Mrs. Jeffries Pinches the Post (24 page)

“We didn’t know what else to do,” Hatchet said honestly. “We saw her go into the house, and she was holding that gun like she meant to use it. Smythe and I looked at one another and realized that we had to take action. None of the policemen in that house were armed. They couldn’t defend themselves.”

“It’s a good thing we went in when we did,” Smythe said. “She ‘ad that bloomin’ gun aimed right at the inspector’s ‘eart. All I could think to do was tackle Bancroft and hope that rattled Eliza Nye enough so she’d make a mistake.”

“And she did.” Hatchet closed his eyes briefly. “She lowered her gun enough for me to shove my derringer in her face.”

“You got the drop on her,” Luty clarified. Much as she’d have liked to give her butler a good tongue-lashing on his taking such stupid risks, she couldn’t. If she’d been there, she’d have done the same. And truth to tell, she was downright proud of him.

“Do you think the inspector and Constable Barnes believed your story?” Betsy asked. She patted Smythe’s arm absently as she spoke. She was so proud of him she could burst, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to box his ears for putting himself in harm’s way. But they’d talk about that privately.

“I don’t know,” Smythe replied. “By the time we got to the station, he was so busy takin’ statements and char-gin’ ‘em, I’m not sure what he thought.”

“I think he was quite relieved when we arrived,” Hatchet said. “Our explanation certainly sounded plausible. We went there simply to make sure that Miss Geddy wasn’t in danger. After all, we knew the inspector and Barnes were on their way, Mrs. Jeffries and Betsy had gone to the station with a life-or-death message.” He shrugged. “It certainly sounded reasonable to me.”

“Yes and wasn’t it a happy coincidence that you just happened to have your derringer because Luty insisted you carry it with you when you went out at night,” Mrs. Jeffries added with a smile.

Luty snorted. “That’s right, blame me. Come on now, Hepzibah, don’t keep us in suspense anymore. How’d you figure out it was them two?”

“And how’d you know they was going to try and kill Frieda Geddy tonight?” Wiggins added.

“That part was easy,‘Vshe replied. “I knew they had to move tonight. They couldn’t afford for Miss Geddy to make the contents of that letter public. Not when they’d gone to all that trouble to kill Harrison Nye. When Betsy told us what she’d overheard, I realized they must have been keeping an eye on Frieda Geddy. Probably since Lionel Bancroft eavesdropped on Daggett and Nye the night of the murder.”

“How’d you know it was her they was talkin’ about?” Luty asked. “Betsy only heard that someone was comin’ back from Holland.”

“And you’d told us that Frieda Geddy spoke Dutch, and we knew that she was coming home tonight,” Mrs. Jeffries explained. “I knew it couldn’t be a coincidence. Once they knew that Oscar Daggett had confessed to what he and Nye had done to Miss Geddy fifteen years ago, they made it their business to find out where the woman was and when she’d be coming home.”

“Because of the letter?” Hatchet asked.

“Right.”

“Why didn’t they do what we did and just break into her place and steal it?” Wiggins reached for another bun.

“They were afraid to go back to Dunbarton Street,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “They were afraid someone would see them. I think their plan was to give it a few weeks, to wait until the excitement about the murder had died down, and then steal the letter. But their plan was foiled when Miss Geddy decided to return home.”

“I still don’t understand how you knew it was them two,” Mrs. Goodge said.

“I didn’t until tonight.” Mrs. Jeffries closed her eyes briefly, thinking of how close she’d come to getting the whole thing wrong. “It was only when Betsy told us about the footsteps on the back stairs and what she’d overheard at the Nye household that I put it all together. You see, they’ve planned it for ages.”

“Who planned what?” Luty demanded. She didn’t want to complain, but honestly, sometimes following what Hepzibah was saying was harder than chasing a pig through a corn patch.

“Eliza Nye and Lionel Bancroft. They’ve planned on murdering her husband for ages. I think they were actually going to do it the night he was killed—that’s why Eliza Nye added the names of the Windemere brothers to the guest list. She wanted to make sure there were plenty of suspects for the police to worry about.”

“You think she was going to kill him that night anyway?” Betsy asked incredulously. “Now that is a coincidence.”

“Maybe not that night, but I think they were planning on doing it soon. That’s why she wanted the Windemere brothers back in Nye’s life. They were excellent suspects. When Wiggins told us that it was Eliza Nye, not her husband, who put those names on the list, I didn’t understand what it meant. But today I realized she’d done it so the police would be looking at them instead of her. The fact that Oscar Daggett came along with his wild story about his confession only helped their plan along.”

“But they didn’t know about the confession …” Betsy frowned. “Did they? I mean, no one knew but Nye and Daggett.”

“Yes they did,” the housekeeper interrupted. “Lionel Bancroft got up from the dinner table, supposedly to go to the water closet. I expect he did no such thing; I expect he eavesdropped on Nye and Daggett. Also, remember, he’d hired a brougham for that night as well. I think he waited until Nye left, tipped off Mrs. Nye about the change in plans, then the two of them took off for Dunbarton Street.”

“I wonder how she got out of the house?” Mrs. Goodge muttered. “The servants all saw her retire.”

“And they were, no doubt, too busy cleaning up the dining room to notice that she’d slipped down the back stairs and out the back door. Remember, none of them dared disturb her once her door was closed for the night. That was quite a clever ruse on her part. I expect she’d done it a number of times. As a matter of fact, I imagine that every time Nye went out late at night, Mrs. Nye was hot on his heels and out the door herself.”

“How do ya figure that?” Luty asked.

“I’m not certain, of course,” Mrs. Jeffries admitted. “But when I found out about that enclosed staircase it all made sense. She needed time to plot and scheme with her cousin, but she could hardly do that in the house because the servants were around all the time. So what does she do? She gives him some nonsensical story about being a light sleeper and insists that no one disturb her after she’s retired. Then she slips out whenever she wants by going through the dining room, down that staircase and right out the side servants’ entrance. When I heard about the maid getting sacked over the nightdress, it made sense.”

“Huh?” Wiggins frowned and scratched his nose.

“Mrs. Nye nipped out whenever her husband did to see her cousin. She kept a nightdress in a cupboard by the servants’ back door, at least she did until one of the maids found it—what better than to toss a nightgown over your clothes and pretend to be sleepwalking. That way, if you were seen coming and going, you had an excuse at the ready so to speak.”

“But he was her cousin. Why couldn’t they see each other openly?” Betsy asked.

“Because they was always plottin’ and tryin’ to figure out the best way to kill ‘im,” Wiggins put in. “Like Mrs. Jeffries said, they daren’t do that at ‘ome. Someone might overhear ‘em.”

“But they’ve been married two years …” Smythe muttered.

“I don’t think they’ve met all that many times,” Mrs. Jeffries persisted. “But I think they definitely met up on the night of the murder, drove to Fulham in the brougham that Lionel had hired and stabbed him to death before he reached the Geddy house.”

“She stabbed him,” Hatchet muttered. “She said she didn’t trust Lionel to do it right.”

“But why?” Betsy persisted. “She didn’t have it any worse than lots of other women. Why kill him?”

“Because I think she liked being in control. As long as she was married to Nye, she wasn’t. Remember what you told us, Betsy, Nye let her spend his money, but he made her account for each and every penny,” Mrs. Jeffries said.

“But why kill Frieda Geddy?” Mrs. Goodge persisted. “With her husband gone, what did it matter that he’d been a thief. She stood to inherit his money, she could have run off with Lionel whenever she liked.”

“Maybe not,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “I’m not sure what the law is, but I believe if you build a fortune using money that was obtained fraudulently, which is what Nye did, then the fortune can be divvied up and parceled out to the victims of that fraud.”

“In other words, with Oscar Daggett’s confession, Frieda Geddy could tie up Nye’s estate in court for years,” Hatchet said with a satisfied smile.

“Well, we’ve solved another one.” Wiggins leaned back in his chair and yawned. “I think we were right sharp about it too.”

“Now we’ve just got to hope the inspector isn’t too annoyed about what all has transpired tonight,” Mrs. Jeffries murmured. She cocked her head to one side. “I believe I hear a hansom pulling up now.”

They fell silent as they heard his footsteps crossing the hall and come down the stairs. “Yoo hoo,” he called. “Is anyone up … oh good, you’ve waited up.”

Mrs. Jeffries relaxed a bit. He didn’t seem terribly upset. “Yes, sir. Of course we were keen to know what transpired at the station.”

He yawned and took a seat next to Mrs. Jeffries. “Well, it was all a bit muddled at first, neither Bancroft nor Mrs. Nye would make a statement. Finally, Bancroft admitted that they’d conspired to kill her husband. It seems the two of them have been … ah … close for many years. He’s completely in her power. Besotted with the woman.”

“So he’s confessed.” Mrs. Goodge asked.

“Yes. But she hasn’t.-She hasn’t said one word. I don’t think she’s going to either. She’s quite a strong-willed woman. I don’t believe she’s quite sane.” He sighed deeply, then looked around the table. “I want you all to know how deeply grateful I am. If you hadn’t been concerned about the welfare of a woman you’d never even met and trotted along to Dunbarton Street to keep an eye on her, a number of us would all be dead.”

“We were only doing what was right.” Smythe blushed a deep red and looked down at the table.

“We were doing our duty,” Hatchet added.

“Cor blimey, I was scared to death,” Wiggins admitted.

Witherspoon held up his hand for silence. “All of you did far more than your duty and as for being scared”— he smiled at the lad—“so was I. But I do want to make something absolutely clear. I don’t want any of you to ever put yourself in harm’s way for me again. If something happened to any of you, I’d never forgive myself.”

No one said a word. Finally, the inspector rose to his feet. “But then again, I sincerely hope never to be staring down the barrel of a gun again. Again, thank you all. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve such loyalty and friendship from all of you, but I want you to know, I thank God for you every single day of my life. Without you, I’d be a lonely middle-aged man living a life of terrible solitude.”

Smythe had turned even redder, Betsy was dabbing at her eyes, Mrs. Goodge was choking back tears, Hatchet was holding himself so rigidly he looked like he was going to burst and Luty was staring at the tip of her shoe. Only Wiggins was looking at the inspector, and he was grinning from ear to ear.

Mrs. Jeffries rose to her feet and faced her employer. “Without you, sir, we’d be doing the same.”