Mrs. Jeffries Speaks Her Mind (28 page)

She thought for a moment and then shook her head. “No, Inspector, I saw no one. But I’m a heavy sleeper, so if they broke into the carriage house during the night, I wouldn’t have heard them.”

“I had the constables wait at the back of the house, sir,” Barnes said to Witherspoon. “The local station gave us four men. Will that be enough?” They were standing in the foyer of the Kettering house. Barnes had gotten Mrs. Jeffries’ message and then sent Wiggins back to Upper Edmonton Gardens with the news that the items stolen from the Kettering house over the past year had been found. He’d then gone to the Hammersmith station and requested assistance.

“It should be sufficient,” Witherspoon replied. He wasn’t precisely sure why he’d been so adamant the house be searched again, but as Mrs. Jeffries was always telling him, his “inner voice” hadn’t let him down yet, so he should trust that he knew what he was about.

“This is an old house, sir,” Barnes said. “Why don’t I start belowstairs?”

“That will be fine.” Witherspoon looked confused. “But I don’t see what the age of the house has to do with anything.”

Barnes laughed. Since his meeting with Mrs. Jeffries he knew exactly what to say. He’d been mentally practicing to get just the right words. “You said it yourself, sir, if this place was built by a royalist in Cromwell’s time, there might be secret passages about.”

“I did?” Confused, the inspector made a face. “But I thought secret passages were done when the Tudors outlawed Catholicism.”

“Those were priest holes, sir.” Barnes started for the back staircase. “Different, yet, in one way, very much the same; a lot of royalists in Cromwell’s time copied the idea. Cromwell did like to swing the axe, and when they came to arrest someone, a nice hiding place could come in handy. Where should I have the lads start, sir? The cook’s room?”

“Yes, that’ll be fine. Have two of them on the main corridor and two of them search the second floor. You and I can do belowstairs.” Witherspoon hurried after the constable. If there were any secret passages to be found, he wanted to be in on it.

 

“Mrs. Jeffries, Mrs. Jeffries, are you in there?” Wiggins called as he charged through the back door. He was in a hurry. Fred, who’d been sleeping peacefully by the cooker, jumped up and raced for the hallway.

“I’m right here, Wiggins.” Alarmed, Mrs. Jeffries looked up from the household accounts and shoved back from the table as she stumbled to her feet. Mrs. Goodge, who was sifting dry ingredients for a cake, dropped the sifter into the bowl with a loud crash, startling Samson, who was under the table waiting for a treat to fall his way, into scrambling out and running for the staircase.

Wiggins skidded to a halt as he flew into the kitchen, oblivious that he’d scared the cat, startled the dog, frightened the cook, and driven Mrs. Jeffries to her feet. “Cor blimey, things are startin’ to ’appen!” he exclaimed. “The inspector ’as found all that stuff that’s been nicked from the Kettering house.”

“Wait, wait, don’t say another word until I get there,” Betsy shouted as she ran down the steps, her footsteps thumping in quick succession and making even more noise than Wiggins.

“Betsy, slow down. You’ll hurt yourself,” Mrs. Jeffries warned. “He’ll not say another word until you’re here.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Betsy cried. Panting, she dashed into the kitchen, steadying herself on a chair as she almost went past the table. She smiled brilliantly. “I heard you come in,” she said to Wiggins. “I didn’t want to miss anything.”

“Everyone sit down!” the cook yelled. She gave Wiggins a good glare. “You’ve scared my poor cat and almost given both Mrs. Jeffries and I heart failure. Unless someone is dead, you’ll sit yourself down and tell us what’s happened.” She turned her attention to the maid. “And you’ll not be running down any more stairs, young lady. That’s dangerous and you can end up turning an ankle.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Goodge,” Mrs. Jeffries said.

“Sorry,” Betsy said meekly as she pulled out her chair and took her seat.

“I’m sorry, too.” Wiggins pulled out his chair as well. “I was just excited and I do need to get back.” He reached down and petted Fred, who was nudging him with his head. “Easy, boy, go back to your spot and lie down. I’ll take you walkies tonight when I get back.”

“Now, what was it you wanted to tell us?” Mrs. Jeffries asked.

“You know all them knickknacks that was pinched since the Society of the Humble started meetin’ at the Kettering house? They were found right there on the property. Constable Barnes wanted you to know about it right away.” He repeated everything that Barnes had told him, making sure that he didn’t skip even the smallest detail. When he finished, he pushed back from the table and started to get up.

“Wait a moment, Wiggins,” Mrs. Jeffries ordered. “Don’t be in such a rush. I want to think about what this could mean.”

“But Mrs. Jeffries, they might need me at Brook Green,” Wiggins whined. He didn’t want to be stuck here if something interesting was going to happen, and he had a strong suspicion that was where the excitement would be.

She thought for a moment. “That’s true, they might, and it isn’t as if you can walk up to the Kettering house and tell the constable what I suspect finding the stolen goods might mean.”

 

Witherspoon hadn’t a clue as to what he ought to be looking for, but he diligently tapped on the walls and examined the baseboards of the servants’ dining hall. So far, he’d found nothing. Constable Barnes was across the hall in what had once been the butler’s pantry but now served as a storage room.

The inspector pulled the least rickety of the chairs over to the shelves and climbed up. He pushed gingerly against the corner of a cabinet and then realized he was being silly. There was so much crockery in this cupboard the thing would rattle and shake like the very dickens if someone tried to used it as a doorway. Suddenly, he felt awfully foolish. Secret passages indeed! That was the sort of nonsense one saw at the theater or read about in novels.

“I’ve found something, sir.”

Barnes’ voice startled him and he jerked, rocking the chair. He jumped onto the floor and landed so hard he felt it in his knees.

“Are you alright, sir?” Barnes asked anxiously. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I’m fine.” Witherspoon straightened up. “And I was surprised, not scared. What have you found?”

“I’m not sure.” Barnes nodded toward the butler’s pantry. “I know your methods, sir, so I left the evidence right where it was. You’d better come have a look yourself.”

Witherspoon followed him across the corridor. The pantry was a good-sized room where the good china and glassware were stored. Directly opposite the door were three glass-fronted cabinets filled with fine china and crystal. At the end of the row of cabinets, the room lengthened another five feet, ending in a wall filled with shelves holding brightly colored tablecloths, stacks of folded serviettes, fringed tabletop shawls, and lace runners.

“It’s here, sir,” Barnes said, moving toward the shelves. He turned and looked at the wall.

Witherspoon moved next to him and Barnes pointed at a piece of cloth caught on a nail on the edge of the cabinets. “There, sir, that doesn’t look like it belongs there, does it?”

“Indeed it doesn’t. Get it and let’s have a closer look.”

The constable retrieved the fabric. “It looks like green lace,” he said, handing it to Witherspoon. “But that’s an odd place to find such a thing.”

The inspector had no idea why he did what he did, but before he could stop himself, he leaned forward, lifted his arm so that it brushed against the nail, and then pressed hard against the wall. Nothing happened.

“Bring your arm down a bit, sir,” Barnes suggested. “And try pressing on the center piece of the molding.”

Witherspoon drew back and looked at the wood. The molding had once been painted but was now a dullish gray color. At first glance it appeared to be three rounded edges carved into a single piece of wood. But on closer examination, he realized there were cracks between the layers. He pressed hard against the center one and heard a faint click. “I heard something; let’s push against the wall.”

Both men pushed hard, but they needn’t have exerted themselves, as the wall suddenly opened inward, revealing a narrow passage.

“Oh, my gracious, look at that, look at that. There is a secret passage.” Witherspoon was as excited as a schoolboy.

Barnes knew what to say. “Why are you surprised, sir? You said there would be something here. Well, you didn’t say it in so many words, but that was certainly what you implied.” This was stretching the truth just a bit, but if Mrs. Jeffries’ theory was correct, it was in a good cause. He’d planted the seeds of her idea as he and Witherspoon made their way here today, and he was relieved that, thus far, she appeared to be right. “Should I go get a lamp? It looks dark in there.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” the inspector murmured. He barely heard the constable; his entire attention was focused on the opening. A secret passage, gracious, he’d always wanted to find one. “I wonder how far it goes. Do you suppose it goes all the way to the upper floors? In which case, there’d need to be a secret staircase. My word, Constable, this is really something, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir, of course,” Barnes muttered. “I’ll just get us some light and then we’ll have a proper look-see.”

While the constable was gone, Witherspoon tried to bring his emotions under control. He wanted to think about this properly. First they’d found the stolen items from the house and now they’d stumbled across this secret passage. But what did it all mean? Would it help him catch the killer? What if it had nothing to do with the murder? What if it was simply an old servants’ staircase that had been boarded up and forgotten?

“I’ve got a lamp, sir.” Barnes returned, holding up an old-fashioned paraffin lamp. “And I’ve sent the maid to fetch the constables from upstairs. I thought you might want to post them at the outside doors.”

It took the inspector a moment to understand. “Oh yes, that’s a very good idea. The news of this discovery won’t stay secret for very long, especially if we’re walking about making noise; and if we find evidence in here, we don’t want anyone leaving the house.”

The sound of footsteps in the corridor signaled the arrival of the two police constables. Barnes stepped out into the hall and gave them their instructions.

“The lads will be at their posts in a couple of minutes, sir,” he reported. He reached for the lamp.

Witherspoon nodded. He’d been thinking furiously. He wished Mrs. Jeffries were here. Talking with her always helped him clarify his thoughts.

“Shall we go, sir?” Barnes asked eagerly. Holding the lamp high, he stepped into the passageway. The inspector was right behind him.

The space was long and narrow. Barnes lowered the lamp and examined the floor. “There doesn’t seem to be much dust, sir.”

“Which could mean that someone has been using this passage quite regularly,” Witherspoon commented. An idea was beginning to grow and take shape in his mind as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. “What’s that straight ahead of us?”

Barnes blinked. He’d not seen anything, but then, the inspector’s eyes were a bit younger. He held the light up. “It’s a staircase, sir.”

The staircase was enclosed between two walls, steep and with a low ceiling. Moving cautiously, they crossed the small space and Barnes put his foot on the first step. He pressed down hard, testing to make sure it would hold their weight. “This looks pretty old and it’s cramped and narrow to boot. Let’s hope the wood isn’t rotten and that we don’t fall through and break an ankle or a leg.”

“It won’t collapse, Constable,” the inspector said with utter certainty. Keeping their heads low, they started up the stairs. The old wood creaked and moaned as they climbed.

“There’s a landing of some sort here,” Barnes said, lifting the light higher. Despite the coolness of the day, he was sweating. “And it looks like there’s a cabinet or some kind of table as well.” He reached the top and stopped. On the table sat what looked like a bundle of cloth and a small tin box. He put the lamp down on the corner.

“What’s that, Constable?” Witherspoon stepped around him and gingerly poked at the bundle. “There’s nothing alive in there.” He picked up the heap and shook it out. “It’s a cloak. What’s it doing up here?”

“That’s not all, sir.” Barnes pointed to the spot the cloak had covered. “It looks like we’ve found the gun.”

Witherspoon nodded in agreement. “That other thing, is it a tea tin?”

Barnes picked it up. “I think so, sir.” He opened the lid and took a sniff. “No, I tell a lie, it’s drinking chocolate.”

“I expect that’s the reason poor Mrs. McAllister was hearing footsteps in the night,” Witherspoon murmured. He was a bit dazed as the ideas whirled about in his head and began to come together and point to a killer. But it could be either of two people. Drat. Which one was it?