mrs. Jeffries smiled knowingly. “I know, it’s all so predictable. But that’s one of the sad commentaries about life. People often
are
predictable, especially where money is concerned. Now, we’ve got to decide how we want to investigate this matter.”

“If you’ll give me the names of Miss Gentry’s relatives,” Mrs. Goodge said, “I’ll get cracking and see what my sources can find out. If one of them is a barrister, someone will know something.”

“You oughta get an earful about him. No one ever says anything good about lawyers,” Luty said. “I’ve got a pack of ’em working for me and there ain’t a one of ’em I’d trust further than I could throw him.”

“Really, madam.” Hatchet sniffed disapprovingly. “Sir Oswald would be most offended to hear you speaking like that.”

“Why don’t we split the investigation in two?” Smythe suggested quickly. He didn’t want anyone sidetracked by one of Luty and Hatchet’s arguments, not this early in the game. “Wiggins and I can concentrate on finding out about the bloke that was strangled and the rest of you can concentrate on Miss Gentry.”

No one said anything as they thought about his suggestion.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Mrs. Goodge finally murmured. “Surely the cases are connected.”

Betsy looked doubtful. “I don’t know, maybe we ought to do both at the same time.”

“You’re just scared you’ll miss something,” Smythe teased.

“It hasn’t escaped my notice you’re the one taking the actual murder,” she shot back, “and leaving the rest of us to work on what might turn out to be a silly woman’s imagination.”

“I don’t think so, Betsy,” Mrs. Jeffries interjected. “As we discussed earlier, the cases have to be connected, and Smythe is right, we must have some way of going about our investigation in a way that won’t leave us all confused.”

Betsy didn’t look convinced. “Oh, all right. I suppose it’s the best we can do for now. But I’m reserving the right to poke my nose into the actual murder if it turns out Miss Gentry’s making up tales.”

“Me, too,” Mrs. Goodge said. “Now, what’s the name of Miss Gentry’s two sisters and their husbands? I might as well get my sources sussin’ out what’s what.”

“Ethel is married to Elliot Caraway. He’s the barrister. They live in Kensington,” Mrs. Jeffries explained. “The other sister is married to a vicar.” She frowned. “Oh dear, I seem to have forgotten her name …”

“It’s Louisa,” Betsy said, “Louisa Cooksey. She’s married to the Reverend Harold Cooksey. They live in Hammersmith, quite close to Miss Gentry.”

“Where’s his parish?” Hatchet asked.

“He doesn’t have one,” the housekeeper said. “Miss Gentry was a bit reticent about discussing her relatives. One can’t blame her for that; it wouldn’t be pleasant to
think one’s sister wanted you dead because you’d inherited a bit of money.”

“And a house,” Betsy reminded her.

“Where’s the house at?” Luty asked.

“On the far side of the school, just beyond the church.” Mrs. Jeffries took a sip of tea. “From what I gather, Mrs. Dempsey had lived there for many years. It needs quite a bit of repair. As I said, Miss Gentry is having a lot of work done, and apparently there’s been a number of problems and delays in the past two weeks.”

Luty nodded. “Fixing up an old house is always aggravating.”

“If Miss Gentry spent a lot of time with her late fiancé’s mother,” Hatchet suggested, “perhaps I can ask about the neighborhood over there and see if there’s anyone from her past with Mrs. Dempsey that wishes her harm.”

Mrs. Jeffries stared at him in surprise. “Do you think that’s worth your time?”

Hatchet hesitated. “I’ve no idea, but in many of our earlier investigations, it’s sometimes been the one place we didn’t look that produced the murderer. Besides, with Mrs. Goodge working her sources for information on Miss Gentry’s family, Miss Betsy asking around the current neighborhood, and Smythe and Wiggins finding out about our murder victim, there isn’t much left for me to do at this point.”

“What about me?” Luty demanded. “I need something.”

“Of course you do, madam,” Hatchet said smoothly. “But if I know you, you’ll play the innocent while all along you’ve already decided to find out everything you can about everyone’s bank balance.” He only said this because he knew this was precisely what his employer had planned.

“Hmmph,” Luty snorted. “You think you know me so
well.” In truth, she was planning on having a chat with her sources in the City early the following morning. She might as well get some use out of those old windbags who were watching her money. God knows they all liked to talk; they bent her ear often enough about what she should and shouldn’t do with her own cash.

“Precisely, madam.” Hatchet gave a satisfied smile.

“Are we going to wait for Wiggins?” Mrs. Goodge glanced at the clock on the pine dresser. “It’s getting late.”

“’E ought to be back ’ere anytime now,” Smythe replied. “He’s ’ad plenty of time to get down to the station, say ’is piece, and get back.”

“What if he went with the inspector back to that shed?” Betsy said.

Smythe’s smile disappeared. “Bloomin’ Ada, I ’ope ’e’s enough sense not to go back to that ruddy place. Poor lad felt bad enough—”

“I’m not surprised,” Mrs. Goodge interrupted. “Finding a body isn’t very pleasant, the lad’ll be having nightmares if he’s not careful.”

“It wasn’t just findin’ the corpse that upset him—” Smythe broke off as they heard the back door open. Fred, who’d been having a nap at the coachman’s feet, jumped up and raced down the hall.

“Hello, boy.” Wiggins’s muffled voice could be heard. A moment later, he popped into the room. “It’s done. The inspector and Constable Barnes is on their way.”

“I take it the inspector believed your story?” Mrs. Jeffries asked. To her way of thinking, that was the key.

“He believed me all right. But Inspector Nivens was givin’ me some funny looks.”

“Nivens was there?” Mrs. Jeffries didn’t like the sound of that.

“It’s a funny thing.” Wiggins frowned. “’E spotted me comin’ in the building as ’e was leavin’, but instead
of goin’ on about ’is business, ’e turned heel and followed me right up to the inspector’s desk. ’Ung about the whole time I was there.”

“That’s not good.” Smythe shot the housekeeper a worried look.

“It most certainly isn’t.”

“You think he’s onto us?” Luty asked.

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Jeffries admitted honestly. “But the fact that he followed Wiggins back inside is worrying.”

“We’ll ’ave to be doubly careful, won’t we?” Smythe said. “Sounds to me like Nivens is going to be watchin’ this investigation pretty sharp like.”

“That’s true,” Betsy said brightly. “But he’ll only be concerned about the murdered man. He doesn’t know about Miss Gentry. So the only people who have to be careful are you and Wiggins.”

Mrs. Jeffries had a cold supper laid in the dining room and was standing at the ready when Inspector Witherspoon came home. “Good evening, sir.”

“Good evening, Mrs. Jeffries. I’m so sorry to be late.”

“That’s quite all right, sir.” She reached for his bowler. “We expected you wouldn’t be home on time for dinner. Wiggins told us what happened. I’ve a cold supper laid out, sir.”

“Would it be too much trouble if we had a glass of sherry first?” Witherspoon asked hopefully.

“That would be splendid, sir,” she replied. Her spirits soared. She couldn’t believe her good luck. An invitation for a sherry together was a sure sign the inspector wanted to have one of his “chats” about the case.

They went into the drawing room and Witherspoon dropped into his favorite armchair. The lamps had already been lighted and the room was suffused with a pale, golden glow. Mrs. Jeffries went to the mahogany
sideboard and got the elegant Waterford crystal sherry glasses off of the top shelf. She pulled open the bottom cabinet and removed a bottle of Harvey’s. She filled both glasses to the brim. Putting her sherry on the table next to the settee, she handed the inspector his glass. “Here you are, sir. Just what the doctor ordered after a long, hard day at work.” She wanted to get right onto the subject at hand. “It must have been a really dreadful day for you, sir.”

“Perhaps, but it was a great deal worse for the poor fellow who got himself strangled.” He took a quick gulp of his drink.