Mrs. Jeffries Rocks the Boat (10 page)

Witherspoon shook his head. “No, boys come in all the time to send messages. The clerk doesn’t even bother to look at them. He merely takes the money and sends the telegram. But perhaps now that we’ve a name, we’ll be able to connect the woman with someone on the square.”

“Let’s hope so, sir,” Barnes muttered. “Otherwise, we might have a devil of a time trying to locate all the passengers who came in with the woman on the
Island Star
.” He knocked on Tavistock’s front door and announced his business to the maid. A few minutes later, he and the inspector were sitting in Tavistock’s drawing room for the second time.

Malcolm, with Hector trotting at his heels, made his appearance a few moments later. “Good day, Inspector,” he said politely, but he looked less than pleased to see them. “I do hope you’ve made some progress on the case. We’d like to be able to use our garden again. Was the gardener able to help you any with your inquiries? I must say, I never really liked the fellow, doesn’t want to look you in the eye when he speaks, if you know what I mean.”

Witherspoon pursed his lips in annoyance. Only yesterday Tavistock had virtually assured them that the gardener wasn’t capable of murder. Now that he’d had a night to think it over, it had suddenly become far more likely that the murder was done by someone poor like Jonathan Siler rather than one of their own. He wasn’t surprised that Tavistock was trying to cast suspicion on the man. He’d seen that trick done many times in his investigations. “Your gardener was most cooperative. Mr. Siler was at home when the crime was committed. He knew nothing about it.”

“That’s what he would say, isn’t it?” Tavistock insisted.

“We’ve no reason not to believe him,” Witherspoon continued. “Just as we’ve no reason not to believe you and the other residents of Sheridan Square. None of you, it seems, have any idea who the victim might have been. But he was able to confirm that there were only eight keys. His was safely in his possession.”

Tavistock looked taken aback. “Well, really, what are you implying?”

“Nothing, sir.” The inspector didn’t have a lot of time to waste. He was going to have to talk to everyone in the square and possibly the entire neighborhood. Again. “We do have some more questions for you, sir. Have you ever heard of a woman named Mirabelle Daws?”

“Mirabelle Daws,” Tavistock repeated. “Are you sure you don’t mean Annabelle Daws? Daws was Mrs. Prosper’s maiden name…” his voice trailed off and his jaw gaped. “Oh God, how awful. Of course, of course, Mrs. Prosper has a sister named Mirabelle. She lives in Australia.”

“Are you sure, sir?” Barnes asked.

“Absolutely,” Tavistock bobbed his head furiously. “I saw a letter from the woman a few months ago. I mean, I didn’t read it, of course, I merely handed it back to Mrs. Prosper. She’d dropped it in the garden.”

“How did you know who it was from?” Witherspoon asked. “If you didn’t look at it?”

“The signature on the bottom was quite visible when I
handed it to Mrs. Prosper. When I realized the name was so similar to her Christian name, I commented upon the matter, and she said the letter was from her sister in Sydney.”

“Exactly when was this?” Witherspoon asked. He wondered if the sister might have mentioned a forthcoming trip to England.

Tavistock’s brows drew together as he concentrated. “Let me see, I think it must have been no more than two months ago. It was in March.”

“You’re certain, sir?”

“Of course I am. There were several of us in the garden that day. Mrs. Prosper, Mr. Heckston and myself. We chatted about how mild the weather was for March. The letter had slipped out of Mrs. Prosper’s pocket. I found it under the bench, the one in the center…” His voice trailed off when he realized what he was saying.

“The one where the victim was found stabbed?” Barnes finished.

Tavistock shook his head sadly. “Poor woman. Not much of a welcome to England, is it?”

Barnes and Witherspoon exchanged a glance. “Did you know that Mrs. Prosper’s sister was coming for a visit?”

“No, no, I didn’t.”

“What do you think, sir?” Barnes asked as they started toward the Prosper house.

“I don’t know what to think,” he admitted. “Surely Miss Daws would have let her sister know that she was coming…”

“Inspector Witherspoon,” a voice called from behind them.

They turned to see Mr. Heckston hurrying toward them. He doffed his hat politely. “I thought you ought to know that I’ve found that key that had gone missing.”

“Really, where was it, sir?” Witherspoon said. In truth, he’d actually forgotten about the missing key.

“It was on the floor, Inspector.” Heckston shrugged in
embarrassment. “The maid must have knocked it off when she was dusting, and it got wedged inbetween the carpet and floorboards. She found it today when she was sweeping. I am sorry I didn’t look more carefully when you were there.”

“No harm done, sir. At least we know where all the keys are now,” the inspector replied. He was actually quite pleased. Knowing that all the keys were accounted for narrowed the range of suspects. But then again, he thought, as they now knew the victim had a relationship with one of the residents here, it was already narrowed quite a bit.

“Well, I’ll be off, sir.” He nodded at the two men. “I’ve a lot to do today.”

“Before you leave, sir,” Witherspoon said, “may I ask you a question?”

“Certainly.” Heckston said politely.

“Are you acquainted with Mrs. Prosper, sir? I mean, are you more than neighbors?” The moment the words left his mouth, he realized he’d been very indelicate. Judging by Heckston’s ominous frown, he’d found it indelicate as well. “I am sorry,” Witherspoon amended. “I didn’t mean that quite the way it sounded. I do need to know if you’re acquainted enough with Mrs. Prosper to verify that she has a sister. It’s quite important that we know.”

Heckston’s expression changed from anger to surprise to shock as he realized the implication of the question. “Good Lord, I do hope this doesn’t mean what I think it does.” He swallowed. “I’m well acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. Prosper. As is my wife. Mrs. Prosper does have a sister. An older sister named Mirabelle.”

“Does that sister live in Australia?” Barnes asked. He always liked to double-check his facts.

Heckston nodded.

Witherspoon’s expression was somber. “Then I’m afraid we may have some very bad news for Mrs. Prosper. Is Mr. Prosper home?”

“Yes, I think so.” Heckston closed his eyes briefly, then looked sympathetically at the Prosper house. “Poor Mrs.
Prosper. This will come as a dreadful shock. Absolutely dreadful. She was very fond of her sister.” He began to back away. “Perhaps I ought to let you get on with it, sir. If you need to speak with me again, I’ll be home later this afternoon.”

As soon as the man had cleared off, the inspector looked at Barnes. “I suppose we’d better go and talk with Mrs. Prosper.”

“Are you going to ask her to look at the body?” Barnes asked as they started walking.

“I’m afraid I don’t have a choice,” the inspector replied. “That may be the only way we can possibly have the woman identified.”

“Did Betsy say where she was goin’?” Smythe asked anxiously.

Mrs. Jeffries shook her head. “Not really, only that she had a few things she needed to do this morning. She told us to go ahead and have our meeting.”

Smythe started to ask another question, then realized it would be useless. He’d just have to wait till the lass came home to make his peace with her. But cor blimey, he’d not thought it was that big a sin he’d committed. So he’d never told her about all his trips to Australia. He’d told her about one of them. But he knew why she was hurt. She’d told him everything about her own past. A past that had been pretty grim in parts too, and here he was, keeping secrets.

“Can we go ahead and talk, then?” Wiggins wanted to know. “We learned ever so much.”

“I’ll just bet ya did,” Luty muttered. She gave Hatchet a good glare and picked up her teacup.

“Being childish is most unbecoming, madam,” Hatchet chided.

“Being pompous isn’t very becomin’, either,” Luty shot back.

“Were you able to figure out ’ow to let the inspector know the poor murdered lady’s name?” Wiggins asked quickly.

“Luty came up with an excellent idea,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “We sent him a telegram…”

“A telegram?” Hatchet said incredulously.

“From Rollo Puffy,” Luty snickered at the gasp of indignation that escaped her butler. “You remember him, don’t ya?”

Hatchet’s eyes narrowed. “Of course I remember him, madam.”

“Who’s Rollo Puffy?” Wiggins asked, “and why is ’e sendin’ the inspector a telegram?”

“He’s not,” Mrs. Goodge said impatiently. “We are. We just used his name. Now can we get on with it?”

“That’s a good idea,” Mrs. Jeffries interjected quickly. It was obvious from the smug expression on Luty’s face that she’d deliberately picked this particular name to annoy her butler. Later, perhaps, the women would get the entire story, but for right now, they’d best get a move on. “Do tell us what you’ve learned.”

“It were right easy,” Wiggins said. “We got to Southampton, lickety-split and then we found a pub where some of the ship’s crew ’ung about. The
Island Star
was still there. She’s not due to sail for another two days.” He paused and took a quick sip of tea. “Anyways, at first we didn’t have much luck. Mainly we only found workers from below decks. Then Hatchet ’ere,” he nodded toward the butler, “’e cornered a couple of stewards who knew all about Miss Daws. Seems the lady weren’t exactly shy. She talked to anyone who’d stand still and listen to ’er.”

“All ya talked to was a couple of stewards?” Luty asked.

“That was quite sufficient, madam,” Hatchet sniffed. “Not only were they able to tell us quite a bit about the deceased, but they also supplied us with several names of other passengers who’d talked at length with the deceased.”

“What, precisely, did you learn?” Mrs. Jeffries asked. Honestly, between Smythe’s long-faced silence over Betsy, Luty and Hatchet’s sniping at each other, and Wiggins gushing enthusiasm, they weren’t getting anywhere.

“For starters,” Smythe said glumly, “We found out how the victim is connected to Sheridan Square. Mirabelle Daws is the sister to Mrs. Eldon Prosper.”

“Very good work, gentleman,” Mrs. Jeffries said. Now they were starting to get somewhere. “At least now we know where to focus our investigation. Odd that she didn’t tell the inspector her sister was expected and hadn’t arrived.”

“It gets even stranger,” he said. “Mirabelle Daws told everyone aboard the ship that the family’s fortunes had changed and they’d never have to serve anyone again.”

“Serve anyone?” Mrs. Goodge said. “How do you mean?”

“It seems the family was in service,” Hatchet explained. “Mirabelle Daws ran a boardinghouse out in the outback, and her sister Annabelle was a lady’s maid. At least, Annabelle had been one before she’d married Eldon Prosper. Apparently, though, their brother, Andrew Daws, had struck it rich in mining. Mirabelle supposedly wore a rope of opals around her neck that she never took off.”

“How very curious,” Mrs. Jeffries murmured. “There wasn’t any jewelry found on her when she was killed. Perhaps this will turn out to be a simple robbery after all.”

“If it were just a simple robbery,” Mrs. Goodge pointed out, “why go to all the trouble of lockin’ the woman in that garden? Like we discussed before, that took some doing.” She shook her head vehemently. “It weren’t no robbery. It were murder and whoever done it couldn’t resist pinching the opals. How much would they be worth?”

“A lot,” Smythe said bluntly. “It weren’t just opals on this necklace. There were diamonds, too, and accordin’ to what the stewards said, the two center ones were bigger than currants. I’d say Mirabelle Daws was wearing a fortune around her neck and the silly woman let herself be lured out in the middle of the night to meet her killer.”

“Lured?” Mrs. Goodge repeated. “How do you know that? She might have been forced out.”

“I hardly think so ma’am,” Hatchet said. “From what we
learned of Miss Daws, the only way she could have been forced to do anything would have been at gunpoint. She left the vessel of her own free will.”