Can you believe it? I told her it was ridiculous, that she’d
never recoup that money, that it was like pouring sand
down a rat hole, but she insisted. I tried to get her to consider Addison’s offer, but she refused to even meet with the man.”
“What offer?” the inspector asked.
“John Addison, his family owns Addison’s Brass Works,
he was going to offer her a fortune for this company, but she
bluntly refused to even consider meeting the man. I tried to
talk sense into her, tell her to take the meeting and hear the
man out, but she wouldn’t. She kept saying she wasn’t interested in selling.”
“So you knew Addison?” the inspector asked. His lower
back began to ache from standing so long in one spot. He
shifted his weight a bit, hoping it would ease the pain.
“Yes,” Sutter admitted. “Addison had paid me twenty
pounds to arrange a meeting with her. He was going give
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me another twenty pounds when the meeting actually took
place.”
“Is that why she sacked you, because you disagreed
with her opinion?” Barnes stared hard at Sutter.
“Oh no, she sacked me because I stole money,” he replied
bluntly. “It wasn’t much, but I was angry, you see. When she
refused to meet with Addison, I lost twenty quid, so I took it
out of one of our suppliers’ cash accounts. Of course she
caught me, but I didn’t care. I knew I couldn’t stand working
for that woman any longer. I didn’t care if she sacked me. It
was a bit of a relief when it finally happened.”
Ruth Cannonberry arrived for their afternoon meeting just
as the others were sitting down. “I do hope I’m not late,”
she apologized as she slipped into her chair. “But I was unavoidably delayed. Honestly, some people simply haven’t any idea of when to stop talking and it’s dreadfully difficult
to tell the vicar that one simply can’t serve on another committee.”
“We’ve not really started,” Mrs. Jeffries assured her.
“The others have only arrived. Would you like to go first?”
“Only if no one else wishes to do so.” She smiled selfconsciously. “I’ve not much to report, but I did find out a little about Keith Muran’s first wife.”
“That’s quick,” Mrs. Goodge said, nodding in encouragement.
“Her Christian name was Emmaline, and she died of
pneumonia. She and Mr. Muran were married for eleven
years, and by all accounts it was a happy marriage. Less
than a year after her death, Keith Muran met Caroline Merriman and they married fairly soon after.”
“They didn’t wait until Mr. Muran was out of mourning?” Mrs. Goodge helped herself to a slice of seed cake.
“He was out of mourning, but only just,” Ruth replied.
“The first Mrs. Muran died in November and he married
Caroline December of the following year.”
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“At least he waited a bit more than a year,” Mrs. Jeffries
muttered. “But we mustn’t jump to conclusions. Perhaps
the man was simply lonely. Some men are like that—they
don’t adjust well to living without a spouse.”
“Especially if they’ve been happily married,” the cook
added.
“That’s really all I managed to find out,” Ruth admitted.
“But I’ll keep on digging about and see what I can learn.”
“You’ve done very well.” Mrs. Jeffries looked around
the table. “Who’d like to go next?”
“As we’ve been talking about Mr. Muran’s first wife,”
Betsy said, “I’ll go next. I heard a bit that might be useful.”
She repeated what she’d found out from the lad at the grocers. “So after talking to him, I had to go along and see what I could find out from the greengrocer. I ran into a bit
of luck there—Bertie’s mum was a bit of a talker.” She
grinned. “Once the other customers had left, she couldn’t
wait to have a fresh ear. Apparently, Lucy Turner and Keith
Muran had been close for a number of years. Bertie’s mum
says she’s sure that Lucy Turner was Muran’s mistress.
Once Emmaline died, she fully expected Keith Muran to
marry her, but instead, he up and marries her cousin.”
“But if he was happily married, why’d he have a mistress?” Wiggins asked. He looked quickly around the table at their faces, wanting to make sure his blunt question
hadn’t offended any of the ladies present.
“We don’t know for certain he did,” Mrs. Jeffries said
slowy. “And even in happy marriages, in some circles, such
things happen.”
“That don’t seem very nice or very dignified.” Wiggins
made a disapproving face. He was quite a romantic at heart.
“Matters of the heart are often undignified,” the cook
said philosophically.
“So it would seem that Lucy Turner has been a part Keith
Muran’s life for a good number of years,” Mrs. Jeffries
said thoughtfully.
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“And she’s not about to stop,” Wiggins interjected. “Accordin’ to Charlotte, Lucy Turner and her mum have barged right in and taken over runnin’ the ’ouse.”
Betsy frowned at the footman.
“Oh, sorry, I’ll wait my turn.”
“Thank you,” she said tartly. “I also found out that Mrs.
Turner nursed Emmaline Muran during her illness. Bertie’s
mum told me that everyone in the neighborhood was surprised when she up and died. Apparently, she hadn’t been that ill, and no one, not even her doctor, had thought death
was that close.”
“But she died anyway,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “That’s very
interesting.”
“But not very useful,” Mrs. Goodge said. “Just because
the woman died doesn’t mean there was foul play. Doctors
are wrong more often than they’re right, and even big
strong people can succumb to an illness.”
“That’s true,” Mrs. Jeffries agreed. “We’ve learned from
our past cases that we must keep an open mind and not
make assumptions until all the facts are known.” She looked
at Betsy. “Anything else?”
Betsy shook her head. “Not really. But I’ll keep at it.”
“Can I go next?” Wiggins asked. “I’ve found out something as well.”
“Go on, then,” Smythe said. “We’re waitin’.”
Wiggins told them about his meeting with Charlotte
Brimmer. “Like I was sayin’, the Turners have barged in
and taken over the Muran house. The servants don’t like
either of them, especially Mrs. Turner. Claims she don’t
know how to run a proper house.”
“Why wouldn’t she know how to run a household?” Mrs.
Goodge asked. “She’s a lady. Her husband was an army officer in India and she’d have run her own household out there.”
“Maybe it’s different in them foreign places,” Wiggins
replied. “Charlotte says Mrs. Turner can barely read or
write, doesn’t know how to order provisions properly, and
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145
has a nasty temper to boot. The servants hate her. Charlotte
says she’ll go along for days being decent and kin
d and then
someone will drop a spoon or leave a smudge on the table
and she’ll go mad. The first time I saw Charlotte, she looked
scared to death, and that was because that very morning
Mrs. Turner threw the salt cellar at the scullery maid. Cut the
poor girl on the head. Accordin’ to Charlotte, that wasn’t the
first time Mrs. Turner had acted like a mad woman. When
she loses her temper, she likes to throw things about the
place.”
“That’s not so unusual,” Mrs. Goodge said. “I once
worked for a woman that got so angry over a dinner party
that didn’t go well she turned over the table in the butler’s
pantry and made us eat with our plates on our laps for a
week. We hated her.”
“Why didn’t people leave and find other positions?”
Betsy asked the cook.
Mrs. Goodge smiled sadly. “It’s not like now. Back in
those days there weren’t many positions. Times were hard.
You couldn’t go off and get a job in a factory or a shop.”
“Some people are just born mean and nasty,” Wiggins
continued. “Mrs. Turner is even horrible to her own daughter. Charlotte told me that right after the New Year she overheard the old woman tell Lucy Turner that she’d better
quite larkin’ about, that her beauty was startin’ to fade and
if she didn’t grab herself a husband soon, she’d lose her
chance.”
“How awful,” Betsy exclaimed.
“That’s why Charlotte’s lookin’ for another position;
she’s afraid that once the mourning period is past, Mr. Mu-
ran is goin’ to marry Miss Turner,” Wiggins said. “They
don’t want to have to put up with Mrs. Turner.”
“And they’re certain Mrs. Turner would move into the
Muran house as well?” Smythe asked.
“That’s what Charlotte thinks,” Wiggins replied.
“Did you find out if there’s a gun in the Muran household?” Smythe helped himself to a second slice of cake.
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Emily Brightwell
“Charlotte’s never seen one.” Wiggins wondered if he
ought to ask Mrs. Jeffries to help him find the maid another
position.
“The Turners probably have a gun,” Mrs. Goodge said.
Wiggins looked at the cook in admiration. “Cor blimey,
Mrs. Goodge, ’ow’d you find that out so quick?”
“I’m only guessing, lad,” she admitted ruefully. “But
colonial families generally all have guns. My guess is that
Mrs. Turner kept her husband’s weapons when they returned from India and that they’re somewhere in the Turner house.”
“That’s true,” Mrs. Jeffries added. “You’ve done very
well, Mrs. Goodge.”
“Thank you.” The cook sighed. “But as I said, I’m only
guessing. The only other tidbit I heard today was from
Maisie Dobson. I invited her for morning coffee because
she used to housekeep for a gentleman that lives just up the
road from the Murans. But she didn’t really know anything.” The cook frowned and shook her head. “All I got out of her was that Mr. Muran dearly loved his wife—the
silly girl had seen them holding hands once and decided on
that flimsy evidence that they were madly in love.”
“Maybe they were,” Wiggins said.
The cook ignored him. “That’s really all I found out. I’ve
got some more sources coming in tomorrow. Let’s hope I
find something useful.”
“Everything’s useful,” Mrs. Jeffries said softly. “And
you’ve certainly done better today than I have. I found out
absolutely nothing.”
“I learned a bit about Russell Merriman,” Smythe said.
“He wasn’t in the country when his sister was killed, and
more importantly, he loved her. He wouldn’t have had her
murdered.”
“Besides, if he had, he wouldn’t be the one kicking up a
fuss and getting the case reopened,” Betsy muttered. “He’d
just let Tommy Odell hang.”
Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict
147
Mrs. Jeffries nodded slowly. She still wasn’t sure about
Merriman. Devotion to a sibling could be faked, and there
might be a goodly number of facts about the matter that
they hadn’t uncovered as yet. For the moment, Merriman
was still on her list of suspects.
“What are we going to do next?” Wiggins asked. “If you
don’t mind my sayin’ so, time’s movin’ right along and
we’re no closer to sussin’ out who really murdered that poor
woman.”
“I know.” Mrs. Jeffries hadn’t learned anything new because she’d spent the afternoon thinking about the murder.
She’d put all the facts together and tried to come up with
some idea as to who truly benefited from Caroline Muran’s
death. But she’d not come up with any definite conclusions. Just before the others returned, she’d realized she might be approaching the problem from the wrong set of
assumptions. Sometimes, murder indirectly benefited the
killer. She needed time to think, but the truth was, she was
afraid that time was the one commodity they didn’t have.
“It’s a puzzle, isn’t it.”
“It’s a puzzle we’ve got to solve if we’re going to save
Tommy Odell from the hangman,” Smythe said. “And so
far, we’re not findin’ out much that’s useful. One of the first
things we’ve got to do is start eliminatin’ people from our
suspect list.”
“And how do you propose we do that?” Betsy asked.
“For starters, I’m goin’ to find that hansom driver and
see if he lied. Keith Muran told the inspector he’d asked the
driver to wait for them that night, but that’s not what the
driver told me, so one of them is lying. If it’s the driver, then
I think that puts Muran off our list.”
“I don’t see how.” the cook said.
“Because if Muran had asked the driver to wait, then
that means he couldn’t have killed her. He’d not do it in
front of a witness.” Betsy cuffed Smythe on the arm. “You
clever man. No wonder I said I’d marry you.”
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“Eliminating people off our suspect list is a very good
idea,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “Does anyone have any other suggestions as to how we can go about it?”
“I think we ought to be very practical,” Wiggins declared. “We need to know where all our suspects were that night. Whoever killed Mrs. Muran had to go to Barrick
Street and do the evil deed, so he or she wouldn’t be where
they claimed to be, would they?”
“That’s very practical,” Ruth said. “But I think it might
be difficult obtaining that information. The murder was
weeks ago, so people might not recall where they’d been.”
“Oh, but they would.” Mrs. Jeffries’ eyes gleamed with
excitement. She had the sense that they were starting to
move in the right direction. “Ruth, do you recall what you
were doing on the day your father passed away?”
“I remember every single detail. I was in the garden
helping Mama pick gooseberries when our housekeeper
came running to tell us poor Papa had collap
sed in the . . .”
she broke off as understanding dawned. “Oh yes, now I see
what you mean. When something awful happens to someone important in your life, you know exactly what you were doing.”
“Caroline Muran was important to a good number of
people.” Mrs. Jeffries smiled triumphantly. “And I’ll warrant every one of our suspects can recall exactly where they were on the night she died.”
“I hate to admit this,” Betsy said, looking confused.
“Maybe it’s me being thick, but exactly who are our suspects?”
At breakfast the next morning, Mrs. Jeffries told the others
everything she’d learned from Witherspoon the night before.
He’d come home tired and discouraged, but over a glass of
sherry and a sympathetic ear, she’d found out about his interviews with Keith Muran, John Brandon, and the Turner women.
“I don’t think having police constables huntin’ about
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Barrick Street for a witness is goin’ to do much good,”
Smythe commented. He took a quick bite of toast. “Not at
this late date.”
“You never know,” Betsy said brightly. “I’m always
amazed at what tidbits people can remember.”
“Should I pop over to Lady Cannonberry’s?” Wiggins
asked. There was one last fried egg on the platter in the
center of the table, but he’d had three already and he didn’t
want to make a pig of himself.
“She’s stopping by here on her way to her Ladies Missionary Society meeting at the church.” Mrs. Goodge reached over, scooped the egg up, and dumped it on Wiggins’ plate. “I’ll tell her when she gets here. Eat this, lad; it’ll just go to waste if you don’t.”
“Our inspector didn’t learn very much yesterday,” Smythe
complained. “Leastways not as much as I’d ’ave liked.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Betsy stated. “He found out about
Sutter getting sacked for stealing.”
“But we already knew that, so it’s not going to do us
much good,” he countered. “I was ’opin’ our inspector had
learned somethin’ we didn’t know.”
“But he did.” Mrs. Jeffries put her cup down. “He found
out that Mrs. Muran hadn’t wanted to go to the concert that
night. She’d been thinking of staying home.”
“And Lucy Turner talked her into going,” Mrs. Goodge
added.
“And that it was Mrs. Muran who insisted on going to
see that empty building,” Wiggins pointed out. “Leastways
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