Mrs. Jeffries Wins the Prize (22 page)

“Don't get your bowels in an uproar.” Blimpey got up. “I was havin' a go at ya and ya fell for it. Come on, then, let's get to movin' if we want to find that young lad before he gets out an' about.”

*   *   *

“I am sorry Mr. Tinworth has been inconvenienced.” The inspector opened the door of the hansom and stepped onto the pavement. “But it isn't our fault he was unaware of Mr. Filmore's murder.”

“He's a businessman, sir, and all he has to do is wait until the local magistrate verifies his bill of sale. Then he can take the fixtures and fittings anywhere he likes.”
Barnes paid the driver. “What did you think of his information, sir?”

“It was most interesting. Apparently, Mr. Filmore knew that he was being watched by his competition and went to great lengths to keep his plans a secret. But I am surprised we didn't find any documents relating to the sale in his flat or shop.” Witherspoon started for the front door and then stopped. “Let's go to the back door, Constable. You did say it was Miss Pooley you wanted to interview?”

“That's right, sir, it was something you said that got me to thinking.” He raced for the servants' entrance, hoping that Witherspoon wouldn't pester him to reveal exactly what it was that had sent them here. He knocked softly on the side door and felt a surge of relief when Peggy Pooley opened it herself.

“Constable Barnes and Inspector Witherspoon.” She gave them a welcoming smile and opened the door wider. “The mistress has gone out, but I can get the housekeeper for you.”

“That won't be necessary, Peggy,” Barnes said. “We don't need to speak to either of them. It's you we're here to see.”

“Really, you want to talk to me again? But I've told you everything I know about that day.”

“We'd like to ask you some additional questions,” Witherspoon said.

“Is it about that ruckus yesterday?” She led them down the hall, pausing only long enough to stick her head in the kitchen. “The police are here again, Mrs. Wickham, and they want to speak to me. I'm taking them into the old butler's pantry.”

“Do they want tea?” Mrs. Wickham called.

Barnes shook his head for the both of them.

“They said no,” Peggy yelled. She continued down the hall. Opening the door to the pantry, she waited until Barnes and the inspector were seated at the rickety table before she joined them. “What do you want to ask me, sir?” she asked the constable.

“Miss Pooley, you told us that you used to work for Mrs. Stanway, right?”

“That's right, sir, Cook and I both came here at the same time. Mrs. Stanway wasn't an easy mistress and she had a bit of a temper, but she never had a fit like the one she had yesterday.”

Barnes had picked Peggy rather than Mrs. Wickham because she liked to talk and he also had a suspicion that she was more inclined to have a bit of a snoop now and then when the mistress wasn't around.

“That must have been very frightening for all the staff.” Witherspoon gave her a sympathetic smile.

“It was, sir, but like I say, Mrs. Stanway wasn't easy to work for, and I don't mind sayin' that both Aunt and I were glad to get out of her house.”

“Can you be more specific?” Barnes asked.

“It was little things.” She tapped a finger against her chin. “It's hard to put it into words, but when she went out, she'd never tell us when she was comin' home, and that made it hard for Auntie to get meals cooked properly. Dinner wasn't a problem, it was served at half seven unless she told us different, but my poor auntie never knew if Mrs. Stanway'd be in for the noon meal, and if she was and it was late or too early, she'd get angry. Plus, she was always lockin' doors.”

“You mean the outside door?” Witherspoon asked.

“Not them, I'm talking about the rooms in the house. She had keys to all of them and she carried them in her skirt pockets. She'd go out for hours, and when she'd come home, she'd go to her room or the drawing room, lock the door, and be inside for hours. I know it sounds silly, but after a while it just made you want to leave. I was ever so glad when Auntie got a position here and took me with her.”

“What a pity that you never had a chance to see what she was doing behind those locked doors.” Barnes shrugged. “It might have been a great help to us.”

She glanced at the closed pantry door. “Well, I wouldn't say I never saw what she was up to.” She giggled. “Don't say anything to Auntie, she's a Congregationalist and they're right strict about snoopin' and such, but I did see something, twice in fact. Both times Mrs. Stanway was in her bedroom. The first time was an accident. Auntie had sent me upstairs to ask her about something, I can't remember what it was, but when I got there, her bedroom door was open an inch or so. Which was odd because she was so careful about keeping it closed and locked, but the latch was loose and it hadn't stayed shut. Mrs. Stanway was cheap and Mr. Layton, the usual man that did repairs for her, was in Manchester and she wouldn't spend the money to have it fixed by anyone else.”

“What did you see?”

“She had a wooden box on her bed, a fancy one with a carved lid, and she was putting something inside it. I couldn't see what it was. She locked it and put the key on the top of the wardrobe ledge. I remember that because she's so short she had to use her footstool to reach it.”

Barnes stopped writing and looked at her. “What did you see the second time? Please, Miss Pooley, this could be very important. Your information could help us catch a killer.”

“Well, I'd not like you to think I make a habit of doing this, but the second time was the next day. Mrs. Stanway come and hurried upstairs, but it was my afternoon out so I went up to get ready to leave. Just like before, the door was open a bit, so I had a look. Only this time, she'd taken things out of the box and spread them on her bed.”

“What things?” Witherspoon asked.

“A small black lacquer box—it was really lovely, it had a mother-of-pearl inlay—and a stack of letters tied up with a blue ribbon; a pouch of some kind, but of course I couldn't see what was in it; and a small brown bottle, you know, the kind you get at the chemist's shop.”

*   *   *

“What are you doin' here?” Susan Sawyer looked over her shoulder toward the kitchen.

Phyllis was at the servants' door of the Stanway house, and she was glad that the previous time she'd met the housemaid, she'd pretended to work for a private inquiry agent. “I need to ask you something. Can you slip out for a minute or two?”

“You're lucky the mistress is out,” Susan whispered. “Cook's doing next week's menu so I've got a couple of minutes, but that's all.” She stepped outside and eased the door shut. “I may not like it here, but I need my position.”

“Last Monday, when Mr. Filmore was murdered, what time did Mrs. Stanway come home?”

“She didn't,” Susan said. “She didn't get home on
Monday till late in the evening. The only reason Cook and I didn't get upset is because she often comes and goes at odd times. I've told you that before.”

“What time on Monday evening?” Phyllis pressed. She didn't understand why Mrs. Jeffries wanted to know about Thea Stanway's movements after the murder, but Phyllis knew it must be important.

“Sawyer, Sawyer,” a voice called from inside the house. “Where are you? These potatoes need peeling.”

“I've got to go.” She opened the door and stepped inside. “Coming, ma'am, I just stepped out to get a breath of air.” She started to close the door but Phyllis shoved her foot in the opening.

“Please, it's important. What time did she get home that night?”

“It was after ten,” Susan hissed. “I know because I was up past eleven cleaning up after she ate her dinner! Now go away before I get the sack.”

*   *   *

“Cor blimey, it's taken me half the day to find you,” Wiggins said to Kevin Nelson. He'd finally found the lad coming out of St. Michael's churchyard. “You weren't on your patch.”

Kevin didn't stop walking. “I'm too busy to hang about the station now. Mrs. Attwater's still got me keepin' watch on the Rayburn house, only she wants me to nip back to her place three times a day. She's payin' me a shillin' a day, can you believe it, a whole shillin'.”

Wiggins increased his pace to keep up with the lad. “Can I ask ya something? On the mornin' of the murder, was you keepin' watch on the Rayburn house then?”

“Some of the time, but I nipped back to the station when it started to rain hard.” He turned the corner and crossed the busy road, dodging between a delivery van and an omnibus.

Wiggins let the van pass and then ran to catch up with Kevin. “Did you see anyone hangin' about the place before it started to rain?”

“Lots of people, but I don't know 'em by name . . . Wait a minute, I tell a lie, I saw Mrs. Stanway.”

“You know who she is?” Wiggins pressed.

“'Course I do. Mrs. Attwater pointed her and another lady named Mrs. Martell out when they were comin' from the Rayburn house. She told me their names and said it was real important I tell her every time one of them went to visit Mrs. Rayburn or when Mrs. Stanway came to see her old nanny. That's where I'm headed now. I've got to tell Mrs. Attwater that Mrs. Stanway is here again.”

“Is that where you saw her on Monday, going to her nanny's?”

“She was comin' from the old lady's flat on Monday.” Kevin moved sharply right and Wiggins angled to his left to avoid a black-suited businessman racing toward Kensington Station.

“Funny thing is,” Kevin continued, “she was wearin' a big hat that hid her face and an overcoat that dragged along the ground. The only reason I recognized her was because she stumbled and lost her grip on the carpetbag and the hat went to one side so I could see who she was.”

*   *   *

“The ramifications of Miss Pooley's statement could be enormous.” Witherspoon grabbed the handhold as the
hansom careened around the corner onto Webster Crescent. “If, of course, the letters she saw from Thea Stanway's box are the same ones that we found in Hiram Filmore's shop.”

Barnes thought before he spoke. Mrs. Jeffries and Mrs. Goodge had given him so much information this morning that he was worried he'd accidentally blurt out a fact the inspector would know hadn't come from the police investigation. It had been difficult enough steering him to the Rayburn home to speak to Peggy Pooley, but Barnes had managed it by pointing out that Miss Pooley had worked for two of the three ladies and therefore might know more than she thought she did. He'd only gone there because Mrs. Jeffries had said they needed to know more about Thea Stanway's character and hoped that her former servants could give them more insight. It was only luck that had led to them finding out about the contents of the rosewood box. “She did say that the letters were tied with a blue ribbon and the ones we found at Filmore's shop were bound in the same manner.”

The hansom pulled up in front of the Attwater home and the constable silently prayed the hints he'd dropped while they'd discussed the case on the ride here had hit the mark. Mrs. Jeffries had been very specific in what she needed to know, and she'd been sure that as the day progressed, the inquiries she wanted the constable to spearhead would lead both him and the inspector to what she hoped was the right conclusion. At the moment, his only wish was that she hadn't made a mess of things.

“It was good of you to suggest we speak to the girl again.” Witherspoon opened the door and stepped out. “Excellent work, Constable.”

The front door opened as they climbed the stairs. Kareema smiled politely. “Good day, gentlemen.”

“Good day, ma'am.” Witherspoon nodded politely and whipped off his bowler. “Is Mrs. Attwater at home? We'd like to speak with her.”

She motioned for them to come inside. “She is. If you'll wait in the drawing room, I'll get her.”

Mrs. Attwater didn't keep them waiting long; she swept into the drawing room with a welcoming smile. “Inspector, Constable, how nice to see you again. Would you like tea?”

“No, ma'am, we're not staying long. But we do have a few questions for you.”

She took a chair opposite them. “Ask me anything. I want to see Hiram Filmore's killer caught.”

Witherspoon opened his mouth but Barnes interrupted before he could get the words out. “May we ask why, Mrs. Attwater? From what we understand, Hiram Filmore's testimony ensured that the English officers who killed your fiancé were never punished.”

She said nothing for a moment. “You know about that. I'm not surprised. Evil always leaves a trail. There were many people involved in covering up what was essentially the murder of an innocent man. All of them were guilty.” She smiled proudly. “And that's why I wanted Filmore's killer caught. I knew the murderer had to be one of those women, and once you make an arrest, all of this, all of what they did, will come out at the trial. The killer will hang and the others will be ruined socially.”

“By those women, I take it you mean—”

She interrupted him. “Helena Rayburn, Isabelle
Martell, and Thea Stanway. One of them did it. I'm sure of it. Filmore was out of money, his business wasn't doing well, and old habits die hard. He got the seed money for his business by being a paid liar and blackmailer. He needed cash to fund another trip out to the tropics.”

“You're implying he was blackmailing one of these women?” Witherspoon said.

“I'm certain of it. But all of them had something to hide, so as to which one was going to be his current victim”—she shrugged—“I don't know. But I've every faith in you and Constable Barnes. Your record for solving murders is remarkable so I'm sure you'll arrest the right one.”