Mrs. Jeffries and the One Who Got Away (14 page)

“I'm so sorry to barge in on you,” she apologized as he came toward her. “But I was in the neighborhood and saw the notice that you were collecting contributions for the widows and orphans fund. I wanted to make a contribution and, of course, see you. I do hope I haven't interrupted your schedule too much.”

This was, of course, not true, though in all fairness she did intend to make a generous donation. She'd come here because thus far, her efforts to learn anything useful had been futile. Last night, she'd mentioned the murder at a dinner party but none of the other guests knew anything, and this morning, she'd brought it up while chairing a meeting of the financial committee for her women's suffrage group. But none of the other women knew anything about Edith Durant/Alice Robinson or the neighborhood where she'd lived.

But Ruth wasn't one to give up. When her meeting had ended, she'd sat down at her elegant French secretary and gone through both her and the late Lord Cannonberry's various correspondence papers. She'd found Reginald Pontefract's name and address on a note he'd written informing her of his new church appointment. She barely remembered the good reverend—he'd actually been a childhood neighbor of the Cannonberry country estate—and she'd almost stuffed the paper back into the bottom drawer, but then the address caught her eye. Pontefract was now the vicar of St. Peter's Highgate Hill. She hadn't been sure how close his church might be to the lodging house, but she'd decided it was worth the risk. Luckily, when she'd reached the neighborhood, she'd discovered both the church and rectory were only a few streets away from the victim's home on Magdala Lane.

“You are a most welcome interruption, Lady Cannonberry. It's been ages since I've seen you. It's generous of you to take the trouble to come personally to make a contribution.” He took her arm and led her to a leather chair next to the fireplace.

As she sank into the seat, she glanced around the cavernous room and noted it was far more luxurious than her father's simple study had been. Gold-plated candlesticks stood at each end of the marble mantelpiece and a multicolored Persian rug covered the polished oak floor. Small, elegant sculptures, museum-quality ceramics, and a collection of Japanese-style tea sets were displayed on the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves opposite the ornate desk. Her hackles started to rise but she got ahold of herself. It wasn't her place to judge. Perhaps this room and its outrageously expensive furnishings weren't his doing—this was, after all, the rectory. But still, a pittance of the value of the room's furnishings could feed an orphanage for a year.

“Mary.” He caught the maid before the door had closed. “Bring us tea, please.”

“Right away, sir,” the girl said as she slipped out.

“I don't want to put you to any trouble,” Ruth protested.

“It's no trouble at all.” He sat down on the chair opposite and studied her. A slight smile played around his thin lips. “We've not seen one another for quite a long while.”

“It's actually been a number of years.” She clasped her hands together in her lap.

“It was at Lord Cannonberry's funeral,” he continued. “I have thought of you often since then.” He leaned toward her. “You've been widowed for a long time. I'm sure it must be very lonely for you.”

“Not really. I do keep very busy and I've many friends.” Ruth smiled uneasily.

“Oh yes, I've heard you've joined one of those organizations that agitate for women voting and owning property and doing all manner of things the Bible most assuredly says they oughtn't.” He reached over and patted her hand. “But that's understandable. Without the guidance of a strong man in your life, it's easy to get confused and make inappropriate choices.”

She finally remembered why she'd avoided him for all these years. She didn't like him. But she needed information. “That, of course, is a matter of opinion.”

“Oh no, I don't think so. The Good Book is quite clear that a woman should obey.”

“My father, who, if you'll recall, was quite a renowned biblical scholar, most certainly didn't share that view,” she interrupted.

“Your father believed strongly that our Lord came to spread only a message of love and acceptance. He wasn't comfortable with many other aspects of the Christian tradition.”

“You mean like blind obedience to the dictates of society, slavery, and the oppression of women and native peoples in those countries we've decided we've a right to colonize?” She gave him a tight smile. “You're right, he had no patience for such things and, frankly, neither do I.” She clamped her mouth shut to keep from saying anything further. She was on the hunt here and this most certainly wasn't the way to loosen his tongue.

But he didn't seem to take offense. Instead, he laughed. “I look forward to many interesting debates with you on the subject. I do so like a challenge.”

“You've never married yourself?” she asked innocently. She knew he was unwed. She was beginning to understand why.

“I've never been blessed with the happiness of matrimony.” He moved even closer, so close she feared he was going to slip off the edge of the chair. “But perhaps that will change for me one day. The Lord does provide and I take it as a good sign that he sent you here to me today.”

*   *   *

Etta Morgan was a thin young woman with a pale, pinched face, slightly buck teeth, and dark brown hair pulled into a bun on the nape of her neck “But I wasn't even here when Mrs. Robinson left the house.” She put the basket of vegetables the greengrocer had just delivered on the counter next to the sink. “So I can't really tell you much.”

“I understand that,” Constable Barnes reassured her. “I just need to ask you a few questions. Why don't you have a seat.” He nodded toward the empty chair across the table from where he sat.

“I've got to get the veg scrubbed for supper. Mrs. Fremont is making a casserole with the last of the boiled beef from yesterday.”

“Mrs. Fremont has gone upstairs for a nap,” he replied. “And I overheard her tell Miss Durridge that she'd be down later this afternoon, so you've plenty of time. Please, Miss Morgan, sit down.”

“None of us know what's going to happen now that Mrs. Robinson is gone, but Mrs. Fremont says we've got to take care of the tenants. They have paid for their lodgings and meals up to the end of the month.” She pulled out a chair and sat down. “That means they can't chuck us out till then, right?”

He wasn't sure what to say. Now that he had the solicitor's name and address, he'd no idea what was going to happen once they contacted him. On the other hand, the lass had a point; the lodgers did have rights. “I expect you'll be fine until then.”

She brightened a bit. “I hope so.”

“So do I,” he said honestly. “Now, when was the last time you saw Mrs. Robinson?”

“Yesterday,” Etta said. “As soon as breakfast was over, she sent me to the East End with a package.”

“What time was that?”

“I don't know the exact time. I'd just come up from the kitchen and the clock in there has been broken since I've been here. But I think it was about twenty past eight,” she replied. “I'd started to do the clearing up when she told me to leave it. She said that Mrs. Fremont would do it and I was to deliver a package for her.”

“What kind of a package?”

“A small one. It was wrapped in brown paper.”

“Where did you take it?”

“To the Black Swan—that's a pub on the Commercial Road. I gave it to Mr. McConnell.” Her eyes widened. “I didn't do anything wrong, Constable. I took it right to where she told me.”

“I'm sure you did, Miss Morgan. By any chance did Mrs. Robinson tell you what was in the package?”

She pursed her lips and shook her head. “No, she just give me the omnibus fare and told me where to take it. It took ages to get there as well. I got lost twice and I was ever so worried I'd not be able to find my way back in time to meet Nancy—she's my friend. We're from the same town and she's got the same afternoon out as I do. We take the train together so we can go home. It makes it nice, sir. We get to visit that bit longer before we have to come back. With there being two of us we don't mind coming back a bit after dark.”

He asked her the same questions he'd asked the other staff, and like them, she hadn't seen anyone suspicious hanging about the neighborhood, nor had she seen a red cord or noticed Mrs. Robinson behaving any differently than she usually did. Barnes flipped the notebook shut. “Thank you, Miss Morgan.” He started to get up and then eased back into his seat. “How long have you worked here?”

“Almost a year.” She grinned. “I've lasted longer than most. Generally they either get the sack or move on to someplace better.”

“Mrs. Robinson was a difficult mistress?”

“Only about some things. As long as we didn't cross her and did our work, she didn't mind what we did. The place I used to work, they'd never have let a housemaid stay out after dark, and they'd have sacked you right away if you went to a pub. I don't care for the taste of gin or ale, so I don't go to pubs, but Mrs. Fremont and the other girl that used to work here, Annie, they popped into the pub around the corner every day after lunch and sometimes in the evenings as well.” She jerked her thumb up toward the ceiling. “Cook still does.”

“That's very interesting.” Barnes opened his notebook to a clean page. “What kind of things was Mrs. Robinson strict about?”

*   *   *

Teasdale hadn't returned to the lodging house by the time the inspector and Barnes were finished with their respective interviews so they went to a café on the high street to eat. Over a late lunch of fried chops and boiled cabbage, they talked about the case. Barnes in particular made certain he told the inspector everything he'd heard from Etta Morgan and Mrs. Fremont.

“At least now we know she had a solicitor.” Witherspoon buttoned his overcoat as they left the café. The rain had stopped but the temperature had dropped sharply and a cold wind had come in from the west. “We'll go and see him tomorrow morning. Perhaps he'll be able to reassure the household about their circumstances.”

“But they'll be able to stay until the end of the month,” Barnes said. “The cook pointed out that the tenants are paid through the end of the month.”

“I don't suppose there's much hope that Edith Durant made any provisions whatsoever in her will for her servants. Which is unfortunate. From what you said, both the cook and Miss Morgan are dreadfully worried about what's to become of them. Still, they're fully trained so they ought to be able to find new positions.”

“Do you want me to send a Y Division constable or one of our lads to the Black Swan?” Barnes asked as they turned the corner to Magdala Lane.

“I don't wish to offend Inspector Rogers any further, but frankly, I'd feel better if we sent Constable Griffiths.”

“Are we going to stop by Y Division tomorrow and see if anyone there has made heads or tails of the ledger?”

Witherspoon thought for a moment. “Perhaps we ought to stop by the station when we're finished today. We could get Inspector Rogers' thoughts on the ledger and I could give him a quick report. I don't want him to feel as if we've taken over completely.”

“He already thinks that,” Barnes said bluntly. “What's more, from the bits and pieces I've heard from the Y Division lads, Rogers wasn't exaggerating when he told us he was busy.”

They stopped as they were now directly across the road from the Durant house. “You mean there really are more burglaries than usual?” Witherspoon stepped off the curb and waited for a cooper's van and a lad pulling a flatbed handcart loaded with butcher's boxes to go past. “I thought Inspector Rogers might be exaggerating when he told us that, you know, as a way to salvage his pride because he was losing the case.”

Barnes waited till the cart was a good ways down the road before he answered. “Sounds like he was telling the truth, sir. Thieves have targeted wealthy houses and made off with a fortune in stolen jewelry, silver, and even some coin collections. Superintendent Huntley is putting a lot of pressure on his inspectors to find the culprits.”

Witherspoon nodded. “Right, then, we'll not add to his burden at the moment. But we'll need to know about the ledger.”

“I'll stop by tomorrow morning and pick it up,” Barnes said. “They'll let us know if they've cracked the code, sir.” They had reached the lodging house. The constable glanced at the house next door and then at Witherspoon. “Should I check to see if Mr. Teasdale is back or do you want me with you during the interview with Mrs. Travers?”

“With me, please. You're much better at reading facial expressions than I am.” He started up the stairs of the Travers house. When they reached the door, the constable banged the brass knocker against the wood. A few moments later, a red-headed housemaid stuck her head out and stared at them curiously. “Can I help you?”

“We'd like to speak to Mrs. Travers,” Witherspoon said.

The girl nodded. “I'll see if she's receiving.” She started to close the door, but stopped when Barnes flattened his hand against the wood.

“This isn't a social call, miss,” he said softly. “Please tell Mrs. Travers she can either speak to us here or she's welcome to come down to the station.”

“Yes, sir.” Surprised, she opened the door wide and ushered them inside. “Please wait here,” she muttered before bobbing a quick curtsey and disappearing down the corridor.

“I don't like bullying young women, sir, but I didn't think we had time to play by-your-leave with the girl.”

“You did right, Constable. You got us inside and she's gone to fetch her mistress. Like you, I get tired of the gentry thinking we're no more than hired lackeys who can be put off whenever it suits them.” He surveyed the foyer as he spoke. “This looks to be the same floor plan as the Durant place. I'd guess that all the houses along this road were built at the same time and, from the looks of things, by the same builder.”