Mrs. Jeffries & the Yuletide Weddings (10 page)

Betsy shrugged. Smythe hadn’t told her not to mention his money, but on the other hand, she didn’t feel comfortable talking about his private business. “Don’t worry about that.” She laughed. “What’s important is that you’re here.”

The men had already left. Leo to the East End to see an old auntie of his, and Smythe to start hunting for clues.

“It’s wonderful to see you again.” Norah sank down on the sofa next to Betsy’s chair. “I was afraid I’d never have this chance. I did send letters to our old address, but there was never an answer.”

“We were turned out right after you left,” Betsy blurted. “The baby had got sick—”

“I know. Mrs. Collier wrote and told me what happened to Amy,” Norah interrupted. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to be there for you and Mum.”

“You weren’t to know,” Betsy said quickly. “I mean, you and Leo had moved to Leeds and, well, you had your own lives.”

“I should still have done something.” Norah turned her head and stared out the window. “But we had no idea things were so bad. I sent Mum a letter from Leeds when Leo got that job at the shipyard in Liverpool.”

“I don’t think she ever got it,” Betsy said softly. “She wrote to you at the Leeds address but we never heard back. Then Amy took a turn for the worse and Mum lost her position—”

Norah interrupted again. “But I did send her a letter. I swear I did.”

“Of course you did,” Betsy replied.

“You don’t sound like you believe me.” Norah’s eyes filled with tears. “But I swear it’s true. I told her Leo had gotten a job at the shipyard in Liverpool and that we were going there.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“I promised I’d send her our address as soon as we were settled.”

“Norah, don’t get upset. I know you sent the letter.” Betsy laughed uneasily. She’d hoped her first hours with Norah would be filled with joy and laughter, that she’d be able to talk to her about marriage and men and life and all the other things that one could only ask a sister. Oh, she knew the mechanics of what happened on a wedding night—no one who’d been raised in their old neighborhood could be unaware of what went on between male and female. She just wanted a cozy chat. She didn’t want to waste what little time they had together with going over old territory that didn’t matter one whit anyway. The past was over and done with, and she aimed to keep it that way. They both had built good, decent lives for themselves, and that was that. “Old Mrs. Larson downstairs probably grabbed the letter and kept it. You know how she and Mum didn’t get on. She was always playing mean tricks on us.”

Norah took a deep breath and got ahold of herself. She laughed self-consciously. “Oh don’t mind me, I’m just being silly. You’re right. I’ll bet that’s exactly what happened. Mrs. Larson was a nasty old crone, wasn’t she? Now, tell me about that fellow of yours. Are you going to be staying on at the inspector’s house after the wedding?”

“I don’t know,” Betsy admitted. “Smythe told me it’s to be a surprise.”

Norah looked askance. “You don’t know where you’ll be living?”

“Well, in all fairness to Smythe, I’m sure it’ll be something nice, and it might even be at the inspector’s home. The attic could easily be converted into a small flatlet.” She broke off with a sigh. “I know, it’s odd. But he’s a good man and I love him dearly.”

“He must love you as well,” Norah smiled broadly. “He’s certainly spent enough coin getting your family here for the wedding.”

Constable Barnes waited until Ellen Crowe took a seat at the long oak table before pulling out a chair and sitting down. He pulled out his pencil and notebook. “Mrs. Crowe, what did the man who came to the door yesterday look like?”

“I wasn’t really paying attention, Constable. As I said, I was in a rush to get to the post office. But I’ll do my best. He was tall.”

Barnes interrupted. “What do you mean by tall? Was he my height?”

“About your height,” she replied.

“What color hair did he have?”

“He wore a hat”—she frowned—“but I think his hair might have been reddish brown, and he was wearing a black overcoat. I remember that. That’s not very useful, is it? Half the men in London have black overcoats. Oh, I do recall one aspect of his appearance. He was quite pale.”

“You’re being very helpful, ma’am,” he assured her as he scribbled down the description. He finished writing and looked up at her. “How long have you known Miss Moran?”

She drew back slightly, as though she were surprised. “Surely you heard Miss Farley tell the inspector I’ve been here twelve years.”

“Indeed I did, ma’am,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean you’ve only known her for twelve years.”

Mrs. Crowe cocked her head to one side and stared at him. “What makes you think I was acquainted with her before I came here to live?”

He met her gaze squarely. “Were you?”

She remained silent for so long that he thought she wasn’t going to answer, then she sighed and said, “Agatha Moran and I were at school together in Winchester. When she was nineteen, she left to accept a post as a governess and I stayed on as a teacher. No one here knew about our past acquaintance. Both of us preferred it that way.”

“Why was that, ma’am?” he asked.

She sat up straighter in the chair. “Miss Moran gave me a substantial discount on my rent. It would be awkward for me if the others knew what I was paying for my room. Though what’s going to happen now that she’s dead is anyone’s guess. I expect it’ll take a few months to settle her estate, but even so, I’d better start looking for another place to live.”

Barnes had been a policeman far too long to be overly shocked, yet he was taken aback by her words. “Were you fond of Miss Moran?”

“Not really.” She gave him a rueful smile. “I know that sounds callous, Constable, but it’s the truth. We weren’t close friends when we were at school, and after I moved in here, she was my landlady, nothing more.”

“Yet she gave you a substantial discount on your rent,” he prompted as he grabbed his pencil. “If you weren’t good friends, why would she do that?”

“Because she felt guilty, Constable,” Ellen Crowe retorted. “You see, the governess position she took all those years ago should have been mine. As I said, Constable, we were at school together. We were the two oldest students and both of us were seeking employment. I’d seen an advertisement for a position with a family in Portsmouth and I’d written to them asking for an interview. The wife, a Mrs. Collins, replied to my letter telling me that as the family was in need of a governess right away and that as she was going to be in Winchester the following week, she’d stop by the school to see me.” As she spoke, her voice got harsher and her eyes narrowed as the old, unforgotten resentment resurfaced.

Barnes, who’d been trying to write and watch her at the same time, stopped and gave her his full attention.

“I told Agatha about the interview,” she continued. “I was so excited to finally have a chance at a position, and of course the worst happened. On the day I was supposed to meet Mrs. Collins, I came down with the measles. Passing along a nasty disease to one’s prospective employer isn’t a good idea, so I couldn’t risk speaking to her in my condition. I’d given two of my teachers as references, so I asked one of them to please explain the situation to Mrs. Collins.” She broke off and laughed. “What a fool I was. My old teacher didn’t stand a chance; Agatha Moran met Mrs. Collins at the front gate, and two hours later, she had my position.”

Barnes stared at her curiously. Didn’t she realize she’d just given him a motive for murder? It wouldn’t be the first time someone had waited years to avenge an old wound. “And you stayed on at the school as a teacher?”

“That’s correct. Oh dear.” She smiled suddenly and shook her head. “You must think me awful. It sounds as if I hated Agatha, but I didn’t. If I’d taken the position in Portsmouth, I’d never have met my husband.”

“You did sound as if you still resented her.” Barnes grabbed the pencil.

“When I think about it, I can still get agitated,” she admitted. “But honestly, it was years ago. Even though we weren’t friends and hadn’t been in touch for years, Agatha did me a great kindness, and she more than made up for what she’d done.”

“How did you end up living here?” he asked. He wasn’t sure he believed her. She’d certainly sounded more than “agitated” to him.

“When my husband died, I was left with only a small pension,” she explained. “One day I happened to run into Agatha at Victoria Station. Odd, but we recognized one another instantly. We went to the café there and had a cup of tea. I told her about my husband and our life together. She told me about the families she’d worked for in Portsmouth and the Isle of Wight and then mentioned she owned a residential hotel for ladies here in London. One thing led to another, and soon enough, I found myself living here at a much more favorable rent than I had been paying. I was happy and grateful to have a decent roof over my head.”

He nodded. “Where were you yesterday afternoon?”

“You mean after I left the post office.” She gave him an amused smile. “I went to visit a friend in Putney. Her name is Olivia Whitley and she lives at number five River Road in Putney. We spent the afternoon together, and I took the train home. I got here in time for supper.”

 

Hilda Bannister was sitting in a wing chair next to the sofa when Witherspoon got to the landing on the second floor. His interview with Miss Farley had been very short, as she claimed she’d neither seen nor heard anything suspicious yesterday. He hoped that Constable Barnes was having better luck with Mrs. Crowe.

“There’s naught wrong with my hearing,” Hilda said as she spotted him. “I might be old, but I’m of sound mind and strong limb.” Her face was as wrinkled as a raisin, her eyes watery, and the few wisps of hair she had left were pure white.

“I’m sure you are, Miss Bannister,” he said as he sat down on the sofa. “That’s why I’m so very anxious to speak with you.”

“It took you long enough to get up here,” she charged. “I’ve been waiting.”

“I had to speak with Miss Farley,” he replied. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting. Now, do you recall what time it was that the man came to speak to Miss Moran yesterday?”

She thought for a moment. “I don’t recall exactly what time it was; my clock is in my room and I was out here. But it was sometime in the morning when I heard someone knocking loud enough to wake the dead. Usually Mrs. Middleton takes care of the door, but she was gone to do the shopping, so I guess one of the others must have opened up.”

Witherspoon gave her an encouraging nod. “And you were sitting right out here when he was let into the house?”

“That’s right, I was sitting here in my usual spot.”

“Could you hear what was being said?”

“Not exactly, but I could tell it was a man.” She chuckled. “So as I was alone here, I got up and scurried out onto the top step so I could have a listen. Life’s awfully boring when you get to be my age. My eyes are weak so I can’t read as much as I’d like”—she tapped the cane propped against her cushion—“and with my rheumatism, getting about is a little hard, so whenever there’s a bit of excitement in the house, I like to take an interest.”

“Yes, of course you do,” he answered quickly. He rather admired her willingness to confess to being an eavesdropper. He’d observed that wanting to overhear what others said without being seen was a very common desire, yet very few people would actually admit to such an activity. “Did you hear what the man said?”

“I just heard him yelling that he had to talk to Agatha Moran,” she said. “Miss Moran must have heard him shouting as well, because she came out of her office and told him to come with her. They went back inside and she closed the door, more’s the pity. It’s a very thick door, Inspector, but not thick enough to keep everything quiet. After a little while, I heard her screaming at him like a common fishwife.”

“Were you able to make out any of the words?” he asked hopefully.

“She called him names.” She grinned, revealing a surprisingly even set of white teeth. “None of the ones I heard were very flattering, either.”

Witherspoon wondered if it would be indelicate if he asked her to repeat what she’d heard. He started to speak and then thought better of it. For a lady of her advanced years, perhaps it would be best to get some paper and ask her to write the words.

But before he could suggest that course of action, she continued. “She called him a coward. I heard that one very clearly. I suspect the entire neighborhood heard it, she was shouting it loud enough.”

Apparently, she wasn’t the least embarrassed to repeat what she’d heard.

“Then she called him a craven, spineless excuse for a man and told him that if he wasn’t going to do anything about it, he should stop wasting her time and just go.”

“This is very useful, Miss Bannister,” Witherspoon said eagerly. “Please go on.”