The Ghost and Mrs. Jeffries (27 page)

Phipps stopped. “As a matter of fact, I know precisely what I was doing. I was at home with my mother—we live just over my shop in Lewis Road.” He faltered as he saw the inspector and Barnes exchange glances.

“I was there until half past nine,” he continued. “Then I escorted a lady friend to the train station. Both ladies will be quite happy to confirm my whereabouts on the night in question, I’m sure.”

“What’s the name of your lady friend, sir?” Witherspoon asked. He held his breath.

“Mrs. Popejoy.” Phipps smiled proudly. “Esme Popejoy. A lady who I hope will soon do me the honor of consenting to be my wife.”

Betsy pounded on the door knocker and then scurried quickly into the shadows. She saw the door open and the maid appeared. Hilda Brown frowned and stepped outside. She glanced up and down the road.

Betsy held her breath as the girl shrugged her shoulders and turned to go back inside. Suddenly she stopped, knelt down and picked up the envelope that was lying at her feet.

Betsy let her breath out as the maid went back into the house.

It was exactly six o’clock.

Silently Betsy stepped out of the shadows and hurried
down the road to the waiting carriage.

“Cor, it took you long enough,” Smythe growled as he opened the door and helped her inside. He climbed in behind her.

“Well, I had to wait and make sure she saw it,” she responded. “Mr. Hodges is due home soon. Let’s hope she gives it to him right away. If this is goin’ to work, he’s got to make his move in the next hour.”

“When you requested a private reading,” Esme Popejoy said, glancing from Luty to Hatchet and then to their heavily veiled companion, “I assumed you meant you’d be alone.”

Luty waved one diamond-bedecked hand negligently. “Does it make a difference whether there’s one or two of us? I didn’t think you’d mind, considerin’ what I’m payin’.” She gestured to her companion with her large fur muff. “This here’s my sister, she ain’t never been to one of these here séances. But if my bringin’ her troubles you, I’ll be glad to ante up with a little more cash.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Mrs. Popejoy said. “Your sister’s presence doesn’t bother me, but then, I’m not the one who matters.” She smiled and turned to the table in the center of the room. “It’s Lady Lucia who occasionally gets temperamental. She doesn’t like surprises. Please, come over and sit down.”

“If it’s all the same to you, madam,” Hatchet said, edging quietly towards the window behind the table, “I’d prefer to stand over here, out of harm’s way, so to speak.”

Mrs. Popejoy raised one delicate eyebrow and cocked her head prettily to one side. Dressed in an elegant peacock-blue evening dress and matching velvet ribbons in her upswept auburn hair, she was the very picture of the lady of the manor.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” she stated firmly. “I don’t allow anyone to stand away from the circle during my séances. It upsets the balance.”

Hatchet tripped over a footstool and stumbled backward, catching himself on the window ledge.

“Are you all right?” Luty cried. She grinned at Mrs. Popejoy. “Clumsy feller, always trippin’ over his own feet.”

“I’m quite all right, madam,” Hatchet replied tartly. He leaned against the window for a brief moment, his hand resting on the lock. “Just give me a minute to recover.”

“If you’ll be seated,” Mrs. Popejoy prompted, “we’ll get started.”

As soon as the butler had sat down, she clapped her hands together and a maid appeared. The girl began turning off the lamps as Mrs. Popejoy lit one large white candle and pushed it into the center of the table.

From outside the window, three people crouched quietly in the bushes. Mrs. Jeffries and Betsy stood on one side and Smythe on the other. Keeping low, they all cocked their heads as close as they dared to the small opening. Luckily Hatchet had been able to get the French window cracked enough for them to hear some of what was going on in the room. If they were really lucky, Mrs. Jeffries decided as she stared at the narrow opening between the small panes of glass, an unwanted blast of wind wouldn’t give them away.

“Please join hands and close your eyes,” Mrs. Popejoy ordered. Save for the one flickering candle, the room was now in darkness.

Luty held her breath as she saw the candle flame twist and jump as though it were being chased by the wind, which, she knew, it was. Hatchet’s little stumble had accomplished their goal. Now she only hoped that this daring plan would actually work. If it didn’t, she was going to end up with a lot of explaining to do.

Luty extended her hands. Hatchet sat to her right and Nessie to her left. Then she waited for the séance to begin.

Mrs. Popejoy began to breathe deeply and evenly. Luty saw the flame jump again and she felt like spitting. The medium’s chest began to move up and down as she took in long and large breaths of air. Suddenly a low, eerie keening sound issued from the woman’s throat.

The keening turned into a moan and then a wail. “Darkness,” the medium finally whispered, “darkness everywhere.”

From Luty’s left, there was a low groan.

Mrs. Popejoy didn’t open her eyes, but her mouth moved. “Death, despair. I must tell you…I must warn you.”

“Water,” came a voice from out of nowhere. “Drowning. No, no, murder!”

Mrs. Popejoy’s eyes and mouth popped open at the same time.

But the voice continued. “They killed me. Killed me. Murder, murder.”

“Who the dickens are ya?” Luty blurted when it looked like Mrs. Popejoy was going to say something.

“My name is Dorothy.” The voice was a piteous wail.

As instructed, Luty kept her eyes on Mrs. Popejoy, who was rapidly turning white. “What do ya want?”

“Justice,” the voice screeched.

Hatchet jumped and the veiled lady jumped too.

“Is that Lady Lucia?” the butler asked Mrs. Popejoy quickly.

Mrs. Popejoy blinked in confusion. Luty almost laughed out loud. They had the woman between a rock and a hard place. The medium could hardly admit she hadn’t the faintest idea what was going on.

“Dead.” This voice was decidedly different from the first. “Murder.”

“Who the blazes is this one?” Luty asked. “Lady Lucia? Yoo-hoo, are you Lady Lucia?”

“Abigail…” The voice trailed off. “Murdered.”

Mrs. Popejoy was slowly rising from her chair, her face a mask of shock.

Suddenly the door to the drawing room burst open. Inspector Witherspoon, Constable Barnes and Ashley Phipps entered.

“You can’t go in there, sir,” yelled the maid. She rushed after them. “Mrs. Popejoy is having a séance.”

The bright light from the hallway spilled into the darkened drawing room. Mrs. Popejoy, her hand at her throat, her eyes wide with fear, stared at Ashley Phipps as if she’d seen a ghost.

“Dreadfully sorry, Mrs. Popejoy,” the inspector began. “I say, it’s awfully dark in here, do you think we could have some light?”

The maid looked at Mrs. Popejoy, but the woman wasn’t paying any attention to her. Her eyes were fixed on Ashley Phipps. The girl hesitated for a second and then began to light the lamps.

“So sorry to interrupt you, Esme dear,” Phipps said, “but this police inspector here seems to think I’ve something to do with some murder.”

“Egads,” the inspector cried as he caught sight of Luty Belle. “It’s Mrs. Crookshank. What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come fer a séance,” she said tartly. “And we were gettin’ a right earful before you interrupted. Some women named Dorothy and Abigail was comin’ through from the other side. They claimed they was murdered. Maybe it’s a good thing you showed up after all.”

Mrs. Popejoy suddenly gasped and they all turned as Leonard Hodges came stalking into the drawing room.

“Leonard,” she yelped, “what are you doing here?”

He pulled a note out of his pocket. “You sent me a note, you said it was urgent.”

“I did no such thing,” she said earnestly, glancing quickly at the inspector. “I think you’d better leave,” she continued in a weak voice. “We’re rather busy right now.”

“Please don’t go, Mr. Hodges,” the inspector put in hastily. “It’s just as well you dropped in. The constable and I have a few questions for you.”

“Just a minute,” Phipps chimed in. He stared at Hodges. “Who are you?”

Hodges seemed to notice Phipps for the first time. He started in surprise and then glanced quickly at Mrs. Popejoy.

No one spoke. There was only the sound of Hatchet’s chair as he quietly got to his feet.

“I don’t know what the meaning of this is,” Mrs. Popejoy began.

Witherspoon decided to take control of the situation. “Mr. Hodges. You stated that you escorted Mrs. Popejoy to the train station on the night your wife was murdered, is that correct?”

“Of course.” Hodges looked nervously from Phipps to Mrs. Popejoy.

“But Mr. Phipps here claims he was the one who escorted Mrs. Popejoy on the night of January fourth.”

“He’s mistaken. Tell him, Esme, tell him he’s wrong.”

“I most certainly am not mistaken,” Phipps insisted. “For goodness’ sakes, Esme. My mother and Mrs. Cravit both saw you when you came to the door. This is ridiculous. Just tell this policeman the truth.”

“The truth,” she whispered.

“Don’t say another word, Esme,” Hodges ordered.

“Esme,” Phipps exclaimed. “What on earth is going on here? You know yourself we made arrangements for me to take you to the station weeks ago.”

“Is it Dorothy who got herself murdered?” Luty asked innocently. “Or was it someone named Abigail?”

The inspector shot Luty a puzzled frown. Constable Barnes cleared his throat and Hatchet moved over to stand by the door.

“Mr. Hodges, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to come down to the station to help with our inquiries,” Witherspoon said.

“Based on what?” Hodges snapped. He pointed at Phipps. “This man’s word. I don’t see why you should believe him.”

“It’s not just Mr. Phipps’s word. You see, we’ve also found the driver of the hansom you and Mrs. Popejoy took that night. He’s prepared to swear that he stopped in Lewis Road. That’s where you obviously slipped off, and Mrs. Popejoy then allowed Mr. Phipps to accompany her. What we’d like to know, sir, is where did you go when you left Mrs. Hodges?”

Hodges looked wild. “This is absurd. Why, Esme can confirm that I never left her side that evening.”