Mrs. Jeffries Pinches the Post (10 page)

Inspector Witherspoon stood in the tiny servants’ hall of Oscar Daggett’s home. “I say, Constable, for such an apparently wealthy man, he certainly doesn’t bother to make his staff comfortable.”

The room was pathetically furnished, the long oak table was scratched and stained, the chairs were mismatched and rickety, the floor was plain wood without so much as a scrap of carpet, and the small cabinet that probably held the sugar and tea was padlocked shut.

“He takes good care of himself but can’t even spare a tablecloth for his staff,” Barnes muttered in disgust.

“Unfortunately, most of the servants’ halls in London are at this sort of standard. I don’t know why.” He shook his head in disbelief. “You’d think people who had so much could spare a few bob a year to make their servants’ lives a bit easier. But they never do, do they?”

“You do, sir,” Barnes said. “Your servants eat as well as you, sleep in comfortable beds and spend their relaxing hour in that nice big kitchen of yours. So you can’t say that everyone treats their staff badly.

“Do you have any positions open?” a timid voice asked from behind them.

They turned and saw Hortense, the maid, standing in the doorway. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t tryin’ to eavesdrop. But I couldn’t help overhearin’ and frankly, sir, you sound like a good man to work for.” She snorted. “Course just about anywhere’d be better than here.”

“Oh dear,” Witherspoon replied. “I don’t have any positions open right at this moment, but I will keep you in mind if I need anyone. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to have a word with you yesterday, but Mr. Daggett insisted we leave.”

Barnes covered his mouth with his hand in an effort to turn his laughter into a cough. His inspector was brilliant at solving murders, but the poor man was as innocent as a kitten when it came to dealing with people. Especially female people.

“That’s all right, sir.” Hortense marched into the room. “I overheard him telling you to go. Scared me a bit, it did. I thought for certain I was in for the sharp side of his tongue after you’d gone, but he never said a word. He just shut himself up in his study until it was time for bed.”

“I’m glad you didn’t suffer for telling us about the girl that’s gone missing,” Witherspoon said. He was greatly relieved that nothing untoward had happened to the girl. “Why don’t we sit down, Hortense, and we can have a nice chat about your friend.”

“I was afraid you weren’t goin’ to come back,” Hortense said as she scurried over to the table and flopped down in one of the chairs. “I kept tellin’ Mrs. Benchley that we had to tell someone about Nelda. Her things is still here, ya know. She wouldn’t have run home without her trunk. I don’t care what Mr. Daggett says. Somethin’ has happened to her.”

Witherspoon took a seat next to the girl, and Barnes eased his tall frame into the chair at the end. He whipped out his notebook. “Why don’t you tell us what happened, lass,” he said softly, “and the best way for us to really understand is for you to start at the beginning.”

“All right, I guess that’s best, I do tend to get muddled when I’m excited.” Hortense took a long, deep breath. “It all started day before yesterday. Mr. Daggett took one of his sick spells, and we had to send off for Dr. Wiltshire.”

“Dr. Wiltshire?” Witherspoon clarified. “Is his surgery close by?”

“It’s just around the corner on Victoria Road. Which is lucky for us,” Hortense charged. “Otherwise, we’d run our feet off. Mr. Daggett’s always sending us for the doctor.”

“I take it his health isn’t very good,” Witherspoon asked.

“He’s as healthy as a>ruddy workhorse,” Hortense exclaimed. “But he’s got more aches and pains than a dog has fleas. Even the doctor gets fed up with him.”

Barnes looked up from his notebook. “What happened after you got the doctor around?”

“Doctor couldn’t come right away. He told me to tell Mr. Daggett to go to bed and he’d be along as soon as he could get away.” Hortense pursed her lips. “Course when I told Mr. Daggett it’d be a while before Dr. Wiltshire come to see him, he got so angry I thought he’d pop. But he didn’t. He took to his bed and had all of us, but especially Nelda, fetchin’ and carry in’ and runnin’ up and down those ruddy back stairs for hours. Finally, when the doctor got here, all Mr. Daggett had wrong with him was a bit of indigestion.”

Witherspoon frowned thoughtfully. “So Mr. Daggett was ill enough that he stayed in bed, is that what you’re saying?”

She nodded eagerly. “Right, took to his bed from the first pain, had poor Nelda runnin’ up with fresh nightshirts every hour, he did, and he made her change the bed.”

“So when did Nelda leave?” Barnes asked.

“Oh, I’m not sure I know what time it was exactly.” Hortense wrinkled her forehead. “Things were in a bit of a mess, you see, what with Mrs. Benchley bleedin’ all over the kitchen and us having to send for Dr. Wiltshire again …” She paused. “That’s right, it was right after Mrs. Benchley had the accident that Nelda left. She took a letter that Mr. Daggett had given her, and she ain’t been seen since.”

Barnes and Witherspoon glanced at each other. Daggett hadn’t mentioned giving the girl an errand. “What’s Nelda’s last name?” the inspector asked.

“Smith,” she replied promptly. “Nelda Smith. She’s from a small village in Lancashire. She’s only been in London for a couple of months. She didn’t much like it here, but she wouldn’t have gone off without so much as a by-your-leave.”

“Mr. Daggett is under the impression she went home,” Witherspoon said softly.

“She didn’t,” Hortense insisted. “She wouldn’t do something that daft. Besides, she left here with just her coat and hat on. How could she have paid her train fare?”

“We’ll have the local police check to see if she’s at her old home,” Barnes said gently. “It won’t take long before we’ve an answer.” But he did find it odd that Daggett was so unconcerned about the girl’s disappearance.

“Thank you, sir, I’d be ever so relieved to know that she was home safe. But I don’t think that’s where she’s gone. I think something’s happened to her.” She shifted her gaze slightly, looking at someone who’d just come into the room. “Oh, Mrs. Benchley, the police are here. I’m telling them about Nelda being missing.”

Witherspoon leapt to his feet as a woman with her head bandaged just above the left eye came into the dismal room. She stared at them for a moment, then said, “I’m Edith Benchley. I’m the housekeeper here.”

“I’m Inspector Witherspoon and this is Constable Barnes.”

“If you’re through with Hortense, perhaps the girl can get back to her duties.”

“We’ve no more questions at present.” Witherspoon smiled kindly at the girl as she got to her feet. “I promise, we’ll let you know as soon as we hear anything.”

“Thank you, sir,” Hortense replied gratefully. She gave the housekeeper a quick, rebellious glance. “I didn’t know Nelda very long, but she was a nice girl. Didn’t have much family to speak of, just an old aunt. But I don’t think she run off home the way they’re all sayin’.”

“Did Nelda have a young man?” Constable Barnes asked.

Hortense hesitated for a split second. “There’d been a lad who walked her home from chapel a time or two.”

“Chapel?” Witherspoon repeated.

“Nelda was a Methodist,” Mrs. Benchley said. “And it was more than just a time or two. He’s been walking her home every Sunday and he’s escorted her to the park on her day out for the last month. So don’t you be trying to fool the police into thinking we’re a hard-hearted bunch that doesn’t care a whit that a young woman in my charge has disappeared.”

“I wasn’t tryin’ to do that, ma’am,” Hortense protested. “But I overheard what Mr. Daggett was sayin’ yesterday, and if Nelda ain’t run off with Ian, then something’s happened to her.”

“Nothing’s happened to her,” Mrs. Benchley said calmly. “And you’re not to blame Mr. Daggett for thinking she’d run home; that’s what I told him. Now if you’ll run along to the kitchen, I’d like to have a word with the police.”

The woman’s tone brooked no argument, so Hortense bobbed a quick curtsey and hurried away. As soon as she’d closed the door behind her, the housekeeper turned her attention to the two policemen. “I’m terribly sorry I haven’t been able to speak with you until now, but I’ve been somewhat indisposed.”

Witherspoon’s gaze flicked to her bandage. “Uh, yes, we can see that. Er, uh, I take it you believe the girl’s not come to any harm?”

Mrs. Benchley gave them a weary smile. “I don’t think anything’s happened to Nelda that she didn’t want to happen. Oh, Inspector, it’s all been a dreadful mess. I understand you’re here investigating a murder, is that correct?”

“Right, a man named Harrison Nye was killed the night before last. From what we understand, Mr. Daggett was with him shortly before he died. As a matter of fact, Mr. Daggett had something so urgent to tell Mr. Nye, he interrupted a dinner party. Do you have any idea what that could have been?”

She shook her head. “I’ve no idea. Mr. Daggett wasn’t in the habit of sharing information with his servants.”

“We understand he’d been ill that day,” Barnes said. “Hortense told us he’d been abed most of the day.”

“That’s correct. Dr. Wiltshire went up to see Mr. Daggett after he finished bandaging my head. I needed a few days’ rest, and he wanted to be sure that Mr. Daggett understood that I wasn’t to be on my feet. I don’t know what happened, but Mr. Daggett left only moments after the doctor did. Later, we found out that he’d gone to see Mr. Nye and that Mr. Nye had been killed that night.”

“Did you actually see Mr. Daggett leave?” Barnes asked.

“No, by that time I was abed myself.” She smiled and lightly patted the bandage on her forehead. “But I got a detailed account of everything from our cook.”

“I take it, then, you’ve no idea what time Mr. Daggett returned home that night?”

“I’m afraid not,” she admitted. “As I said, I was sound asleep. But you might ask Clark—he generally stays up until Mr. Daggett comes home. He’s our footman, and it’s his task to make sure all the downstairs doors and windows are bolted.”

The inspector nodded and made a mental note to speak to both Clark and the cook. He also decided that their next stop would be Dr. Wiltshire’s surgery. He was very keen to know what the doctor had said to Mr. Daggett to send him running out into the night. “Thank you, Mrs. Benchley, we’ll do that. Now, could you please provide us with Nelda Smith’s home address? I did promise Miss Rivers that we’d see if the girl had indeed gone home.”

“Certainly, I’ll get it straightaway. But I’m fairly sure you’ll find that she isn’t there,” Mrs. Benchley replied. “I think she’s run off with her young man.”

“We do need to check,” Barnes said. “What’s this lad’s name and where does he live?” He was fairly sure the housekeeper would have that information. Most households kept a fairly tight rein on the young women who worked for them. Some places even forbade the girls to have outings with young men in case they’d fall in love, marry and leave their posts. But times had changed a bit since he was a young man. These days, there were more and more young women refusing to work in those sorts of households.

“His name is Ian Carr. He seems a respectable enough young man. He works on his family’s barge. I believe he lives somewhere near the river, but I’m not sure. Mr. Daggett wasn’t overly strict about such things, and I didn’t feel it was my place to get every little detail from Nelda. She’s generally a sensible young woman.”

“So you don’t think she’s come to any harm?” Witherspoon persisted.

“Hardly, Inspector,” she said with a knowing smile. “If I honestly thought Nelda had truly disappeared, I’d have been down to the police station straightaway.”

Barnes studied her appraisingly. She stared back without flinching. Finally, he said, “You seem certain she’s gone off with this young man, why?”

“Because I think she was fed up with Mr. Daggett.” Mrs. Benchley sighed. “The poor girl had run her legs off that day. She’d changed his bed twice and taken him three clean nightshirts.”

“But wasn’t that her job?” Barnes commented.

“No, Constable. She was hired as a maid, not a nurse.”

“But Mr. Daggett was ill…” the inspector pointed out.

“Nonsense, there wasn’t a thing wrong with him except a little indigestion. Most of Mr. Daggett’s ailments are in his head. He has the doctor around here at least twice a month.” She pursed her lips and stood up. “Nelda had finally had enough. The last time she went into his room, he gave her some silly errand to run. It was dark, Inspector, and the girl doesn’t know the city at all, but that didn’t stop Mr. Daggett from sending her out on some silly errand. I think she went out, got a bit frightened, went and found her young man and he took her home. That’s what I think and frankly, if I had a young man as good-hearted and handsome as hers dancing attendance on me, I wouldn’t stay here one minute more than I had to.”

The two policemen exchanged glances. “We’ll certainly have a word with Mr. Daggett about that,” the inspector said. “He never mentioned sending the girl out on an errand.”

“I’m sure he didn’t,” Mrs. Benchley said coldly. “But that’s precisely what he did. Feel free to question the rest of the household. They’ll tell you the same thing.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Witherspoon rose politely. “We would like a word with the rest of the servants, and do you know if Mr. Daggett is available?”

“Mr. Daggett’s gone out. He didn’t say where, but I do know he’s planning on paying a condolence visit to Mrs. Nye this afternoon.”

“I suppose this is as good a place to start as any,” Betsy muttered to Wiggins. “But I’m not sure about this. It seems to me we’re spreading ourselves very thin.”

“It should be all right,” Wiggins said easily. “It’s like Mrs. Jeffries says, we’ve not really got much choice. There’s a lot of territory to cover. We’ve got to suss out this Daggett fellow and the guests at the dinner party and the Nye household.”

They were standing on a busy corner in South Kensington. Naturally, before their meeting this morning had broken up, they’d all changed their minds several times on what they were going to do next.

As it happened, they’d finally decided that Wiggins was going to snoop about for a housemaid or a footman from the Daggett household and Betsy was going learn what she could about the victim. Smythe had headed out on a mysterious errand of his own, Mrs. Jeffries had gone to Fulham to learn a bit more about the disappearing Miss Geddy and Luty had gone off with the list of names from the Nyes’ dinner party. Hatchet had decided he wanted to find out a bit about Harrison Nye as well—he was very much of the opinion that the more one learned about the victim, the easier it was to find the killer.