Mrs. Jeffries Rocks the Boat (8 page)

Witherspoon thought he understood what she was saying. “You mean you think they were taking care not to make any noise.”

“Whoever it was out there was creeping about on his tiptoes,” she said.

“How can you be sure of that, ma’am?” Barnes asked curiously.

“Because I don’t sleep much,” she said bluntly. “And I’ve heard all manner of people go by outside at night. Whoever was out there early this morning was deliberately trying to be quiet. And not because they were being considerate of their neighbors, either, but because they had murder in their hearts. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about. There’s plenty of people around here who don’t give a toss for whether or not they’re disturbing their neighbors.”

The inspector wasn’t quite sure how to take this sort of evidence. He didn’t wish to offend the lady, but he couldn’t quite see how she could be so sure about the sound of footsteps. Still, his “inner voice,” the one that Mrs. Jeffries always assured him would keep him on track, was telling him not to discount this lightly.

His consternation must have shown on his face because Mrs. Baldridge suddenly sighed. “Inspector, I can imagine what you’ve heard about me. But I assure you, I’m neither an hysteric nor a shrew.”

“Really, ma’am,” Witherspoon blustered. “Such a thought never crossed my mind.”

“Let us be frank, Inspector.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I’m sure you’ve heard all about the garden key incident. But I only tossed it at Mr. Heckston because he was making such a fool of himself.”

“Not because of the hollyhocks?” Barnes asked.

“Certainly not.” She grinned broadly. “I don’t care what kind of flowers they plant in that stupid garden. I was only fed up because Mrs. Prosper snidely remarked they were ‘common’ when I suggested them. Well, really. Who on earth did she think she was fooling? The woman was nothing more than a lady’s maid before she married Eldon Prosper, and of course that love-struck fool Heckston agreed with her.”

“Her name was Mirabelle Daws,” Smythe said softly, “and this was her first visit to England. She come in on the
Island Star
, and that only come into port late yesterday afternoon.”

“Which port?” Hatchet asked quickly.

“Southampton,” Smythe replied. “Miss Daws took the last train up last night. It was supposed to arrive at the station at midnight, but there was some trouble on the line and it didn’t get in till half past three. That was where the cabbie picked her up. He didn’t want to take her all the way over to Sheridan Square, but she offered to pay him double, being as it was in the middle of the night.”

“Gracious, you’ve learned far more than we’d hoped,” Mrs. Jeffries said.

Smythe grinned. “The cabbie were a bit of a talker but more importantly, so was Miss Daws. Seems she told him what she thought of British trains, British ships and British weather before she even got into the hansom. Didn’t like us much, that was fer certain. But that’s ’ow come he came to know the name of the ship and all. She was goin’ on a mile a minute about the ship being late, the train bein’ late and the air smellin’ to ’igh ’eaven.” He suddenly sobered. “I know we’ve learned a lot. Now I want to know ’ow we’re goin’ to get this information to the inspector. It’s not like you can drop a few ’ints and ’ave ’im suss out what you’re goin’ on about.”

“I know,” Mrs. Jeffries murmured thoughtfully. “We do seem to have a problem. But we’ll think of something; we always do. In the meantime, there’s no time to lose.” She hesitated for a brief moment. “I know it’s late, but do you think you can take the carriage and get to Southampton tonight? I think it’s imperative that we find out who else might have been on that ship with Mirabelle Daws.”

“That’s not goin’ to be easy,” Luty put in. “The ship come in yesterday. Most people don’t hang around that long. They git on about their business and go home.”

“But the crew’s still there,” Hatchet said gleefully. “Surely there’s a porter or a steward who’ll be able to help us.” He rose to his feet. “If it’s all right with madam, I’d like to accompany Smythe. The two of us can cover far more territory together than apart.”

Luty snorted derisively. “Since when have you ever asked my permission to do anything? But I’d like to go with ya…” her voice trailed off as everyone at the table protested at the same time. She glared at all of them. “You all think I’m too old to be gallavantin’ out at night having adventures, do ya?”

“No, Luty, of course not,” Mrs. Jeffries said soothingly. But, of course, that’s precisely what they thought. “We simply think you’d better stay here and help the rest of us come
up with a plausible way to get the information we received to the inspector. You’ve a much better imagination than I have. All I can come up with is the same silly old idea I always have, an anonymous note.”

Luty eyed the housekeeper suspicously for a few moments. “You sure you ain’t just sayin’ that cause you think I’m too old?”

“We’re all gettin’ old,” Mrs. Goodge interrupted. “But that’s not why we want you to stay. Like Mrs. Jeffries says, we’ve got some hard thinkin’ to do, and your mind is sharp as one of my best kitchen knives. Now sit down, drink your tea and let’s get these men out of here so we women can have a good think on how to get us out of this mess. And don’t think it’s not a right old mess, because it is. We’re honor bound to give the inspector the woman’s name, but I, for one, don’t want him gettin’ any more suspicious about us than he already is.”

“Does that mean I ought to go too?” Wiggins asked eagerly. “I’m one of the men. With the three of us, we could cover even more territory.”

“I reckon I ought to stay then.” Luty leaned back in her chair. “I do have an idea or two about how we can let the inspector know who the woman was. Like Mrs. Goodge says, we don’t want him gettin’ any ideas about us. No offense meant, Hepzibah, but you’re right, that anonymous note trick is wearin’ thin.”

They’d used it several times before in their investigations, so Mrs. Jeffries could hardly take offense.

Smythe rose to his feet. “Which carriage should we take? Ours or Luty’s?”

“Take mine,” Luty said quickly. “I can always get a hansom home. That’ll save you havin’ to go over to Howards and gettin’ your own livery out.”

“Can I go too?” Wiggins asked again as he got up. “I really think I ought to; I am one of the men.” Fred, seeing his beloved Wiggins move, uncurled himself from his comfortable spot on the rug and trotted over to the footman.

“How are they going to find out anything?” Betsy asked. “By the time they get down there, it’ll be late at night.”

“Don’t worry about that, Miss Betsy,” Hatchet said cheerfully. “It’ll not take all that long to reach our destination. There’s a train at six for Southampton and once we’re there, I’ve an idea finding out which pub the ships crew hangs about is going to be easy.”

“But I thought we was goin’ to take the carriage,” Wiggins said.

Hatchet shook his head. “We’ll take the carriage to the station. The train’s much faster than even the madam’s fine team of horses.”

“What if the ship has already sailed?” Luty asked. “What then?”

“She won’t have sailed,” Smythe said confidently. “I’ve taken ships between here and Australia. They always need at least two days portside to take on provisions and make repairs. It’s a hard trip.”

Betsy’s eyes narrowed. “Exactly how many times have you done it, then?” He’d only mentioned one trip to Australia.

“Three, maybe four times,” he answered honestly, thinking she was doubting his knowledge of the ships’ port time. It was only when he saw her jaw drop that he realized what he’d just let slip. “I’ve told you about my trips to Australia,” he said. He had a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“You most certainly have not,” she shot back, “and considerin’ how much we talk, I’m surprised all your world traveling hasn’t come up in the conversation.”

Smythe could have kicked himself for being so stupid. He’d not mentioned the last couple of trips to Australia because he’d not wanted to tell her the reason he’d made them. Mainly, to check on his rather substantial holdings in that country.

“They really ought to get going right away,” Mrs. Jeffries interjected. She could tell by the expression on Betsy’s face that a real storm was in the making. But the lass would just
have to hold her peace until she and the coachman could be alone together. Besides, Mrs. Jeffries rather suspected she knew the reason Smythe hadn’t mentioned his other trips to Australia.

“Do I get to go?” Wiggins asked for the third time. “And Fred too?”

“You can come, but not the dog,” Smythe said as he edged toward the back door. “The inspector will want to know where he is when he comes home. You know he likes to take him for a walk before he goes to bed.” He was watching Betsy as he made his way across the room. Cor blimey, the lass was boiling. Maybe when he had a moment or two, he’d tell her the truth. But just as quickly, he decided maybe he wouldn’t. He loved Betsy too much to risk losing her over the lie he was living.

“You will be careful going home, madam,” Hatchet said as he trotted after Smythe. Wiggins was right on his heels.

“You worry about yerself, Hatchet,” she snapped. “I may be old, but I can still take care of myself.”

“I don’t doubt it for a moment, madam.”

“Stay, Fred,” Wiggins told the dog. “Smythe’s right, the inspector will want to take you walkies when he gets home.”

“I’m not sure what time we’ll be back,” Smythe said. “But don’t wait up for us.” With that, they disappeared down the hall.

“We won’t,” Betsy yelled. She turned to the housekeeper. “Who does he think he is? Even if they take the ruddy train, they’ll not be back until tomorrow. What are we going to tell the inspector?”

“We’ll tell him that Smythe took the horses for a good, long run and that he took Wiggins with him.” Mrs. Jeffries was fairly sure Inspector Witherspoon wouldn’t notice his footman and coachman were gone. Not when he was in the middle of murder investigation. “Now, I think we’d better put our heads together and decide how we can tell him who the victim was.”

“I know what we should do,” Luty stated. She picked up her teacup and took a dainty sip. “And I must say, I think it’s right imaginative.”

“Are you goin’ to tell us, then?” Mrs. Goodge demanded. She was a bit put out that the victim was such a nobody, and a foreign nobody at that. She’d be hard put to contribute much to this investigation.

“Course I’m goin’ to tell ya. We’re in this together, ain’t we?” She took another sip of tea. “I know exactly how we’ll tell the inspector.”

“How?” Betsy demanded. She was in a bit of testy mood herself.

“We’ll send him a telegram.”

“A telegram?” Mrs. Jeffries said with a puzzled frown. “I’m afraid I don’t see how that would be all that different than sending him an anonymous note.”

“Sure it would,” Luty stated flatly. “Cause this won’t be anonymous. We’ll sign it. We just won’t use our own names.”

“I must say, the house is very quiet this evening,” Witherspoon said as he picked up the glass of sherry his housekeeper had so thoughtfully had poured and waiting for him when he arrived home.

“That it is, sir. There’s only you, me and Mrs. Goodge here. We weren’t sure what your schedule might be, sir,” she said. She gave an embarrassed shrug. “I’m afraid that Smythe and Wiggins had planned on taking the horses out for a long run and, well, they weren’t sure whether or not you’d need them, so they went ahead with their plans. I do hope you don’t mind, sir. I don’t expect them back until late tonight.”

“They didn’t take Fred, did they?” Witherspoon asked quickly. He did look forward to his nightly walk with the dog. Especially as he and Lady Cannonberry generally used that time to have a few moments alone together.

“Of course not, sir.” Mrs. Jeffries smiled. “Fred would be
very put out if he missed his evening walkies, sir. You know how devoted the animal is to you.”

“Oh, Fred likes everyone.” He frowned suddenly. “Uh, where is Betsy? She didn’t go with them, did she? I know that she and Smythe seem to have some sort of an understanding, but I don’t think we ought to…uh…you know…uh…”

“Betsy has accompanied Luty Belle home in a hansom cab. She’ll be back shortly, sir.”