Mrs. Jeffries Weeds the Plot (5 page)

Orley Road was a short row of two-story red-brick houses with small, enclosed front gardens. The entire street was sandwiched between open fields on one side and the deserted school on the other.

Betsy and Mrs. Jeffries were at number 17 Orley Road at exactly ten o’clock the next morning. The small brass knocker had just banged against the wood when Martha threw open the door. “I’m ever so glad to see you,” she said brightly. “I was afraid you might change your mind about comin’.”

“We wouldn’t have done that,” Betsy assured her.

“Of course not,” Mrs. Jeffries confirmed.

“Come in, then. Miss Gentry is all ready for you. She’s in the drawing room.”

Mrs. Jeffries and Betsy stepped inside. From the small entryway, a flight of stairs curved up sharply to the second
floor. Martha led them down a short, carpeted hallway and into a bright, airy sitting room. Sunlight streamed in through the lace curtains, the walls were a pale yellow, and there was a green-and-gold carpet on the floor.

A tall woman with a nice smile and lovely blue eyes got up from a cream-and-rose chintz settee as the women entered. “Mrs. Jeffries? I’m Annabeth Gentry. Thank you so much for coming.”

“We hope we’ll be able to help you,” the housekeeper replied. She judged the woman to be about thirty-five or forty. She introduced Betsy and the two of them sat down. Betsy had a quick look around. The room was nicely furnished but not cluttered. Two potted plants, a couple of nice pictures, an ottoman in the same shade of rose as the chair she was sitting on, and a matching set of bookcases on either side of the small fireplace.

“Martha told me all about you,” Annabeth Gentry said as she resumed her seat, then turned her head toward the door. “Come in, Miranda; as you can see, we have visitors.”

Betsy and Mrs. Jeffries both turned to look. A huge russet-colored bloodhound with a mournful face and enormously long ears loped into the room.

“What a lovely dog,” Betsy exclaimed in delight. “So you’re Miranda?”

The dog’s tail wagged as she trotted over to give Betsy’s outstretched hand a sniff. Betsy giggled and started petting the animal’s shiny coat. “Oh, you’re lovely, aren’t you.”

“She loves the attention.” Annabeth laughed. The dog trotted over to her mistress and rubbed her big head against her knees. “That’s right, she’s my Miranda girl. She’s just a bit spoiled, but she’s so good-natured, I don’t see any harm in it.”

“She’s the one that found the body?” Mrs. Jeffries
asked gently, trying to get the investigation started.

“That’s right. We were out taking a walk on those open fields off Loftus Road. I don’t know if you know the area, but it’s quite lovely. As there wasn’t anyone about, I’d taken Miranda off the lead so she could have a bit of a run. All of a sudden she started sniffing the ground in that concentrated way she has and following it along the edge of the footpath for a good fifty feet. Then, just as suddenly, she turned sharply and stopped just inside a wooded area. She started digging frantically. When I saw the man’s hand, I almost fainted. I called her away and went and got a policeman.”

“Very wise of you, I’m sure.” Mrs. Jeffries nodded. “And it was just after you and Miranda found that body that the attempts on your life began?”

“I really don’t see how that poor man could be connected to what’s happening to me.” Annabeth sighed. “After the police arrived, I wasn’t involved at all. They hustled me away very quickly. But I’m so confused now, I don’t really know what to think. At first I thought I was just having a run of bad luck; it’s not unheard of for horses to bolt. Then I was even willing to think that perhaps I was becoming accident-prone when those bricks started flying off the top of the wall; after all, it’s an old wall. But when Miranda almost died from eating that poisoned cream, I knew for certain someone was really trying to kill me. You see, I was the one that should have eaten the cream. Not my poor hound.”

“Tell us how this poisoning attempt took place,” Betsy urged.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.” Annabeth cocked her head to one side.

“We do need a few more details, Miss Gentry,” Mrs. Jeffries explained. “Exactly when did it happen? Who was in the house? Where did the cream come from and
how much of it had you consumed before Miranda helped herself?”

“Oh dear.” She smiled apologetically. “I must sound as if I’m a dolt. Of course you need details. Let me see…well, it was the day before yesterday. My sister and her husband were visiting, so we were going to have tea outside. None of us particularly care for cream, but as we were having scones, Martha put it out along with the strawberry jam.”

“Where did the cream come from?” Mrs. Jeffries asked. “I mean, why did you have it in the house if none of you care for it?”

“That’s the strangest thing,” Annabeth answered. “We don’t know where it came from. But we didn’t know we didn’t know until after poor Miranda almost died from eating the wretched stuff, if you see what I mean. You see, when Martha went into the kitchen after searching for the curd, she saw a pot of cream on the table. Things have been a bit chaotic recently, what with getting ready for the move and all, so she naturally assumed I’d remembered we needed something for tea and purchased the cream. So she put it on the serving tray and brought it outside. When I saw the cream on the tray, I simply assumed that she’d nipped out and bought it herself. You see? Neither of us had actually bought the stuff, it was just here. But the circumstances were such that we didn’t ask one another anything until after Miranda got ill.”

Betsy thought she understood what the woman was saying. She glanced at Mrs. Jeffries. The housekeeper’s expression revealed nothing. “Are you saying this pot of clotted cream just suddenly appeared on your kitchen table? Someone must have put it there.”

“It makes no sense at all,” Annabeth said eagerly. “That’s what’s so baffling to us, too.”

Mrs. Jeffries looked at the huge hound, who was now
lying at her mistress’s feet. “Miranda doesn’t seem to have been harmed by the experience.”

“Only because she’d just eaten a mouthful of the stuff,” Annabeth said. “I’d put a very small amount on my scone and then I’d cut it up into pieces. Just at that time, my sister and her husband arrived and I got up to go greet them. Miranda, naughty girl that she is, stretched up and grabbed one of the pieces of scone. Then Bruce, that’s Mrs. Aylesworthy’s cat, bounded into the yard and Miranda took off after him. A few minutes later, just as we were sitting down for tea, Miranda came slinking back. The poor darling was retching terribly. I didn’t know what was the matter. I asked Martha if Miranda had eaten anything—”

“And I said all she’d had since her breakfast was that bit of scone,” Martha added.

“How did you know for certain it was the cream?” Betsy asked. “Couldn’t it have been the scones?”

“No, my brother-in-law and my sister both ate the scones and they didn’t have cream, so I realized that whatever had made Miranda ill had been in the cream. By then I realized Miranda had been poisoned,” Annabeth said. “I’m rather an expert on dogs, you see. I don’t have any formal medical training, but I know enough to spot the symptoms of poisoning. As soon as I got rid of my relatives, I gave Miranda a thorough examination and then I sent Martha into the larder for the cream. We were going to take it to the police. But it had vanished.”

“Who was in the house that day?” Betsy asked. She thought that was a reasonable place to start.

Annabeth’s expression grew thoughtful. Absently, she reached down and petted the huge dog. “Well, let’s see, there was Martha and myself, of course. My sister and her husband were here for tea…well, they were here for part of the tea; after Miranda retched all over the
terrace, they took themselves off fairly quickly.”

“What are their names?” Mrs. Jeffries asked.

“Reverend and Mrs. Cooksey.” Annabeth grinned. “That’s how they insist on introducing themselves. I always think of them as Harold and Louisa, but that tends to annoy them. Then my other sister and her husband popped in later that day. They’re Elliot and Ethel Caraway. They’d stopped by to see how the renovations on the new house were going.”

“Anyone else?”

“My new neighbor, Mr. Eddington; he came around to bring me the name of his painters. Oh, there were ever so many people here that day. I expect that’s one of the reasons we didn’t pay much attention to that wretched cream.”

Betsy’s head was spinning. She had dozens of questions to ask. From the expression on Mrs. Jeffries’s face, she was certain the housekeeper had quite a few as well. “I know what you mean; some days there’s so much coming and going you don’t know what’s what.”

“Miss Gentry.” Mrs. Jeffries smiled. “Let’s put the issue of how the cream got into the house to one side. I’ve a few more things to ask, if you don’t mind.”

“But of course you do.” Annabeth nodded vigorously. “That’s why you’ve come. To help me. I must say, I’m ever so grateful. I don’t think anyone else would take me seriously. Why, even my own sister didn’t believe me.”

“We believe you,” Betsy said. “But like Mrs. Jeffries said, before we can do you any good at all, we’ll have to ask you a lot of questions.”

Martha started for the kitchen. “I’ll get the kettle on. We’ll all think better over a cup of tea.”

Wiggins hoped that Mrs. Jeffries wouldn’t get angry when she found out what he’d done, but he didn’t fancy
sitting around the kitchen with Mrs. Goodge, waiting for the others to get back. He stopped in front of the gate of what had been Helmsley’s Grammar School for Boys and peeked through the rusted iron railings into the yard. The building was three stories tall and made of brick. Several of the top windows were broken and the eaves over the attic were missing bits of masonry. The aged gray-red cobblestones in the wide courtyard were split in spots and patches of grass pushed up between the cracks.

Wiggins sighed in disappointment. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find here. Smythe had already had a good look about the place. “We might as well see what’s what, Fred.” He glanced at the animal standing patiently at his heels. Fred pricked his ears and woofed gently in agreement. “It looks deserted. But you never know, we might stumble onto something important.”

He put his foot on the bottom rail of the gate and started to hoist himself up. The latch popped and the gate squeaked open. Fred trotted through, turned, and woofed at Wiggins, who was having a difficult time getting his foot out from between the railings. “’Ang on a minute,” he told the dog. Not one to waste a lot of energy, Fred promptly sat down. Wiggins extricated his foot and squeezed through the opening.

To his left, the courtyard narrowed and wound to the back of the school. Two small, dilapidated sheds were on the far side and behind them was the wall which separated the school grounds from the neighboring houses. Wiggins glanced to his right; there was a high wall on the far side of the school building, and over it, he could see the spires of a church.

“Come on, Fred, let’s have a look-see down by them buildings.” He and Fred headed across the cobblestones. In the quiet morning, the heels of his heavy work shoes seemed horribly loud. He could even hear the click of
Fred’s nails against the stones. He stopped in front of the first building but it didn’t look very interesting, so he continued on to the next. “This seems as good a place as any,” he said to the dog. “Let’s go ’round the back and see if we can spot them ladder marks in the dirt.”

But Fred wasn’t listening to Wiggins, he was staring at the shed they’d just passed. The hair on his back stood up and his ears had gone back. He was rooted to the spot.

A shiver of fear snaked up Wiggins’s spine. They were now out of sight of the street and he suddenly felt very alone. He knelt down close to the dog’s ear. “What is it, boy? What’s wrong?” he whispered.

Not taking his gaze off the shed, Fred began to growl.

“Maybe we’d best get out of here,” Wiggins said. He began rising to his feet and backing away. “Come on, boy, let’s go.”

But the dog didn’t budge. His growl turned into a snarl.

From the inside of the shed, there was a loud, metallic thump.

Wiggins was no coward, but he knew in his bones that he and Fred had to get out of there. He didn’t know how he knew it; he simply knew that if they didn’t go now, something horrible would happen. He turned and started for the gate. “Come on, Fred,” he hissed, “let’s go.”

Fred began to bark.

There was another frightening thump from the shed and then a loud whack as something banged against the door.

Wiggins reached down, picked up the dog, tucked him under his arm, and ran for the gate. Surprised, Fred stopped barking. He started up again a moment later, but by then, Wiggins had pushed the dog through the opening and was shimmying through himself. Wiggins heard
the shed door opening. He knew he ought to look around, to get a look at whoever was behind him, but for the life of him, he was too scared.

Still barking, Fred tried to run back through the gate. Wiggins grabbed his collar and dragged him back. “Come on, boy,” he called, frantically trying to keep the animal under control, “let’s run. Come on, let’s ’ave us a good run.” Praying his tactic would work, he let go the collar and ran across the empty road. For a fraction of a second, Fred hesitated, then he took off after his beloved friend.

They ran down around the corner and onto Frithville Gardens and then onto the Uxbridge Road. Wiggins didn’t stop till he and Fred were in sight of the railway lines and surrounded by people. He skidded to a halt when he reached the Albion Brewery and slumped against the side of the building. Sweat poured down his face as he took in huge gulps of air. He could feel the rough brick through his thin shirt. “Good dog.” He reached down and petted the panting Fred. “You followed my lead. It’s not that I’m a coward, Fred, but there was somethin’ evil back there. I could feel it in me bones.”

Fred woofed softly and wagged his tail.

“Now we’ve got to suss out what to do next,” Wiggins said. He often talked to Fred. The fact that he was on a busy London street and that several passerbys were staring at him oddly didn’t bother him in the least. “Someone’s got to go back to that place.” He started toward Shepherd’s Bush Green. “I know there’s somethin’ wrong. But I’ll have a devil of a time convincin’ anyone to ’ave a look-see in that shed. What can I tell ’em? That I ’eard some funny noises? They’ll wonder why I didn’t ’ave a look myself.” He stopped by a street lamp to let a handsome brougham pulled by two elegant gray horses go past. Wiggins knew that no one at Upper Edmonton
Gardens would make fun of him for running away, nor would anyone consider him a coward. In truth, they’d probably tell him he’d acted wisely. But now that he was safely away from that place, he felt silly.