Mrs. Jeffries and the Merry Gentlemen (16 page)

“Let's the two of us have a little chat.” Mrs. Goodge handed her the jug. “I can see you're worried about this one.”

“Good, I could use your advice.” Mrs. Jeffries added the milk, poured the tea, and put the cook's cup in front of her.

“I'm sorry I wasn't very helpful earlier when you tried to talk to me,” Mrs. Goodge said. “And I think that's part of the problem with this case.”

Mrs. Jeffries helped herself to a shortbread biscuit and put it on her plate. “So you've noticed there's a problem.”

“There's a problem, alright, but I don't think it's the one you think it is.” Mrs. Goodge grabbed the tin and reached in for a gingersnap. “You always get muddled at this point in the investigation and, I will admit, this time it's a bit worse. But what's really worryin' you is that you've a good idea why we're not makin' much progress and you don't know what to do about it. Some of us has been distracted by our own interests and you're not sure we're getting our bits and pieces right.”

Surprised, because she'd noticed but had deliberately pushed the idea firmly to one side, she said, “I wouldn't exactly say that, but I have sensed that at times some of us have seemed to be a bit preoccupied and not really paying attention at our meetings. I suppose it's the time of the year, the holidays—”

Mrs. Goodge interrupted. “Nonsense, the holidays have nothing to do with it. Some of us are bein' selfish.” Her cookbook was on the table so she reached over and tapped it on the cover. “This is what has stopped me from doin' my duty and I'm heartily sorry about it.”

“But you have done your duty, Mrs. Goodge. You came up with a very valuable piece of information at today's meeting.”

“I heard the same rumor that Betsy did, only Betsy went out and hunted it down, I just happened to stumble across it when I ran into Mrs. Bird out in the garden. As a matter of fact, I was downright annoyed the woman had caught me out there. I'd slipped out to look up a recipe for something called Brunswick stew.”

“I don't know what to say, Mrs. Goodge.”

“Don't say anything, I'm ashamed enough as it is and I need to get this off my chest.” She glared at the cookbook. “Much as I'd like to blame this book, it's my own fault. I've been so het up with reading these recipes and dreamin' about trying this, that, and the other, that I've neglected my real duty. Good, plain English cooking is what I do and I shouldn't have let my head get turned.”

“Mrs. Goodge, you're being far too hard on yourself! You do your fair share,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “You always have.”

“Not this time. I've not sent out notes to my old colleagues inviting the ones that might know something about the suspects to tea, I've not baked enough decent treats to get my kitchen sources to sit more than fifteen seconds, and when I have gotten someone in here, I was in a hurry to get them out so I could read that wretched thing. But no more. Starting tomorrow, I'm getting in the thick of it.”

“Mrs. Goodge, honestly, it hasn't been that bad—”

“Yes, it has, and I'm not tattlin' on the others, but as I said, I'm not the only one that's been distracted,” the cook interrupted. “I'm not the only one that's been shirking lately. Phyllis has been moonin' over that play she saw and Wiggins has his head in the clouds over that ruddy football team he likes.”

“But they've both contributed.”

“True, they had something useful to say this afternoon and maybe I'm bein' unfair, but I've the strongest feelin' they only went out on the hunt today because they were feelin' a bit guilty.”

“But they shouldn't feel guilty, even if they did pursue their own interests.” She held up her hand as the cook opened her mouth to argue. “They're under no obligation to help investigate the inspector's cases.”

“True enough, but answer me this, how many cooks or housekeepers or maids or footmen have ever had the chance to do something this important? We might never be recognized for what we've done, but we've helped keep innocent people from being hung and made sure the guilty, no matter how rich or powerful they might be, weren't above the law. For the first time in my life, I did something other than just struggle to survive or worry about keeping a roof over my head. When you get to be my age, there aren't many Christmas dinners left to cook, so you start taking stock of your life and how you've lived it. When my time comes, I can go with no regrets because my being here made a difference.
You
made it possible for me to do something extraordinary, something that no one can ever take away from me. I served the cause of justice and I did my bit to make the world a better place.” She paused and took a breath. “Maybe the others aren't obligated to help, but I am.”

Deeply touched, Mrs. Jeffries felt her eyes fill with tears. “No one has ever said anything that nice to me before,” she murmured.

“Yes, well, sometimes we need to speak what's in our hearts.” Mrs. Goodge sniffled, glanced away, and then took a quick drink from her cup. “Now that we've got that settled, let's get on with this.”

Mrs. Jeffries wasn't sure what she meant, but she didn't want to spoil the moment by asking what might be considered a stupid question. “Uh, yes, let's.”

“Why do you think we've so few real facts in this case?”

“As you said, some of us have been distracted.”

“Yes, and that's made us accept pure poppycock as if it's the gospel.” She held up her hand and spread her fingers. “First, we should have sorted out everyone's silly alibis. That Mrs. Downing, she claimed to be on Regent Street shopping for linens for a Boxing Day dinner, but have we confirmed that with any of her servants? We bloomin' well have not.” She ticked off that finger. “And secondly, that Mrs. Flurry, she said she'd not seen Edison since the previous Friday, but did we ask anyone about that?”

“Who could we have asked?”

“For her, considering the number of people who know gossip about the woman, any number of people. Who do we usually ask when we're checking on someone's whereabouts? Shop clerks, street lads, and neighbors.” She ticked off her second finger. “And those Merry Gentlemen, they all claimed to be out shopping for Christmas.” She snorted derisively. “Not bloomin' likely. Men of that class hate shopping unless it's for themselves. They'd have had their wives or secretaries or clerks out fetching the bits and pieces they were buying as presents. But we didn't bother to find out, did we? But that's going to change. I'm going to be sending out notes to every old colleague I have in London, I'm going to bake enough treats to feed an army, and I'm going to make sure they all sit here long enough so that I can find out what we need to know for you to solve this case.”

Mrs. Jeffries said nothing for a moment. “What about Phyllis and Wiggins? Should I talk to them?”

“Oh no.” Mrs. Goodge grinned. “I've got a much better idea. Let's have another cup of tea and I'll tell you all about it.”

The two women talked for another hour and by the time Mrs. Jeffries went up to bed, she was feeling much better about the prospect of solving this case by Christmas.

She was the first one up the next morning. She'd lighted the cooker when she heard Mrs. Goodge shuffle into the room. Samson, mewing piteously for food, was right on her heels.

The cook ignored the cat and headed for the sideboard. “I've written to three of my old colleagues and if I get the letters mailed by the first post, I might have one of them around for tea.” She pulled the tea tin off the top shelf.

Mrs. Jeffries grabbed the kettle and headed for the sink as Mrs. Goodge spoke, and suddenly she felt a familiar tug at the back of her mind. She stopped dead in her tracks and stood in the middle of the floor.

“What is it, why are you just standing there? What's wrong?” Mrs. Goodge looked at her, her expression worried. “Are you havin' a fit? Should I get the inspector?”

“No, no, I'm fine.” She laughed self-consciously and continued to the sink. “But something you said just now nudged me, you know, in the back of my mind and I was trying to figure out what it was.”

“Well, if it's any help, I'll repeat myself.” She opened the tin and measured the tea into the pot. “I've written to three of my old colleagues inviting them to tea. I picked the ones that I think might be the most useful. They all live in London and if I'm very lucky and Phyllis gets these letters in the first post, one of them might be around this afternoon.”

Mrs. Jeffries gave a negative shake of her head. “It's no use. I just hate it when that happens. Something pokes the back of my mind and then, poof, it's gone in the blink of an eye.” She finished filling the kettle and brought it back to the cooker.

“If you ask me, it's a good sign; it shows your mind is working on the problem,” Mrs. Goodge said. Samson meowed again and she got his food from out of the wet larder. She took his food to the sink, filled his bowl with scraps, and put it on the floor just as they heard a faint knock on the back door.

“That'll be Constable Barnes,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “I'll let him in.”

* * *

Betsy arrived with the baby just as Constable Barnes sat down with Mrs. Jeffries and Mrs. Goodge. She took Amanda out of her pram and started toward the table, but the cook waved her back. “Take my darling upstairs to see her godfather. I'll have my chance to cuddle her during our meeting. You just make sure I get her on my lap before Luty gets here.”

“You will, I promise.” Betsy laughed and Amanda waved her chubby fists in the air as they disappeared up the staircase.

The three of them had so much to share, the meeting went on longer than usual, but luckily, the inspector so enjoyed his time with his goddaughter that he either didn't notice or didn't care that his constable was a good fifteen minutes later than usual.

But once the two men had gone, the women got the kitchen tidied up and made a pot of fresh tea for the morning meeting. When they were all assembled, Mrs. Jeffries waited till everyone was in their usual seats before she started speaking. “We've a lot of territory to cover this morning, so I'll get right to it.” She glanced at Hatchet. “I told Constable Barnes about your source seeing Martin Bagshot at the Uxbridge Road Station. He's going to have another chat with him about where he really was at the time of the murder.”

“It'll be interesting to hear what Bagshot has to say for himself.” Hatchet grinned.

Luty snorted faintly. Her nose was out of joint because Amanda was sitting on the cook's lap and Mrs. Goodge didn't seem inclined to share. “I hope you told him what my source said.”

“I most certainly did,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “I passed along everything we know thus far and he returned the favor. His information, coupled with what I learned from the inspector, should give us plenty of avenues for investigation.” She repeated what she'd heard from Witherspoon and then nodded for Mrs. Goodge to continue the narrative.

“Constable Barnes had plenty to say as well,” the cook said smoothly. She gave them a few details that the inspector had forgotten to mention when he and Mrs. Jeffries were chatting over their sherry the previous evening. “But the exciting bit he told us was that he found two of the people who organized the caroling group. Neither of them reported seein' anyone hanging about at Edison's house, but he's got the names of the rest of the bunch and he's goin' to be sending Constable Griffiths to question all of them. So there's a good chance that if someone saw the killer, we'll know it within the next day or so.”

“Good, then maybe we'll be able to 'ave us a nice Christmas,” Wiggins muttered. He glanced at the clock. Today was the football match.

“Let's hope so,” Mrs. Jeffries said cheerfully. She looked at Luty. “You're probably bored with bankers, but as you found out Bagshot is not only broke but in desperate financial trouble, do you think you can find out about the rest of the Merry Gentlemen?”

“I think so. I've got a few sources I ain't tapped yet,” Luty said. “You want me to find out about this Madeleine Flurry and Cecily Downing as well? Or should I just concentrate on anyone involved in the Granger mess?”

“Find out as much as you can about all of them and anyone else you hear of who might have lost a substantial sum because of the bankruptcy.” She looked at Hatchet. “And if you're free today, I'd like you to undertake a task as well.”

“Of course, Mrs. Jeffries, what is it?”

“You have some very influential friends, people who know everything about the London social structure.” She paused, not certain of how to phrase what she needed. “What I want you to do is hard to put into words, but we need to understand the place that everyone involved occupies in society and, more importantly, who wants to move up and who is in danger of moving down.”

“I'll do my best.” He looked puzzled by her request. “But I may not be able to learn much about all the actors in our drama.”

“Yes, I understand that.” Mrs. Jeffries was aware that Hatchet wasn't the only one staring at her with a confused expression on their face; the others didn't understand what she wanted, either. Well, truth be told, neither did she. But since this morning, she'd had this nagging feeling that she ought to look deeper.

She smiled at Smythe. “I've a task for you as well. Can you use your sources to get us information on this Gedigan person, the one Yancy Kimball apparently owes a gambling debt?”

“You're a mind reader, Mrs. J—that's exactly what I was goin' to do today.” Smythe chuckled. He'd already planned on seeing Blimpey this morning and Groggins knew every gambler in London. “I was also figurin' on findin' out exactly how long Kimball's been in town. Gedigan sounds like a pro and they don't let people they don't know gamble without seein' their money.”