Mrs. Jeffries Takes the Stage (28 page)

“Egads,” Witherspoon cried as he drug his captive closer to the lamplight. “Wiggins?”

“Blow your whistle, sir,” Barnes cried as he lugged his struggling prisoner toward the lamp. “We need help. There’s coppers on patrol in the park.”

“Yes, right.” The inspector pulled his whistle out of his pocket and blew hard on it several times. Immediately, the answering call of another whistle rent the air and the faint sound of pounding footsteps echoed in the night.

Barnes finally managed to manuever his captive into
the small circle of light cast by the lamp. Witherspoon gasped. “Good gracious. It’s Theodora Vaughan.”

Dressed in an ill-fitting pair of trousers and a man’s jacket, she glared at him coldly from beneath the porkpie cap pulled low over her head.

“This is an outrage, Inspector,” she said haughtily. “Can’t one take a walk in a park without being set upon by ruffians?” She jerked her head toward Wiggins and then slapped at the constable’s hands as he reached into her jacket pocket. “Stop that, you idiot…”

“I’m not a ruffian,” Wiggins yelped. “And you was runnin’ from the law.”

“Here’s the gun, sir,” Barnes said, holding up a der-ringer he pulled out of her jacket. “It’s still warm.”

They heard footsteps pounding across the bridge. Two police constables were coming towards them at a fast run.

Witherspoon didn’t quite understand what was going on, but he did know that this woman whom he’d so admired had tried to murder a man tonight. “Theodora Vaughan,” he said somberly, “you’re under arrest for the attempted murder of Mr. Rather.”

“I bet she killed Mr. ’inchley too,” Wiggins added.

Theodora Vaughan said nothing for a moment. Then she smiled slowly, triumphantly. “Try to prove it, Inspector.”

“I don’t think that will be very hard, Miss Vaughan,” he said. “Your bullet hasn’t killed the man. I’m sure he’ll be quite able to testify against you.”

She laughed. “Then it will be his word against mine, won’t it? Remember this, Inspector: I’m Theodora Vaughan, one of the greatest actresses of the English theatre, and I can assure you, when I’m in the dock at the Old Bailey, I’ll make you look a fool. I shall give a performance of a lifetime.”

“All this waitin’ is goin’ to drive me plum loco,” Luty snapped. “It’s been hours since them three left. What the dickens is takin’ so long?”

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Jeffries said, her expression worried. She prayed she hadn’t been wrong. But as the clock hands moved, she was beginning to think she’d made a terrible mistake.

Betsy leapt to her feet as they heard the back door opening. “That’s them now,” she cried, dashing to the stove and putting the kettle on to boil.

Smythe and Hatchet hurried into the room. Fred jumped up, wagged his tail a few times and tried to butt Smythe on the knees. “Down, boy,” the coachman said, giving him a quick pat.

“What happened?” Mrs. Jeffries cried.

“Where’s Wiggins?” Mrs. Goodge yelped.

“About time someone got back here,” Luty grumbled.

“Are you all right?” Betsy asked anxiously, her gaze fixed on Smythe. “I’ve got the kettle on for tea.”

“We’re fine,” Hatchet assured them as he sat down. “So is Wiggins”—he grinned—“but I expect the young man will have to do some fast talking when he gets to the station.”

“You mean the inspector spotted him?” Luty snapped.

Hatchet grinned broadly. “You could say that. He was instrumental in capturing Theodora Vaughan. One could also say, had it not been for Wiggins, she might have made her escape.”

“Oh, dear.” Mrs. Jeffries frowned. “Tell us what happened. Were we in time?”

“Almost,” Smythe said. “She did shoot the butler, but like Luty said, she’s not a good shot and she only wounded him. The coppers were takin’ ’im to ’ospital
when I left to come back ’ere. I overheard one of ’em say it was only a flesh wound. ’E’ll be all right. He’ll be able to testify against Theodora Vaughan.”

Mrs. Jeffries sagged in relief. “Thank God.” She’d never have forgiven herself if that man had been killed.

“I did like ya said, Mrs. J.,” Smythe continued, “and we was lucky you sussed it out when ya did. I got to the Vaughan ’ouse just in time to see her nippin’ out the back door. She was dressed in boy’s clothes.” He paused to toss a quick smile of thanks at Betsy as she set a mug of tea in front of him. “I followed ’er to ’inchley’s house, saw her go inside and then a minute later, I ’eard the shot. Bloomin’ Ada, I didn’t know what to do! But just then, the inspector and Constable Barnes showed up. They ’eard the shot too and went barrelin’ inside. Then, just a few seconds after they’d gone in, she comes flyin’ out and takes off across the road toward the park.”

“I, too, didn’t know what to do at that point,” Hatchet added. “As Mrs. Jeffries had instructed, I was keeping watch on the Hinchley house from across the street. I saw her go in, and before I could gather my wits about me, I saw a hansom draw up and the inspector and Constable Barnes got out.” His brows drew together. “At that point, I’d no idea what was going to happen. About then, the shot rang out and everything moved so quickly after that I didn’t have time to do anything.”

“But she was arrested?” Mrs. Goodge asked.

“She were nicked, all right.” Smythe grinned. “You’da been right proud of Wiggins. If ’e ’adn’t come flyin’ out of the shadows and brought ’er down before she crossed that bridge and disappeared into the park, there’s a good chance she’d have gotten away.”

“Good fer Wiggins,” Luty cried. Then a worried frown crossed her face. “I hope he’s got enough sense to spin
some kind of yarn for the inspector. Otherwise, we’re all in trouble.”

Mrs. Jeffries had the same concern. “He’s a very bright young man,” she said. “I’m sure he’ll think of something.”

Mrs. Goodge leaned toward the housekeeper. “Before the inspector gets back, are you goin’ to tell us how you figured it out?”

“There may not be time,” Mrs. Jeffries said uneasily.

“You’ve plenty of time. The inspector will be tied up for hours,” Hatchet interjected.

“All right.” She took a deep breath and tried to force herself to relax. Thank goodness she had been right about this case. “As I said,” she began, “it was when Lady Cannonberry made those remarks about her sister-in-law this afternoon that I realized the truth. We’d all assumed the motive for Hinchley’s murder was to stop him from publicly reviewing Edmund Delaney’s play. Yet as Ruth talked, I realized that there was another motive that had been apparent all along.”

“Doesn’t seem that apparent to me,” the cook complained.

“Nor to me until today,” Mrs. Jeffries agreed. “But as Ruth told me about the outrageous things her sister-in-law had done to try to get her young man back, I saw the similarities between that young woman’s behaviour and the way Hinchley acted. Then I realized the truth. Hinchley was still infatuated with Delaney. That’s why he changed his will naming Delaney as heir before he left for the United States. He might have hated Delaney for rejecting him, but the sad truth was he had no one else. Hinchley still loved Delaney enough so that he wanted him to have his property in the event something happened
to him while he was away. Once I looked at the case from that point of view, it was quite simple.”

“I still don’t get it,” Betsy said, echoing the confusion the rest of them felt. “Even if Hinchley was in love with Delaney, why would that make Theodora Vaughan hate him enough to kill him? Delaney had left Hinchley over a year ago.”

“I know,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “That’s one of the reasons I didn’t see it until it was almost too late. Theodora Vaughan didn’t kill Hinchley because she hated him, though I expect she did. She murdered him for money. The money Edmund Delaney was going to inherit when Hinchley died. Remember, she planned to be Delaney’s wife. I expect she realized that once she and Delaney were actually man and wife, Hinchley would finally give up and disinherit Delaney. She didn’t want to lose over a hundred thousand pounds.”

“Money?” Luty exclaimed. “But how did she know that Hinchley had left his fortune to Delaney?”

“Hinchley told her,” Mrs. Jeffries explained. “According to what Oliver told Betsy, Theodora Vaughan was in a rage after talking to a small man at the train station on Saturday. That man was Ogden Hinchley. He wasn’t a subtle person; I expect he told Theodora Vaughan quite plainly that he’d made Delaney his heir and that he was going to do everything in his power to win Delaney back. More important, I suspect he tormented her about Delaney’s play. You see, I’m quite sure he’d come back for the sole purpose of reviewing it and I’m equally certain he knew it wasn’t very good. But most important, Theodora Vaughan had invested a goodly amount of money in that play. If Hinchley managed to close it down, not only would her lover be disgraced, but she’d be quite poor.
Perhaps even bankrupt. Beautiful as she is, she’s a number of years older than Delaney. With no money of her own, I expect she was worried that she wouldn’t be able to keep Delaney.”

“But how would Hinchley know that the play was so awful if he was in New York?” Hatchet asked.

“From Trevor Remington. Remember, supposedly Remington and Hinchley had a quarrel about money before Hinchley left for America,” Mrs. Jeffries clarified. “Lilly told Betsy that. I’d quite forgotten it until yesterday.”

“Ah, I see.” Hatchet nodded in understanding. “You think that Hinchley’s been paying Remington all along.”

“Correct. I also think the reason there was a problem with Theodora Vaughan obtaining her divorce from Remington might have also been Hinchley’s doing.”

“How could ’e do that?” Smythe asked. “They got the divorce in America.”

“He coulda done it,” Luty interjected. “We don’t know what state issued the divorce decree. All Remington woulda had to do was claim he lost the papers or not signed something. Some states have a waitin’ period between goin’ to court and gettin’ the divorce.”

“But what was Remington gettin’ paid for?” Mrs. Goodge wailed. “I still don’t understand.”

“For keeping Hinchley informed,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “As long as Delaney and Theodora Vaughan weren’t married, Hinchley had hopes of winning him back. But when her American lawyers managed to get the decree despite Remington’s lack of cooperation, Hinchley took the first ship back from America. By this time, Hinchley had probably learned from Remington that Delaney’s play was being produced and that it wasn’t very good. As luck
would have it, Hinchley ran into Theodora Vaughan at the train station. Actually, I’m not so sure that meeting was accidental or whether he arranged to run into her. We don’t know for certain precisely what day he arrived back from New York, but it’s not particularly important whether he met her accidentally or on purpose—he accomplished what he’d set out to do. He couldn’t stop himself from taunting the woman, thereby sealing his own death warrant.”

“But ’ow did you suss out the way she’d done it?” Smythe asked.

Mrs. Jeffries smiled. “I didn’t, not until it was almost too late. But the evidence was right there. Remember when Wiggins told us about Rose, Theodora’s maid, taking that case of clothes to the theatre? There were boys’ clothes inside. Velvet and silk, the same kind of clothes the lad who’d brought the note to the brothel on Lisle street wore. Rose also told Wiggins that Theodora didn’t do ‘trouser parts’ anymore.”

“What’s that?” Mrs. Goodge asked grumpily. She was a bit put out that she hadn’t figured any of it out and she still wasn’t sure she understood it.

“It’s a woman playing a boy’s role in a play,” the housekeeper explained. “Theodora Vaughan got rid of those clothes because they were evidence. She’d worn them the night of the murder. She’d dressed as a boy to take that note to the brothel…”

“But how did she get to the Hinchley house?” Luty interrupted.

“She took a hansom.”

“But Smythe talked to all the cabbies and none of them remembers pickin’ up a boy that night.”

“I know ’ow she did it.” Smythe grinned. “The same
way she did it tonight, she hitched a ride by ’angin’ on the back. Bloomin’ good at it she was too—hopped right on like she’d been doin’ it all ’er life.”

“Precisely,” Mrs. Jeffries agreed. “Anyway, she knew all about Hinchley’s…uh…habits, so when she realized he was determined to ruin the play and in turn, ruin her, she decided to kill him.” She shook her head in disgust. “I should have realized it when the inspector told us she’d left the theatre right after the performance that night. She hadn’t even taken off her makeup. Instead, she went home, put on boys’ clothes and a dark-haired wig. Dressed as a boy, she went to Lisle Street. The last thing she wanted was for a male prostitute to show up while she was committing murder. Then she went to Hinchley’s and let herself in the side door, which she knew would be unlocked. I expect his being in the bathtub was sheer luck.”

“You don’t think she planned on drowning him?” Betsy queried.

“No, I think she was going to shoot him. But unluckily for him, he was in the bath. She walked up, grabbed his ankles and pulled him under. Unfortunately for her, Rather hadn’t gone to bed. Instead, he came in and caught her red-handed.”

“But why did he carry the body to the canal?” Hatchet asked. “Why didn’t he call the police?”