Mrs. Jeffries Forges Ahead (6 page)

Banfield skidded to a halt and pointed to a tall, narrow pewter jar sitting on a table. “It should be in there. That’s where her champagne was always kept.”

But when they looked inside, there was nothing but water. The champagne bottle was gone.

 

Barnes smiled at Geraldine Banfield. “I realize this must be very upsetting for you, ma’am, but it’s important we ask these questions.”

“I don’t see why this can’t wait until tomorrow,” she snapped. “I really should be with my nephew. He’s most distraught.”

They were sitting in front of an unlighted fireplace in a small room on the east side of the house. The walls were a pale pink color, the curtains white muslin, and the furniture was made of intricately carved wood upholstered in pink-and-white-striped satin. Barnes was miserable; his chair was as stiff as a plank and his backside was going numb. “I’ll try to make this as quick as possible, ma’am.” He flipped open his little brown notebook. “Did you notice anyone tampering with Mrs. Banfield’s food or drink?” He’d decided to get right to the heart of the matter.

“Supper hadn’t been served,” she replied.

“Then did you see anyone tampering with Mrs. Banfield’s drink?” he shot back.

“Of course not. If I had seen such a thing, I would have put a stop to it immediately.” She stared at him as if he were a half-wit.

Barnes was in no mood to put up with her. He glared right back at her. “Where were you sitting when Mrs. Banfield took ill?”

Her eyes widened at his implication. “I was with some friends on the far side of the room.”

“You weren’t sitting with the rest of your family?”

“No, I stopped to speak with some of my friends and by the time we entered the ballroom, the head table was full, so we took seats at another table. I must say, I was surprised to see Lady Cannonberry at my nephew’s table. I’d no idea she was so close to either Lewis or Arlette. But then again, perhaps she simply sat down without being invited.”

Barnes felt his hackles rising. “It was Lady Cannonberry that kept you from removing the evidence, wasn’t it? She’s the one who insisted you leave both the table and the body alone.”

She gasped. “What do you mean, ‘removing evidence’? We don’t know that Arlette didn’t die of natural causes! Lady Cannonberry and that stupid doctor insisting on bringing in the police was what kept us from treating poor Arlette decently. We had to leave her lying on the floor. I thought that was going to break poor Lewis’ heart. Removing evidence, indeed.”

“The doctor seems certain she didn’t die of natural causes.” Barnes watched her carefully. “So if you’d had your way, a great deal of evidence would have been destroyed.”

Surprised by his bluntness, she blinked. Then her eyes filled with tears as an expression of confusion crossed her features. “Oh, please, Constable, you can’t possibly think that I’d do anything like that. I honestly had no idea that a crime had been committed. I wasn’t trying to hinder your investigation, I was trying to protect poor Arlette.”

Barnes stared at her curiously. Her entire demeanor had changed. She was no longer the imperious matron, but instead, her shoulders sagged, her lips trembled, and her hands were shaking. “I don’t understand. Protect her how? By helping her murderer?”

“No, no.” She clamped her hand over her mouth to hold back a sob. Then she took a long, deep breath. “Forgive me, Constable, I’m not explaining this very well. But I acted as I did because I feel so guilty. I was trying to make up for what I let happen earlier.”

“What do you mean?”

Her eyes flooded with tears again. “You don’t understand. Just moments before poor Arlette died”—she broke off as a sob escaped—“moments before she died, my friends were making some rather unkind remarks about her. They didn’t mean anything by it, it was simply the sort of catty comments that women often make. But Lady Stafford never has anything nice to say about anyone, so I let her witter on about how Arlette’s dress was too bright for a married woman. But then Margaret and Rosalind joined in with their remarks and I should have interrupted and reminded all of them that she is my nephew’s wife.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “But I didn’t; I let them go on and on.”

“Were any of the remarks threatening?”

“No, not at all. They were simply unkind.” She swiped at her cheeks. “They said her dress was cut too low for a matron and they all thought she must be wearing rouge. It was that sort of nonsense. But I should have stopped them immediately and I didn’t. Then when poor Arlette was lying there on the floor with all and sundry staring at her, I simply couldn’t bear it. After the way I’d let them talk about her, I didn’t want them seeing her in such an undignified manner. I didn’t realize I was doing something wrong. I’d no idea she’d been murdered.”

“Did Mrs. Banfield have any enemies?”

“Not as far as I know,” she replied. “But I can only speak about her since she’s been my nephew’s wife.”

“And how long has that been?”

“They married last July. Before that, she was an artist’s model. Her parents are artists. Her father is a painter and her mother is a sculptress or a craftsperson of some sort. Arlette modeled for both of them and for many of their friends as well. There were a number of those people here tonight—Arlette insisted on adding names to the guest list—so perhaps one of them had a grudge against her. But despite my friends’ silly comments, Arlette has made no enemies of anyone of our circle.”

Barnes knew good and well that people like Geraldine Banfield didn’t open their arms or their hearts to anyone except one of their own. But just because they didn’t like Arlette Banfield didn’t mean they’d murder her. They might snub her, they might ignore her, but he sincerely doubted they’d kill her just because she had the temerity to marry outside of her class. “How was she received by the rest of the Banfield family and friends?”

“I’m not certain what you’re asking.”

“I think you know exactly what I’m asking.” Barnes smiled cynically. “Once she and Mr. Banfield married, how was she treated? Did the invitations to tea come readily, was she accepted by the other wives in your circle, did other ladies come calling?”

“She was accepted because Lewis made it known we had to accept her,” Geraldine blurted out. “Not that it made one whit of difference to her. She didn’t care what anyone thought of her and she certainly didn’t sit around worrying about whether or not she received any social invitations.”

“What did she worry about?” he pressed.

“Arlette thought the rest of us were philistines.” Geraldine smiled grimly. “She didn’t give a toss about how one ought to behave in society. She certainly didn’t care about setting a good example or taking one’s proper place in society. She only cared about art and music and books. She considered herself an intellectual and I once overheard her telling Lewis that she’d done him a favor by marrying him, that it had saved him from interbreeding with one of the half-wits from his own class.”

Barnes stifled a laugh. He had a feeling he’d have liked Arlette Banfield. “So she wasn’t bothered by the lack of social invitations?”

“I’ve just told you, there was no lack of social invitations,” Geraldine said impatiently. “Lewis can be very ruthless and he’d made it quite clear that no one was to slight his wife, so, whether Arlette accepted them or not, the invitations kept coming. Back in my day, that certainly wouldn’t have happened, but whether we like it or not, times change.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He decided to change tactics. “So you weren’t anywhere near Mrs. Banfield when she began to show poison symptoms?”

“We don’t know that she was poisoned,” Geraldine declared. “But no, I was all the way across the room with my friends. I was sitting with Lady Stafford, Mrs. Bickleton, and Mrs. Kimball.”

“Did you see Mrs. Banfield before the ball began?” He shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable.

“Of course I saw her today; we live in the same house.” She uncrossed her arms and sat up straighter. “She was out this morning but she came home for luncheon and she was here for tea this afternoon.”

“Do you know where Mrs. Banfield went this morning?”

She thought for a moment. “I’m not certain; she wasn’t the sort to report her comings and goings to anyone. Mrs. Banfield was one of those feminists. She thought it proper to be independent.”

“So you’ve no idea where she went?”

“I didn’t say that,” Geraldine corrected him. “I said she wasn’t one to report her comings and goings to anyone. I overheard her tell her maid that she had an appointment on Blecker Street and then she was going to see her parents. They live in Chelsea. But she was back in time for luncheon.”

“Mr. Lewis Banfield didn’t object to her coming and going as she pleased?” he asked curiously. Even the most enlightened and liberal of husbands usually wanted to have some idea of what their wives might be up to.

“Lewis found her behavior charming; he fancied himself a bit of an intellectual as well. He was always complaining that he only took over the family business because he’d no choice and that he really wanted to be a naturalist.” She snorted derisively. “Just look at the trouble Mr. Darwin’s book has caused, and Lewis walks around quoting it as if it is the gospel. Survival of the fittest, indeed; it’s that sort of nonsense that gives the lower classes ideas. It’s dangerous notions like that which make everyone and their brother think they’ve the right to do as they please and that true superiority isn’t in birth or class, but in what one can actually do. As if accomplishment was any sort of measurement of breeding. Rubbish, I say. Absolute rubbish.”

 

Ruth Cannonberry knocked softly on the back door of Upper Edmonton Gardens. She’d seen that the lights were on and she was fairly sure the household would be up.

The door opened a crack and then Mrs. Jeffries said, “Ruth, how wonderful. Do come in.”

“I’m so sorry to come this late.” Lady Ruth Cannonberry smiled and stepped inside. “But we’ve a murder and I wanted to get here and give you the details as quickly as possible.”

“Yes, we heard. Constable Griffiths came to get the inspector, but we don’t know much more than that.”

Ruth was the daughter of a country parson who took the admonition to love one’s neighbor as oneself very seriously. Consequently, she tended to see every human being as her equal and didn’t have the class consciousness of most women of her social stratum. She’d become involved with the Witherspoon household and insisted they call her by her Christian name, at least when the inspector wasn’t present. She knew they’d be uncomfortable addressing her in that fashion in front of him. Like the others, she loved working on the inspector’s cases but she took great care to ensure he didn’t find out he had so much assistance. “I’d gone to the Banfield ball, you see, because Arlette had invited me and even though I’m not fond of that sort of occasion, I couldn’t think of an excuse not to attend. We were sitting at the table together, chatting and gossiping, and all of a sudden, she couldn’t breathe . . . oh, it was dreadful to witness, absolutely dreadful. Gerald is there now, but then, you know that, don’t you? Oh dear, I’m babbling. But it’s been a trying evening. Watching the life go out of another human being is horrible and I never want to do it again.”

By this time, they were in the kitchen. Betsy and Mrs. Goodge had heard every word. “You poor thing.” Betsy got up. “You need a good strong cup of tea.”

“No, get the whiskey, that’s what she needs,” Mrs. Goodge ordered. “She’s had a shock. There’s a bottle in the cupboard by the cooker. I used it to make a trifle the other day.”

“You put whiskey in the trifle?” Betsy yanked open the cupboard. “My cookery book says you should use sherry.”

“I use both,” the cook replied. “Mine is an old and wonderful recipe and if I do say so myself, there’s never so much as a crumb left when I put it on the table. Besides, a splash of good Scots whiskey makes anything taste better.”

Grateful they were trying to distract her, Ruth smiled wanly as she sank into her chair.

Betsy poured a generous shot and handed her the glass. “Drink this, it’ll do you good. You’re pale as a ghost.”

“I tried very hard to keep my head and do what was right, but it was most distressing.” She chugged the alcohol and sighed in relief. “Thank you.” She smiled at the cook. “This was exactly what I needed.”

“Alright, now tell us what happened,” Mrs. Jeffries said softly. “Smythe and Wiggins are at the murder scene now to see what they can find out from the neighbors.”

Ruth said nothing for a moment. “I’m not sure where to begin. I suppose it would be best to start from the moment I arrived at the Banfield house.”

“That is a very good idea. I take it you’re well acquainted with a member of the Banfield household.” Mrs. Jeffries had observed that it was often easier for people to recall events if one led them with comments or questions.

“Oh yes, I’ve known Arlette Banfield’s parents for years. They are artists. Her mother is a member of my women’s suffrage group. I’m also acquainted with the Banfield family through my late husband. He and Lewis Banfield had some business dealings. The two families have known one another for years. We were always invited to their annual summer ball, but after my husband died, the invitations stopped, so I was rather surprised to get an invitation this year.”

“Did you find out why you were back on the guest list?” Betsy asked curiously. “You’ve been widowed for a long time now.”

“Arlette insisted I be sent one.” Ruth smiled sadly. “That’s what she told me this evening. We were having a discussion about the true nature of what society’s rules and etiquette actually meant to the individual when she told me she’d added my name to the guest list over the objections of her husband’s aunt, Geraldine Banfield. Apparently, once I no longer had a husband to answer to and could do as I pleased with my life, I was no longer fit to be a guest in that house.”