Mrs. Jeffries Takes the Stage (26 page)

But surely she wasn’t that smallminded. That petty.
Surely she was more interested in justice than in gratifying her own sense of importance. Or was she? She pushed the idea out of her mind. She hadn’t deliberately kept anything from the others. They’d been in a dreadful hurry today and she’d simply forgotten. She’d tell them tonight.

She’d also have a nice, long chat with the inspector. If there was something else she’d forgotten to tell him, he’d learn it right after supper.

“Hepzibah.” Lady Cannonberry’s voice jolted her out of her reverie. “How nice to find you out here.”

“Gracious, Ruth, I didn’t expect you back until next week.” Mrs. Jeffries smiled at the fair-haired, slender middle-aged woman walking toward her.

“I came back early.” Ruth Cannonberry sat down next to her and gazed out at the peaceful garden. “This is so lovely, so quiet. The train station was an absolute mad-house today.”

“You came back by train?”

“Yes. I’d forgotten how crowded the trains are this time of year. The crush was awful. But it still amazes me that even in such a huge crowd, one always manages to run into someone one knows.” She laughed.

“That does happen.”

“I did something terrible, Hepzibah,” she confided. “Jane Riddleton was at the station too. She must have come up on the same train as I did. But naturally, she’d have ridden in first class. No mixing with the masses for Jane. God forbid the woman actually speak to someone who might work for a living. I ducked behind a pillar so she wouldn’t see me.”

“Is she not a nice woman, then?” Mrs. Jeffries asked politely. Lady Cannonberry’s late husband had been a peer of the realm, but Ruth Cannonberry was a vicar’s daughter with a social conscience and political opinions
that bordered on the radical. But she rarely said anything nasty about someone. She was simply too nice a person. If she made negative comments at all, she generally reserved them for the government, the church, or a variety of other institutions that she believed oppressed people, especially the poor.

“She’s a terrible gossip,” Ruth replied bluntly. “I knew if she caught me, I’d have to listen to her make catty remarks about my sister-in-law, Muriel. Muriel is behaving like an idiot, but I didn’t particularly want to listen to Jane go on about it.”

“Oh, dear.”

Ruth sighed. “That doesn’t make any sense, does it? I’m annoyed with Muriel too. More than annoyed, actually. I’m furious.”

“What on earth has she done?” Mrs. Jeffries queried.

“Muriel is making a complete fool of herself over some young man and the whole county is talking about it,” Ruth replied. She crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s one of the reasons I came home early. My tolerance for the intrigues and excitements of picnics, balls and dinner parties just isn’t what it used to be.”

Mrs. Jeffries gazed at her curiously. “Gracious, you do sound like you’ve had an interesting visit.”

“More tiring than interesting, I assure you. Because I’m a widow, Muriel decided I could act as chaperone for her. She apparently exhausted her mother some time ago. The silly girl dragged me to every social event in Sussex. Besides, if I hadn’t left, I’m afraid I’d have done something unforgiveable.”

Surprised, Mrs. Jeffries said, “You?”

“Yes, me.” Ruth grimaced. “Muriel’s following the poor young man about everywhere, pestering him mercilessly and even going so far as to try to discredit the
young lady Thomas is in love with. Isn’t that despicable? She’s telling terrible tales about a perfectly nice young woman just so Catherine will be humiliated and come back to London. I was very much afraid I was going to lose my temper and box Muriel’s ears. Goodness knows, she certainly deserved it. Honestly, what some people will do to win back a suitor.”

“Win back?”

“Oh, yes, Muriel and Thomas were engaged. But he broke it off when he met Catherine. Muriel, instead of acting with any dignity about the whole affair, has instead behaved like a shrew. Thomas absolutely loathes the sight of her. Even if Catherine came back to London, he certainly wouldn’t have a thing to do with Muriel.” She paused to take a breath, then closed her eyes briefly. “Oh, forgive me, Hepzibah, I’m wittering on like a magpie. It’s terribly rude. I haven’t even asked how you are.”

But Mrs. Jeffries didn’t hear her; she was too busy thinking.

“Hepzibah?” Ruth prodded as the housekeeper stared straight ahead. “Is everything all right?”

A dozen puzzle pieces clicked together in Mrs. Jeffries’s mind.

She leapt to her feet. “Ruth, you’re a genius. Thank goodness you came back. Thank goodness. I’ve got it now. I’m sure of it.”

“Got what?”

“You must forgive me,” Mrs. Jeffries cried as she dashed toward the house, “but I’ve got to get Betsy before she goes out. Do come by later on and I’ll tell you all about it.”

“Is it a murder?” Ruth asked excitedly.

“Yes.”

“Can I help?”

Mrs. Jeffries laughed. “You already have.”

“You want me to what?” Betsy asked.

“I want you to find this Oliver person who told you about Theodora Vaughan’s broken carriage.” Mrs. Jeffries explained. “And I want you to find out several very specific things.”

She gave Betsy detailed instructions. When she was finished, Betsy said, “I understand, but what if I can’t get to him? He’s likely to be in the house.”

Mrs. Jeffries thought about that problem for a moment. “Go to the back door and tell the cook you’ve a message from Oliver’s mother. If you have to, lie. Make up a sad tale of some sort and get that boy outside so you can question him away from the house. It’s imperative that no one, especially Mr. Delaney or Miss Vaughan, overhears you talking to him.”

“I’ll do my best,” Betsy said doubtfully.

“You’re a very intelligent woman, Betsy,” Mrs. Jeffries said honestly, “and if I had time, I’d explain everything to you. But the truth is, I don’t have any idea how much time we do have. If I’m right, Inspector Witherspoon may be on the verge of arresting the wrong person.”

Betsy straightened up and lifted her chin. “I’ll get the answers, Mrs. Jeffries. You can count on me.”

“Good. I knew I could. Off you go, now.”

As soon as Betsy had gone, Mrs. Jeffries hurried upstairs to find Wiggins. By the time she reached his room on the third floor, she was breathless. She knocked and then shoved the door open.

Wiggins was sound asleep. Fred was curled up at his
feet. The dog woke first, spotted the housekeeper and thumped his tail in apology for being caught on the bed. But Mrs. Jeffries had far more important matters to worry about than a bit of dog hair. “Wiggins.” She shook him by the shoulder. “Wake up this instant.”

“Huh?” Wiggins mumbled groggily. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “But I need you to do something right away. It’s urgent.”

“Urgent? All right,” he mumbled. It always took him a moment or two to wake up.

Mrs. Jeffries waited patiently for his eyes to focus. “Are you awake yet?”

“I think so.”

“Good. I need you to go out and find Smythe.”

“Where do I look?”

“Try the area around the Hayden Theatre, but find him and tell him to get back here as soon as he can.” She wondered if she was going to make a fool of herself in front of everyone and then decided that it didn’t matter. She’d take her chances. “As soon as you find him, go over to Luty’s and tell her and Hatchet to get here right away.”

Wiggins stumbled to his feet. “What do I tell ’em?”

“Just tell them to get here as quickly as they can. I think I may have figured out who killed Ogden Hinchley.”

The later it got, the more Mrs. Jeffries’s nerves tightened. She’d no idea why she had such a sense of urgency, but she did. As afternoon faded into evening, she almost wore a hole in the drawing room carpet. Mrs. Goodge’s sources were in the kitchen and she didn’t want to disturb the cook.

Finally, though, she heard footsteps on the back stairs. Betsy popped her head around the corner. She grinned. “I did it. I found out just what you wanted.”

“Excellent, Betsy. Does Mrs. Goodge still have guests downstairs?”

“The butcher’s boy was just leaving when I came in,” Betsy replied. “Should we go down?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “With any luck, the others will be here soon.”

Mrs. Goodge gazed at them curiously when they came into the room. “Is everything all right?”

“No, Mrs. Goodge,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “It isn’t. But hopefully, when the others get here, it will be.”

“Should I make us a pot of tea?”

“That would be a wonderful idea,” the housekeeper replied.

Despite the curious looks from Betsy and Mrs. Goodge, Mrs. Jeffries refused to say anything more until the others arrived. It wouldn’t be fair. She’d no idea whether or not Wiggins would be able to track down Smythe, but considering how guilty she felt about the way she’d conducted herself on this case, she’d wait till they were all here to say what was on her mind. It was the least she could do.

Smythe came in first. “Wiggins’ll be here soon with Luty and Hatchet,” he announced. “What’s up? The lad said it was urgent.”

“Why don’t we wait till the others are here?” Mrs. Jeffries said as she sat a pot of tea on the table. “I’ll explain everything then.”

Smythe nodded and, as soon as the housekeeper’s back was turned, glanced at Betsy. She shrugged to indicate she didn’t know what was going on either. But they only had to wait a few moments before they heard the back
door open. “I’ve got ’em,” Wiggins called out from the hall.

Luty and Hatchet hurried into the room. “What’s goin’ on, Hepzibah?” Luty demanded. “I was on my way out to corner old Mickleshaft when Wiggins come flyin’ in sayin’ ya needed us.”

“Sit down everyone,” Mrs. Jeffries commanded. “And I’ll explain everything.”

Something in her tone brooked no argument or questions, and without another word, everyone took their seats.

Mrs. Jeffries looked at Betsy. “Tell me what you learned from Oliver.”

“Who’s Oliver?” Smythe asked.

“Theodora Vaughan’s footman,” Betsy said quickly. “He told me that he’d accompanied Miss Vaughan from her country house up to Victoria Station last Saturday. You were right, Mrs. Jeffries. She did run into someone she knew. It was a man.”

The knot of tension in Mrs. Jeffries’s stomach began to ease. “Did Oliver remember what he looked like?”

“He was small and well dressed,” Betsy continued “He and Miss Vaughan talked for a good fifteen minutes. Oliver said the man must’ve said something to upset her because she was in a real rage by the time he hailed a hansom and got her in it.”

Mrs. Jeffries closed her eyes as relief flooded her whole body. She was right. She had to be. It was the only answer. “Thank you, Betsy. You did very well, my dear.”

“Hepzibah, what in tarnation is goin’ on?” Luty demanded.

“I’m sorry. Do forgive me for being so mysterious. But you see, I had to be sure.”

“Sure of what?” Hatchet asked.

“The identity of the killer.”

“But I thought you said it was Albert Parks,” Mrs. Goodge complained.

“Until I spoke to Lady Cannonberry this afternoon, I was sure it was Parks,” she admitted honestly. “But she said something to me that made me suddenly realize that we—that I,” she hastily amended, “was making a big mistake. You see, I’d assumed that Hinchley was killed because he was a critic. But his being a critic had nothing to do with his death.”

“Then why was he killed?” Wiggins asked.

“For love, Wiggins. Love and money.” She realized that time was getting on and she had to get busy. Witherspoon might be getting ready to arrest Parks. “I don’t have a lot of time to go into it right now. If we don’t act quickly, the inspector will be at the Hayden Theatre soon, probably arresting the wrong man.”

“The inspector’ll ’ave to find ’im at ’ome, then,” Smythe said. “Theatre’s dark tonight. Closed.”

“Are you sure?” Mrs. Jeffries asked him.

“Positive. I was just over there.”

She frowned. This was a problem that hadn’t occurred to her. But before she could think of what to do next, Wiggins spoke up.

“Seein’ as yer all ’ere, can I tell ya what I learned today?”

“I’d rather know who the killer is,” Mrs. Goodge said testily. “If it’s not Albert Parks, then who is it?”