Mrs. Jeffries Forges Ahead (25 page)

“We understand that Mrs. Banfield had her own champagne flute. Where was it kept?”

He frowned in confusion. “In the butler’s pantry—that’s where most of the glassware is kept. We did keep the champagne flutes in the storage room, as they’re not used very often for large functions like the summer ball; after all, even the rich don’t like serving champagne to over two hundred guests. But after one of the maids chipped Mr. Banfield’s glass, I moved the set to a separate shelf in my pantry. As the late Mrs. Banfield’s mother had made the flutes, I wanted to take charge of them so nothing like that would happen again.”

“Mr. Banfield’s glass had a chip on it?” Barnes asked sharply.

“Yes, as I said, one of the maids got careless when she was taking it to be washed and cracked a tiny bit off the base.” He sniffed. “The defect is hardly noticeable, but Mr. Banfield was very upset about it. Not that it mattered on the night of the ball. Mr. Banfield told us he’d be drinking wine that night and not champagne, so I didn’t bother getting his glass out.”

“He told you beforehand what he’d be drinking?”

Michaels nodded. “He often did that. As I’ve said, just because they are wealthy, they don’t like wasting money any more than anyone else. As Mrs. Banfield was the only one to be served champagne, I only ordered two bottles be brought up from the larder. Even then, the second bottle would only have been opened if one of the guests had specifically requested champagne instead of wine. The late Mrs. Banfield rarely drank more than two or three glasses during the course of an evening.”

“So everyone in the household knew that only Mrs. Banfield would be having champagne?”

“I suppose so,” he replied slowly. “It wasn’t a secret. Mr. Banfield told me at luncheon that day that he’d be drinking wine at the ball. The ladies were present when he gave me the instructions, as was a serving maid.”

“Back to the champagne flute.” Barnes smiled slightly. “Where specifically in the butler’s pantry was the flute when the wine was being served?”

“It was on a silver tray on the serving table at the far end of the buffet. I didn’t want it getting knocked about, so I put it as far away from the activity as possible.”

Barnes thought back to how the room had been set up on the night of the ball. The butler’s pantry opened up on the far left of where the screens had been placed, but the food had started coming up and into the room from the right. “But what about when the food was served, wouldn’t there have been a lot of activity then?”

“The food wasn’t coming up until a quarter to eight. By then, I’d already retrieved the flute and taken Mrs. Banfield her drink.”

“Other than the staff, did anyone else go in or out of the buffet area where the glass was sitting?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not certain, Constable. You’ve got to remember, we were frightfully busy that night and I had my hands full opening the wine and supervising the waiters. I’m not at all sure about what I saw. From the angle where I stood, it was impossible to tell whether she’d just come out of the back hall or if she’d been in the buffet area.”

Barnes nodded agreeably. “I’ll keep that in mind. Just tell me who you saw and I’ll do the rest.”

“It was Mrs. Bickleton.” He sighed. “I’d peeked around the screen to see if everyone was being served, and just then I saw Mrs. Bickleton and it appeared as if she’d just stepped out of the buffet area. But I can’t be sure.”

“And Mrs. Banfield’s glass was in the buffet area?”

“That’s correct.”

“Was she the only person you noticed go anywhere near where the glass was?”

“Yes. But she could just as easily have stepped out of the corridor after coming down the back stairs.”

 

Ruth started down the front walkway and had almost reached the gate when she heard footsteps behind her. Turning, she saw Lady Emma Stafford coming toward her. She was unaccompanied by a maid or a companion and she stumbled down the walk, her sight encumbered by the thick black veil covering her face. Ruth knew it was Lady Stafford because she’d seen the woman flip the veil back so she could eat.

Lady Stafford rapidly closed the distance between them. She was almost at the gate when she suddenly tripped and lurched forward. “Blast and damnation,” she cried as her arms flew out and flapped wildly in an attempt to regain her balance.

Ruth managed to grab her shoulders before she hit the ground. She pulled hard against gravity, finally steadying the woman. “Are you unharmed, Lady Stafford?”

Panting, she flicked her veil away from her face and tried to catch her breath. “Gracious, thank you, Lady Cannonberry. Had you not been here, I would have had a very nasty fall.” She looked down at the ground, searching for what had caused her mishap. “I don’t see anything here, but I know I tripped over something.”

“Whatever it was, I’m glad you didn’t hurt yourself, ma’am,” Ruth said politely. “Please, take my arm and let me escort you. Has the footman gone to fetch your carriage?”

Lady Emma responded with a loud snort. “Humph . . . no, my wretched nephew sold the carriage two months ago. He claims that keeping a carriage and four in London is utter madness. So I’m reduced to taking hansom cabs. I loathe the contraptions—they’re ugly, uncomfortable, and slow—but if I want to have any social life at all, I’ve no choice.” She fixed her gaze on Ruth and narrowed her eyes. “Do you have a carriage?”

Ruth was tempted to lie and say she, too, was going to take a hansom, but as the footman had been sent to get her carriage, she was afraid it would come rumbling around the corner just as she got Lady Stafford to the street. “Yes, I do, and I’d be pleased to offer you a ride to your home.”

“I wasn’t hinting,” Lady Emma protested. “But nonetheless, I’ll gladly accept your kind offer. It’s jolly decent of you; I know you don’t like me.”

Ruth opened the wrought-iron gate and stepped back to let her companion go through first. “I don’t dislike you, Lady Stafford,” she began. “I simply don’t know you very well and I suspect we have very different points of view about many things in life and society. Look, there’s my carriage now. Where do you live? I’ll need to give my coachman your address.”

“Don’t you have a footman to do that?”

“No, the coachman is sufficient,” she replied as the carriage pulled up. The Banfield footman leapt off the back of the coach before it even came to a complete halt. He opened the door and pulled down the carriage steps.

“I live at number seven Chevron Way in Marylebone,” Lady Emma told her as she put her foot on the bottom rung. The carriage lurched slightly as she heaved her bulk inside.

Ruth gave the coachman the address and then pulled a sixpence piece out of her pocket and handed it to the footman. “Thank you for your help, young sir,” she said.

“No, ma’am, thank you,” he gushed as he tucked the money into his pocket.

Ruth got inside and took the spot across from Lady Stafford, then she banged on the ceiling and they were off.

“You’ll only spoil him, you know,” Lady Emma said crossly. “Now he’ll expect a gratuity from everyone and he was just doing his job.”

“No, he’s employed by the Banfields as their footman, not mine.”

“He’s employed to do what he’s told,” she snapped, her face wrinkling into a fierce frown. “And it’s people like you who are going to ruin the world for the rest of us.”

Ruth burst out laughing. She couldn’t stop herself. This red-faced old harridan who hadn’t done a day’s work in her entire life really thought that the world as she knew it would crumble over a sixpence.

Lady Emma glared at her and Ruth managed to get herself under control. “I’m sorry, that was very wrong of me. Of course you’re entitled to your opinion about society, Lady Stafford.”

“And you think you’re entitled to yours, is that it?” she shot back. But some of the anger had left her face.

“Yes, I think that if we don’t change and become a more humane and equitable society, we’ll sow the seeds of our own destruction. The world is changing. People don’t like being treated as if they only exist to serve the upper class, and they’re beginning to rebel against it.”

The older woman said nothing for a moment; she simply stared at Ruth, only now her expression was speculative. “You’re very sure you’re right, aren’t you?”

“I am right.” Ruth lifted her chin.

“Don’t be so certain,” she replied dryly. “You’ll change your mind when you get to be my age. But let’s not quarrel; it’s very good of you to take me home, and I am decidedly grateful. Actually, I expected the Banfields to provide me a coach home, but this time they didn’t. I expect they were preoccupied with burying their dead.”

“How long have you known the Banfield family?” Ruth asked.

“All of our lives. The Banfields and Staffords have connections going back at least a hundred years. We have great-great-grandparents in common. We’re all proud of our ancestry, of course, but Geraldine speaks about hers as if the Banfields came over with the Conqueror, and of course they didn’t.”

“Was Mrs. Banfield a Banfield before she married?” Ruth asked curiously.

“She was indeed. She and her husband, Garrett, were second cousins. That isn’t done much these days, but it was quite common fifty years ago.”

 

Phyllis stuck her head into the kitchen as the housekeeper was setting the table for their afternoon meeting. “Mrs. Jeffries, do you have a few moments? I’d like to say something.”

“Of course, Phyllis, we’ve plenty of time before the others get back.” The housekeeper put the tray of cups down and slipped into her seat. She nodded at the spot next to her.

“Thank you.” Phyllis pulled out the chair and flopped down. She said nothing for a long moment, but simply sat there, breathing heavily.

Mrs. Jeffries waited patiently.

Phyllis’ mouth was open as she struggled to catch her breath and her chest heaved up and down.

“You seem very upset.” Mrs. Jeffries reached over and patted her arm. “It’s alright, Phyllis, no one is angry at you. If you go on like this, you’ll make yourself ill.”

“I wish I’d said yes,” Phyllis blurted out. “Oh dear, that didn’t come out like I wanted it to, but Betsy said if I explained things properly, you’d understand. Betsy is ever so nice, she could see how worried I was about the situation . . .” Her voice trailed off and she looked down at her hands, which were clasped tightly in her lap.

“Phyllis, if this is about your preference to stay out of the inspector’s cases, you don’t owe me or anyone else an explanation.”

“But I do,” she cried. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to help, I was just afraid.”

“You don’t need to worry about losing your position—”

“But it weren’t just that,” Phyllis interrupted. “It was because I can’t do any of those things the rest of you do.” Her eyes filled with tears and her face turned red. “I’m not easy with people. I couldn’t get a clerk in a shop to talk if my life depended on it and I’m not good at striking up conversations with housemaids or footmen and I’d get hopelessly lost if I tried to follow anyone. So when you asked if I wanted to help and you told me what all of you did, I knew I couldn’t do any of those things. I knew I was just a useless girl who’d probably just get in your way.” She broke off and pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve; she was full-on crying now.

Thinking it would do her good to get it out of her system, Mrs. Jeffries let her weep for a few moments. “Phyllis, you’re not useless, and whoever made you feel that you are should be horsewhipped.”

“Yes, I am. I’m a scared little rabbit.” She sniffed and swiped at her cheeks. “I try to be strong and clever like the rest of you, but I don’t know how. I’ve listened behind the door when you’ve had some of your meetings and I want to be a part of it, I really do. You’re doing something so important, and I want to help. But I can’t do anything except polish furniture and scrub floors. That’s all I’ll ever be good for.”

Mrs. Jeffries blinked hard as tears filled her own eyes. She felt like a worm. She ought to have tried harder with the girl, ought to have understood that the fear she’d seen on her face was probably the result of terrible experiences in her past. “That’s not true. You’re a very intelligent young woman and we’d be glad of your help.”

“But there’s nothing I can do,” she wailed. “Nothing.”

“Again, that’s not true.” Mrs. Jeffries reached over and patted her arm. “Everyone has something they can contribute. It may take us a bit of time to determine precisely where your talents lie, but I know you can help.”

“Do you really think so?” she asked, her expression hopeful.

“But of course,” Mrs. Jeffries lied. She couldn’t think of one thing the girl could do. “And starting this afternoon, we’ll expect you at our meetings.”

Ruth stepped inside the back door of Upper Edmonton Gardens and raced up the hall to the kitchen. She skidded to a halt at the unexpected sight of Phyllis sitting at the table. Recovering quickly, she smiled at the girl as she slipped off the ugly black mourning hat and gloves. “I’m so sorry to be late,” she apologized as she tucked the gloves into the bonnet and then hung them on the coat tree. “But I took Lady Stafford home after the funeral reception and the traffic coming back was dreadful. But I think I may have learned some interesting facts.”