He looked at her and his expression must have been a bit skeptical, because she leaned toward him, her expression earnest, and said, “But it wasn’t just that, though. There’s been a strange tension in the air all afternoon. Something just wasn’t right. I could feel it. I finally managed to get away from Sir Madison and I followed Papa into the hallway. I overheard him telling Stevens that when the guests left, they were to leave through the back, not out the front door. He insisted they be shown out through the garden.”
“You found that a bit odd?”
“Of course,” she replied. “But when I asked Papa what was going on, he told me to go back into the drawing room and attend to my guests.”
Witherspoon thought for a moment. He was desperately trying to get a sense of who was where at what time. A timeline always came in handy when it came to solving a homicide. “Who greeted the guests when they arrived this afternoon?”
“Mama and I,” she replied. “We were right here in the drawing room when Emma and Mrs. Stabler arrived. They were the first.”
“What time was this?”
“I didn’t look at the clock, but I think it must have been a quarter to five because Mama commented that they were right on time.” She pulled a white handkerchief out of the tight lace cuff of her dress and dabbed at her eyes.
“Are you alright, Miss Evans? Would you like a glass of water?”
“I’m fine.” She smiled self-consciously. “It’s just that every time I think of us in here laughing and having a pleasant time while poor Miss Moran was lying out there dead . . .” She broke off and looked away, but not before the inspector had seen the tears welling up in her eyes again.
She was either a great actress or was terribly distressed about the murder of her old governess, he thought to himself. “Four forty-five was when the tea was due to start?”
She took a deep breath. “That’s correct.”
“How many guests were there?”
“I’m not certain. I’m not very good at the social aspects of this wedding. I let Mama handle all those details. But the tea was for my wedding attendants and their families. It’s a very large wedding party. I’ve four bridesmaids. When you add in all the parents and siblings, the house seemed quite full. Stevens brought in extra chairs from the morning room.”
“When is your wedding?” he asked kindly.
“At ten o’clock on December eighteenth at St. John’s Church in Kensington Park.” She looked away again. “It’s not long now.”
Witherspoon realized her wedding was the same day as Betsy’s. “It’s unfortunate your wedding has been marred by this terrible crime,” he said softly.
“It’s worse for poor Miss Moran than for me.” She looked at him and smiled sadly. “It’s been years since she was part of my life, but I have such fond memories of her. She wasn’t like most governesses, she was fun and filled with joy . . . we used to have such a nice time together. Oh dear . . .” Her voice broke and tears sprang into her eyes.
Witherspoon looked toward the courtyard so she could have a moment to regain her composure. “If the curtains aren’t drawn, you can see straight out to the street,” he said. “Is that correct?”
She sniffed and swiped at her cheeks before she answered. “That’s right, even with the courtyard being there, because of the gas lamp on the far side of the road, one can have a direct view of the street. I’ve always rather liked that.” She smiled wistfully. “I like watching people. Mama says that’s very common and I’m not supposed to do it. She was always after Papa to find us a house in the country. But he loves London, and though he usually gives her whatever she wants, he refused to leave.”
“Do you recall noticing anyone lurking about in the front of the house before the curtains were drawn?” He thought that a good question.
“No, but I was late getting ready so I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Were you late for any particular reason?”
“I’d taken some books back to Mudies Lending Library. I meant to come straight back but they had some new books and I wanted to have a look at them. We’ve a library here, of course. It came with the house. But there aren’t any modern novels. Papa doesn’t approve of them, but he does allow me to have a subscription to Mudies. I lost track of time and it was almost half past four when I got home. That gave me just enough time to change and get downstairs before the first guest arrived at the door. Luckily, Mama was in the kitchen having a word with Cook, so she didn’t know how late I arrived home.” She giggled. “By the time she came into the drawing room, I’d changed and gotten downstairs.”
In the library next door, Constable Barnes sat in an uncomfortable straight back chair next to the unlit fireplace. His little brown notebook was open and resting on his knee. Jeremy Evans sat across from him.
“What time did you arrive home today, sir?” Barnes asked.
“It was almost five thirty,” he replied. “My wife was annoyed. I was supposed to be home at a quarter to so I could greet our guests.”
“And where had you been, sir?”
“At my offices on Fenchurch Street,” he explained. “I own quite a large import/export firm.”
“When you came home, was that when you saw the victim?” Barnes asked.
“No, actually, I came in through the kitchen. It was Stevens who alerted me that there was something rather unusual going on outside our front door. I went and had a look out the window. That’s when I saw the woman on the ground and the two police constables.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “It must have been dreadful for that poor woman, but frankly, Constable, all I could think of at that moment was protecting my wife and daughter. I didn’t want their party ruined by such ugliness. So I instructed Stevens to pull the drapes so the guests wouldn’t be disturbed by the commotion.”
“Weren’t you curious, sir?” Barnes watched him carefully.
“Of course I was, but I’ve just told you, my main concern was my family. It never occurred to me that the dead woman was connected in any way with us. Perhaps if I’d come in the front door, if I’d gone past her, I might have recognized her, but even that is doubtful. I’ve not seen Agatha Moran in years.”
“Yet she ended up stabbed right outside your house,” Barnes said, his expression thoughtful.
Evans said nothing for a moment, and then he gave an almost imperceptible shrug. “Be that as it may, Constable, the woman had nothing to do with me or my household.”
“You think her being murdered only a few feet from your front door is a coincidence?”
“It’s possible she was coming to see us,” Evans admitted. “Or perhaps it was just a coincidence. They do happen, you know.”
Barnes nodded. “Why were you late home, sir? You mentioned your wife was expecting you at a quarter to five, yet you didn’t arrive here until almost half past.”
Evans cocked his head to one side and stared at Barnes. “My daughter got engaged six months ago, and ever since then, it’s been one social event after another. There’s been engagement balls, engagement dinners, engagement galas, and now an engagement tea for all her bridesmaids and their mothers and sisters. Frankly, I didn’t see why I should be expected to be here for the ruddy thing. I’ve done my duty and attended every other function, but honestly, I didn’t think I was up to sipping tea among a bunch of giggling girls.” He sighed audibly. “Besides, the end of the year is approaching and I wanted to go over my ledgers. End of year is when I make certain all my accounts are in order.”
“What time today did you leave your office?” Barnes asked.
“It was past four,” he answered. “I walked part of the way home.”
Barnes regarded him steadily. “You walked? But it was raining.”
“It wasn’t raining the whole time and I had my umbrella.” He smiled. “I started out in a hansom but I had them drop me off when the rain let up a bit. Surely you can understand. I’d spent the afternoon going over ledgers and my head hurt. I wanted a bit of t
ime to myself before I had to come home and play the gracious host. I’ve been doing it for months now, and I didn’t think my wife would really begrudge me wanting an hour or two to myself.”
“Yet you crept in the back way so your wife wouldn’t know what time you really arrived.” Barnes smiled sympathetically.
“Absolutely.” Evans looked amused. “Are you married, Constable?”
“For over thirty years, sir.”
“Then as a married man, you’ll understand that what we hope for in our spouses isn’t always what we get. My wife is a good and generally a reasonable woman. However, I considered it prudent not to parade my tardiness in front of her.”
“And you were hoping that by the time the tea party was finished, she’d be over her temper.” Barnes grinned. There wasn’t a married person on the face of the earth who didn’t understand that principle.
“Precisely, Constable.”
Smythe wasn’t sure if he should laugh or cry. He and Betsy were getting married in less than ten days, her family was due in to London tomorrow, and their flat wasn’t anywhere near finished. This was no time for a murder. Yet if he were truly honest with himself, he was delighted they finally had another case.
Oh, they’d had one in the summer, but it hadn’t lasted long, as twenty-four hours after the body had been discovered, the victim’s wife had confessed she’d clouted her husband with an iron. These thoughts flashed through his mind in a heartbeat. He looked down at his plate, shoved a last bite of potato into his mouth, chewed, swallowed, and got up. “Do we have an address?”
“Chepstow Villas in Notting Hill.” Mrs. Jeffries smiled in relief. She hadn’t been sure of how Betsy and Smythe would react to the fact that the inspector had another homicide case, but both of them looked quite pleased by the prospect of going “on the hunt.” “Sorry, I wasn’t able to find out the exact address.”
“Not to worry, it can’t be that long a street, so the house should be easy to find. There’ll be constables everywhere.” He started toward the coat tree. “I’ll find out what’s what.”
Wiggins leapt up as well. “I’ll come, too,” he declared.
“But what about Luty and Hatchet?” Betsy looked from Wiggins to Mrs. Jeffries. “Shouldn’t Wiggins get over there and put them on notice that we’ve a case? You know how upset they get if they’re not told right away that we’ve a murder.”
Luty Belle Crookshank and her butler, Hatchet, were good friends of the household. They helped on all the inspector’s investigations.
Mrs. Jeffries nodded in agreement. Betsy had a point. She glanced at the carriage clock on the pine sideboard and saw it was already past eight. “Oh dear, I fear we’re already too late. They’ve probably already gone out for the evening. You know how sociable Luty is these days. I can’t recall the last time she mentioned spending an evening at home. No, I think it’ll be more useful for Wiggins to go with Smythe. Tomorrow he can nip over bright and early and fetch them. We’ve got to get this investigation started. There’s much to do and very little free time.”
Wiggins raced to the coat tree. Fred got up and charged after him, his tail wagging a mile a minute.
“Sorry old boy”—he slipped his coat on and reached down to pet the dog’s head—“but I can’t do walkies now; I’ll take you out when I get home.”
Fred’s tail thumped even faster at the word “walkies.”
“I’ll take him out,” Betsy volunteered. “You two might not be home until midnight, and we don’t want any accidents.”
Smythe paused in the act of wrapping his scarf around his neck. “I don’t want you walkin’ around alone at night,” he said to Betsy.
“Don’t be silly, I’ll not be on my own. Fred will be with me.” Betsy picked up Smythe’s plate and then Wiggins’ and turned toward the cooker. “This is a safe area and I’m just going for a short walk around the corner. I’ll stop by and see if Lady Cannonberry is home. We’re going to need her help as well.”
“We’re goin’ to need everyone’s help,” the cook muttered softly.
Betsy smiled prettily at her fiancé. “I’ll put these plates in the warming oven and you can have them when you get back. Now, go on, get moving. As Mrs. Jeffries said, we’ve a lot to do so there isn’t a moment to waste.”
Smythe sighed and gave up the fight. He knew he’d lose. He contented himself with saying, “Mind you be careful,” gave her a wink when she giggled, and started for the back door. Wiggins was right on his heels.
Witherspoon closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of his seat while he waited for Sir Madison Lowery to join him. The interview with Miss Evans had been quite exhausting. The truth of the matter was that he rather liked the young woman, yet as a police officer, a homicide detective, he understood all too well that just because she was sympathetic in her demeanor didn’t mean she was innocent of involvement in Agatha Moran’s death. When investigating a murder, it was important to view everyone as a suspect.
The door opened and he turned to see Stevens enter. He was carrying a silver tray. “Miss Evans thought you might like a cup of tea, sir.”
“That would be lovely,” he replied eagerly. “That was very thoughtful of Miss Evans.”
“She also sent tea in to your constable, sir.” Stevens set the tray down on the side table, picked up the pot, and poured the tea into a delicate china cup decorated with a pattern of pink tea roses. “Sugar or cream, sir?”
“Two sugars and a little cream,” he replied. His spirits brightened as he saw there was also a plate of ginger biscuits on the tray. Good—it was hours past his dinnertime and he was hungry enough to eat a horse.
“Here you are, sir.” Stevens handed him his tea. “Do help yourself to some biscuits as well,” he offered as he left.
Witherspoon took a quick sip of his tea and sighed in pleasure. He reached for a biscuit, crammed it into his mouth, and chewed hungrily, swallowing just as the door opened and Sir Madison Lowery stepped inside the room.
“Do try and make this quick, Inspector.” Lowery frowned irritably as he sat down across from Witherspoon. “It is getting late and I’d like to get home. I’ve a very full day tomorrow.”
“What time did you arrive here this afternoon?” Witherspoon took another sip. Delicate cups were beautiful, but they certainly didn’t hold very much tea.
“I don’t recall the exact time.” Lowery crossed his arms over his chest.
“But surely you’ve some idea of when you got here?” The inspector glanced longingly at the plate of biscuits. “Was it dark outside or was it still light?”
“It was already dark”—he lifted his hand to his mouth to cover a yawn—“the tea started at a quarter to five. I arrived here shortly afterwards.”
“Did you see anyone out front when you came inside?” Witherspoon asked.
Lowery hesitated. “Actually, I didn’t come in the front way.”
The inspector stared at him. “How did you get into the house?”
“I came in through the garden.”
The inspector wondered if anyone at this ruddy tea party had come in the front door. “Is it your habit to come in through the garden?”
Lowery raised an eyebrow. “Of course not, Inspector. But I was late, you see, and I didn’t want my fiancée realizing how late I actually was, so I crept in the back way. I came through the kitchen.”
“Did any of the kitchen staff see you come in?” he asked.
“Why? Do I need to account for my whereabouts?”
“In a murder investigation, everyone needs to account for their time,” Witherspoon replied.
Sir Madison gave him a tight smile. “One of the maids saw me come inside, and I daresay several of the guests spotted me coming in as well. I didn’t want Rosemary to be cross with me. Surely you understand, Inspector. You know how women can be about social engagements.”
Witherspoon wasn’t in the least sure he understood anything about women or social engagements. His relation
ship with his wonderful neighbor, Lady Cannonberry, was such that if she asked him to be at her home at a specific time, he would do so if it were at all in his power.
“So I take it you had no idea that there was something odd happening right in front of the house?” he ventured.
“Absolutely not,” Lowery retorted.
“Were the drapes open when you came into the room?”
Lowery’s forehead wrinkled in thought. “I think the butler might have been closing them when I came into the drawing room. Yes, that’s right, Stevens was at the window untying the cords. A moment later, he pulled the panels together. But I didn’t think anything of it at the time. It was already dark outside and I know the family values privacy. The drapes are always closed in the evenings.”
“Have you ever met Miss Moran?” Witherspoon asked.
“No.” He shook his head. “Rosemary has mentioned her, of course. She has very fond memories of the woman. But I’ve not made her acquaintance.”
“When you were coming through the back garden to the house—”
“I didn’t come through the back garden,” he interrupted. “I nipped around the back of number fifteen and slipped in through the conservatory.”
“The conservatory door was unlocked?”
“There would be no point in locking the door, Inspector,” he explained. “The structure hasn’t been finished as yet. It was supposed to be completed before the bad winter weather set in, but there have been a number of delays. Usually, the inside door between the house and the unfinished part is locked, but I knew it wouldn’t be locked this evening. Arabella, Mrs. Evans, had mentioned that she was keeping it open to show her guests the new table and chairs that she’d ordered from Spain.”
“So you came through an unlocked outside door—”
“No, the outside door hasn’t arrived from France. I pushed one of the oilcloths over the lower back windows aside and came in that way. With all this rain, the workers have oilcloths up everywhere.”
Prime Crime Holiday Bundle Page 59
