Mrs. Jeffries Wins the Prize (8 page)

“She's not hurtin' for money.” Barnes headed up the walkway.

“So it would appear,” Witherspoon agreed. “Let's just hope this lady is home and we've not wasted our time.”

The lady wasn't just home, she was waiting for them.

The door opened before they'd even knocked, and Barnes found himself facing a small, black-haired woman dressed in flowing green robes that he thought were called a sari. From the depths of the house, they heard a woman shout, “Is that the police, Kareema? If it is, bring them straight into the drawing room.”

“Do come in, sirs.” She stepped back and held the door wide. “Mistress has been expecting you.”

They stepped inside a huge foyer. A staircase curved to the upper floors, the walls were painted a pale green, and overhead, a crystal chandelier hung from the high ceilings.

“This way, please.” Kareema led them down the long, white-tiled corridor and through a set of double doors. The drawing room was huge, elegant, and furnished with the lightest of touches. Walls of pale cream, upholstered furniture in a blue and green muted paisley, sheer curtains
open to capture the sun, and an oak floor covered with a beige and green oriental rug.

A slender, dark-haired woman rose from the love seat. She wore a pink taffeta day dress with leg-o'-mutton sleeves, which rustled faintly as she moved. She came toward them with a welcoming smile. “Do come in, gentlemen, I've been waiting for you. I'm Chloe Attwater.”

“We're sorry to intrude, Mrs. Attwater,” Witherspoon said. In truth, he was rather taken aback. The woman was probably close to the same age as Helena Rayburn, but she was far lovelier. “And I promise, we'll not take up too much of your time. I'm Inspector Witherspoon and this is my colleague, Constable Barnes.”

Her eyes flicked from one to the other, and the constable realized she'd caught the fact that the inspector had introduced him as a “colleague,” not an inferior. She smiled broadly when she caught his expression and waved them toward two matching chairs across from where she'd been sitting. “Please don't concern yourself, Inspector, I am at your disposal today. I heard about what happened at Helena's yesterday and I knew you'd want to speak with me. Please make yourselves comfortable.”

Just as they sat down, Kareema entered. She pushed a tea trolley loaded with a silver tea service, a tray of cakes, and a plate of biscuits. “Shall I serve, mistress?”

“You will have tea?” She looked from Witherspoon to Barnes.

As he was gaping at the food, Barnes was oblivious to the fact that his superior might want to decline the offer and nodded quickly.

“We don't want to trouble you, Mrs. Attwater,” Witherspoon began, but she interrupted.

“Nonsense, Inspector, I've had this at the ready and it's no trouble at all.” She smiled at her servant. “Can you please pour for us, Kareema,” she instructed before turning to Witherspoon. “Now, while we have our tea, ask me anything you like. I'll help with this ghastly business in any way I can.”

“Do you take sugar, sir?” Kareema asked the constable.

“One lump, please.” Barnes took out his little brown notebook and balanced it on his knee.

“Would you like a biscuit, a cake, or both, sir?” She placed a cup of tea on the table next to him.

Barnes hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Both, please.”

“Mrs. Attwater, what time did you arrive at the Rayburn house yesterday?” Witherspoon asked.

“Luncheon was at half past twelve and I arrived about fifteen minutes before we went into the dining room. It must have been twelve fifteen or thereabouts.”

“Were all the other luncheon guests present when you arrived?”

“Mrs. Martell arrived soon after I did but Mrs. Stanway was already there. I'd seen her in the water closet off the cloakroom when the butler took my wrap. Our hostess was nowhere to be seen. But I wasn't surprised. Helena, Mrs. Rayburn, always loved to make an entrance. I was surprised by Isabelle arriving before Helena came downstairs. Isabelle loves to make an entrance as well.” She laughed. “You should have seen those two in India—there
wasn't a picnic, luncheon, dinner party, or ball where those two didn't try to come in just a few moments later than the other.”

Barnes nodded his thanks as Kareema put a plate of treats next to his teacup. “You've known Mrs. Rayburn for a number of years?”

“Oh yes, we were in India together years ago,” Chloe explained. “Of course, back then our status was very different. I worked as a governess while Helena, Isabelle, and Thea had come out to stay with relatives who were in the army. Isabelle had a brother and I think Helena had come to stay with a cousin—no, I tell a lie. It was Thea Stanway who had a brother. Isabelle was there with a cousin as well. But I left India years before any of them. I went to live in America and lived there for twenty years. But when my husband passed away, I got homesick and came back to London.”

The constable nodded and then waited for Witherspoon to ask the next and, to him, the obvious question, but when his superior said nothing, Barnes plunged ahead on his own because, awkward as it might be, it had to be asked. “Mrs. Attwater, I hope you won't be offended but—”

“But you'd like to know why those women became friends with a mere governess,” she interrupted. “The truth is, they didn't want to, but they had no choice. My mother's family was and still is related to a number of highly placed officials and army officers in India. So even though I was just the ‘hired help' as they say in America, the ladies were afraid of offending me so I was always invited to social events.”

“Didn't that interfere with your work?” Barnes asked.

“Not really, you see, the children had an ayah. I was
just there to give them lessons. I didn't take care of them all the time, and as I was a very good teacher, my employers were happy for me to have a social life as long as it didn't interfere with my duties.”

“An ayah?” Witherspoon asked as Kareema put a cup of tea and a plate of pastries on the table next to him.

“An ayah is a nursemaid,” she explained. “A native Indian woman who took care of the children when they weren't having lessons or with their parents.”

“I see.” Witherspoon reached for his tea. “How long have you been in London?”

“June of last year,” she said. “Of course, the first thing I did was to contact my old acquaintances from India. I wasn't certain they'd even be here. After all, Helena had managed to land herself a rich English colonel so I thought she could be anywhere in the empire, and Isabelle had married a major so the same could be said of her. The only person I was relatively sure would be in London was Thea Stanway. I knew she and her husband had come back to London, though I didn't know he'd passed away. Then, of course, I found out the other two were widowed as well. It's quite sad; both Thea and Isabelle lost their husbands when they were relatively young. I had no idea, of course, until I remembered a bit of gossip I heard in San Francisco years ago. We had a mutual acquaintance who had come from Madras to the United States, and she told me that there were some very nasty rumors about the Mrs. Martell's late spouse.” She paused for breath and Witherspoon opened his mouth to ask another question, but she was too quick for him. “Naturally, I'm not one to believe gossip, but some say where there's smoke, there's fire.”

“Did you use a carriage to take you to the luncheon?” The constable helped himself to a delicate thin biscuit and took a bite.

“I took a hansom cab. It's simply too difficult to keep a carriage in the city though I am considering purchasing one of those lovely horseless carriages I saw displayed at the Imperial Institute.”

“You saw the Horseless Carriage Exhibition?” Witherspoon asked. He'd gone and had a look himself. “What did you think of it?”

“I thought it was wonderful, but I suspect it might be a few years before they are sufficiently practical to drive about London.” She gave him a rueful smile.

“I agree, but it is exciting, isn't it. Just imagine if in the future, we're all moving from one place to the next in horseless carriages.”

“Indeed, they were most impressive, and impractical or not, I was tempted to buy one. I quite like new things, you see, and even better, if I had bought one, it would have made both Isabelle and Helena green with envy, and that would have made the entire enterprise worth it.”

Slightly bemused by the frankness of her statements, Witherspoon was caught off guard and couldn't think what to ask next.

“Did you see anyone hanging about the Rayburn home when you got out of the hansom yesterday?” Barnes looked up from his notebook.

“Not that I recall. But I wasn't particularly observant.”

“Had you ever met Mr. Hiram Filmore?” Barnes shoved another biscuit in his mouth. They were delicious.

“Yes, I met him in India. He worked in the infirmary.
I remember because he was in charge of sending the personal effects of the dead soldiers home. He used to ask me to help him write the letters to the families. Thea Stanway used to help him as well—his handwriting wasn't very good.”

“Isn't that the sort of thing a commanding officer does?” Witherpsoon helped himself to a small pink frosted cake.

“The commanding officer writes the initial letter to the family, but this was the one that accompanied their personal effects.” She smiled sadly. “Often, it took time to gather things up and get them posted. It was an infirmary, Inspector, and not a very well run one, I might add. The officers that were nominally in charge were sometimes simply not very good administrators. All of the ladies, the wives, the sisters, even those like myself that had come to India to work helped out as best we could. But things often got lost. Actually, right before I left, I remember there was a bit of commotion over things going missing. Several letters arrived from the families claiming some of their loved ones' possessions weren't in the boxes of personal effects. But you know the British army; they got that hushed up as soon as possible and so nothing ever came of it.”

“Had you seen Mr. Filmore since you came back to London?” Barnes waited till she glanced away before he licked the crumbs off his fingers.

“Twice. Both times he was with Mrs. Rayburn. The first time was last year at the Mayfair Orchid and Exotic Plant Society annual show, and the second time was when he was going into Mrs. Rayburn's garden. That was several months ago. It looked as if he was bringing her a box of cuttings.”

The inspector swallowed the last bite of the tiny cake. “While you were having luncheon, did you see or hear anything that was unusual?”

“Not really, it was a very boring luncheon. Isabelle Martell was playing coy and trying to find out how many items Helena and Thea were entering into the upcoming competition. But that was all.” She frowned and put her tea on the table next to the love seat. “Come to think of it, Helena was very quiet, uncharacteristically so.”

“Mistress, would you like more tea?” Kareema asked.

“No, I'm fine, but thank you.”

“Do you know if Mr. Filmore had any enemies?” Barnes asked.

“I'm afraid I don't.” She shrugged. “I'd only seen him the two times since coming back to London. Frankly, Constable, I never liked the man and I don't think my friends did, either.”

“Did any of them ever tell you that specifically?” Witherspoon asked.

“No, it was simply an impression I received whenever his name would be mentioned, that's all. Helena used to make rude comments about his dress and his manners.”

“But they used him to acquire their specimens,” the inspector pointed out.

She laughed. “Helena likes to win so badly she'd use the devil himself if he could find her an orchid that would win first prize at their annual show.”

“Don't you want to win?” Witherspoon asked.

“It would be nice, but I'm not obsessed with it.”

“I take it you didn't get your plants from Mr. Filmore?” Barnes finished his tea and put the cup down.

“No, I buy my plants from local merchants, and I use an old friend from San Francisco for the exotic blooms and the orchids. As I said, I'm not obsessed the way the other three ladies are. I joined their club for social reasons and to renew my acquaintance with them.”

“Forgive me, Mrs. Attwater, but why would you renew your acquaintance with these ladies? From what you've said, it doesn't sound as if you liked them all that much,” Barnes blurted out.

She grinned. “You do get right to the heart of the matter, don't you, Constable.”

“Sorry, ma'am, I didn't mean to be offensive.”

“You're not, you're doing your job, and you're absolutely correct. I don't particularly have fond feelings for any of those women. My reasons were entirely pragmatic. I was new in town and old acquaintances can be very useful in establishing oneself socially. London can be a very lonely place for a woman on her own.”

The inspector didn't think a woman as lovely as Mrs. Attwater would be on her own for long, but he kept his opinion to himself. “Is there anything else about yesterday that you can tell us? Anything you saw or heard that struck you as out of the ordinary or unusual?” he pressed.

“I'm afraid not. It was just an ordinary lunch.”

Witherspoon couldn't understand how in a house full of people, a human being could be murdered but no one saw or heard anything. So he tried another tactic. “I'm sure this whole episode has been very upsetting for you, Mrs. Attwater. Sudden death can be very shocking, so perhaps later you'll be able to remember something about yesterday's events once you've had some time to think.”

“Sudden death?” She snorted delicately. “Really, Inspector, what do you think I was trying to tell you when I said I'd heard some nasty rumors about Isabelle Martell's late husband? But she isn't the only one to know something about sudden death. Helena Rayburn is a bit of an expert on the subject as well.”