Everyone started talking at once, asking how they could have their meetings with a stranger about the place, but Mrs. Jeffries had assured them that wouldn’t be a problem. Phyllis Thomlinson would be working from half past nine, which was after their morning meeting, until four, which was before their afternoon meeting. She’d explained that Mrs. Goodge had vouched for the girl and that with the wedding, Christmas, and the murder, they simply had to have more help.
After the meeting, Smythe had gone off on some mysterious errand of his own, Mrs. Jeffries had announced she was going to St. Thomas’ Hospital to have a word with their friend Dr. Bosworth, and Mrs. Goodge had shooed everyone out of the kitchen. It was then that he’d seen Betsy slip into the dry larder. He’d grabbed his coat and hat off the coat tree and then hurried out to catch up with her. He’d thought they might walk to the omnibus stop together. But just as he reached the larder door, he heard her crying. He’d no idea what to do so he’d stood there like a ninny, listening to her sob and wishing he were anywhere but the back hall of Upper Edmonton Gardens. About then, one of Mrs. Goodge’s sources had pounded on the back door, and after he’d let the laundry boy in, Wiggins had run like the coward he was. He couldn’t stand to see Betsy cry.
He opened the door of the café, stepped inside, and went to the counter. “Good mornin’.” The counterman gave him a friendly grin.
“Good mornin’,” Wiggins replied. “I’d like tea, please.”
A few moments later, the counterman put a cup in front of him. “Cold out there, isn’t it?”
“One of the worst days we’ve ’ad all winter,” Wiggins said with a grateful nod. He was desperate to have someone, anyone, to chat with. The more words that filled the air, the easier it was to forget the sound of Betsy’s crying. “Mind you, it’s not as bad as it was last week when it was rainin’ so ’ard.”
“I like the rain.” The man grinned broadly. “It’s good for business. Do you work around here?”
“No, I’m lookin’ for a friend,” Wiggins lied easily. “He works as a footman for a barrister named Sutton, but I’ve lost the ruddy address.”
The counterman’s heavy brows drew together. “You mean Tobias Sutton? That couldn’t be right. That fellow could no more pay a footman’s wages than he could sprout wings and fly.”
“Are ya jokin’?” Wiggins feigned surprise. “But that’s who Jimmy told me ’e worked for. Said the feller had a house on Marsdale Street. ’E give me the address and I’ve gone up and down the street twice now, thinkin’ that seein’ the numbers might jog my memory, but it didn’t. You’re sayin’ this Sutton fellow hasn’t got a footman?”
He laughed. “He can barely afford my Lorna’s wages, and she only goes in to clean for him on Tuesday mornings for a few hours.” He turned and called, “Lorna, come out here and tell this poor lad he’s wasting his time.”
Wiggins blinked as a chubby red- haired woman stepped out from behind a curtain that he’d not noticed. Apparently, there was a back room behind the counter.
She gave the counterman a sour look. “For God’s sake, Reg, can’t a person have any peace? What are you wanting now? I’m dead on my feet and I’ve got to go to the Hub-bards’ this afternoon.”
“It’s my fault, ma’am,” Wiggins said quickly. He gave the hapless Reg a quick smile. “I was askin’ questions about a barrister named Sutton—”
“You mean Tobias Sutton,” she interrupted with a sneer. “I’ve a good mind not to go back again. Stupid sod didn’t pay me for last Tuesday.”
“You told me you didn’t work on Tuesday,” Reg interjected. “You were back here twenty minutes after you left.”
“Leavin’ weren’t my idea. He’s the one who made me go. But he still should ’ave paid me,” Lorna declared. “I went ’round there just as I always do. It wasn’t my fault some woman showed up. She was probably someone who hired him to go to court. She looked angry enough to skin him alive. I’ll bet she was wantin’ her money back because he did such a terrible job. You know, he’s not won a case in years.”
Wiggins knew he had to be careful here. He didn’t want to arouse their suspicions by asking too much, but on the other hand, he had to find out the identity of Sutton’s mysterious visitor. “Cor blimey, Jimmy said his guv was a quiet sort, you know, one of them old bachelors that spend their time readin’ and writin’. But your Mr. Sutton sounds like he’s got a right excitin’ life if he’s got young women . . .”
“She wasn’t young, she was middle-aged.” Lorna gave a derisive snort. She helped herself to a cup of tea from the urn on the counter. “Sutton’s life is about as excitin’ as watching paint dry. The only thing he’s done since I’ve been his cleaner is to get himself engaged.”
“Engaged? How old is ’e then?”
She stared at him for few seconds, her expression speculative. “Why do you care how old the man is?”
Wiggins shrugged, smiled, and took a sip of tea. Lorna was obviously a lot more suspicious than Reg. “I’m just wonderin’ if I’ve got the right barrister. Are you sure there isn’t someone else in the neighborhood with that name, an older man? I’ve got to find Jimmy. ’E owes me money.”
“Your Jimmy is pulling a fast one on you.” Lorna burst out laughing. “Take my word for it, your friend doesn’t work for Tobias Sutton. He’s middle-aged, not old, and there’s no one else by that name in the neighborhood.”
“But he said he worked on Marsdale Street. He give me the address. He even wrote it on a bit of paper and slipped it in my coat pocket. I must ’ave lost it ’cause when I looked for it, all I found was a scrap of a soap advertisement.” Wiggins bit his lip. “What about the lady who come to see this Mr. Sutton? Was she from around ’ere? Maybe that’s where Jimmy works?”
Lorna looked at him as if he were pitiful. “I’ve never seen her before. When she arrived, I was at the window, doing the ledges, and I saw her gettin’ out of a hansom cab. She’s not from around here.”
“You’re grasping at straws, lad.” Reg shook his head in sympathy. “I hope Jimmy didn’t owe you a lot of money, because I don’t think you’re going to be getting any of it back.”
“I’m sure you’ll do just fine, Phyllis,” Mrs. Jeffries said as she escorted Phyllis down the back stairs toward the kitchen. She skidded to a halt as she spotted Mrs. Goodge serving tea to the man from the gasworks. “Come along, then, Mrs. Goodge is busy at the moment.” She ushered her back up the stairs they’d just descended and pointed toward the front of the house. “Please give this floor a thorough cleaning. You don’t need to polish the silver in the dining room; that’s one of Wiggins’ tasks. Be sure and dust the bookcases in the inspector’s study, but don’t bother beating the rugs. That was done last week.”
Phyllis bobbed a quick curtsy. “Yes ma’am. Shall I use the Adams furniture polish on the wood or do you want it rubbed with oil?”
“Use the Adams, please. This is a very modern household,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “Oh, and Phyllis, you don’t need to curtsy to anyone here, including Inspector Witherspoon.”
Phyllis started to bob, caught herself, and giggled. “Thank you, ma’am, I’ll try to remember, but it’s such a habit. We had to curtsy at my last place. Sir Madison would get very angry if anyone forgot. Right before he let me go, I was in a rush and I didn’t bob and weave properly to Mr. Selby, who I don’t think even cared, but Sir Madison saw it and spent ten minutes giving me a lecture about proper servants’ behavior.”
“Sir Madison doesn’t sound like a very nice person. But as long as you are respectful and do your duties, you’ll do just fine here.” Mrs. Jeffries nodded a good-bye to the girl as she headed for the back stairs. There were dozens of questions she’d like to ask Phyllis, but right now she was in a rush. She had to go to St. Thomas’ Hospital, and that trip took ages. She hoped Dr. Bosworth wasn’t too busy and would have time to speak with her. She’d been very remiss in waiting this long to avail herself of their friend’s expertise.
S
he hurried down the stairs and into the kitchen. The man from the gasworks was gone, and the cook was at the worktable with a sugar hammer in one hand and a cone of sugar in the other. Samson, Mrs. Goodge’s ill-tempered tabby cat, was sitting on a stool by the door. He hissed at her as she went past on her way to the coat tree.
“Phyllis is in the dining room if you need her,” she said to the cook. She put on her hat and started tying the ribbon under her chin. “If she can get that floor cleaned, that’ll be a great help.”
“Did Betsy seem upset?” Mrs. Goodge put down the cone and the hammer. “She was awfully quiet when she left today, and her eyes were red.”
Mrs. Jeffries fingers stilled. “I think she might be worrying that Phyllis is going to take her place.” She finished her task and reached for her cloak. “But I don’t know what we can do about the situation. We need the help, and like it or not, once she and Smythe are married, things are going to change around here. I hate to see her upset and thought that everyone understood Phyllis is only here on a temporary basis.”
“I don’t think it’s just that we’ve hired more help,” Mrs. Goodge said. “I don’t think she’s havin’ a case of nerves. Before breakfast I heard her askin’ Smythe about where they’d be livin’ and where they were goin’ on their weddin’ trip. But he just laughed and told her to trust him. But I think he’s wrong: I think she needs a bit of security right now, you know, like my Samson does sometimes when he crawls into my lap for a cuddle. He does that when somethin’ scares him. Right now Betsy’s a bit frightened.”
Mrs. Jeffries glanced at Samson. A pack of wild dogs wouldn’t scare that wretched cat, but the cook was blind to his nasty disposition and considered him her baby. “You’re probably right. Do you think one of us should have a word with Smythe?”
Mrs. Goodge shrugged, picked up the hammer, and took a whack at the sugar cone. “I don’t know. He might have figured it out for himself; he’s not totally dense. You off to see Dr. Bosworth?”
“Yes.” She slipped on her cloak. “I’ve no idea how long I’ll be gone. But I will definitely be back for our afternoon meeting. Oh, that reminds me, what are we to do about Phyllis when you’re with one of your sources? We almost barged in when you were chatting with the gasman.”
“Don’t worry about that.” Mrs. Goodge grinned. “I thought and thought about it and the answer was right under my nose. All I do with my sources is get them talkin’ about the people involved in our cases. Now unless Phyllis is actually at our meetin’s, she’ll not know who our suspects might be. So if she happens to hear me chattin’ with someone, she’ll simply think I’m a terrible old gossip.”
Smythe was leaning against the pub when Betsy came hurrying around the corner. He pushed away from the wall. “Where’ve you been?”
“The dressmaker’s,” she explained. She’d also gone for a walk to get herself under control before she had to face anyone. Learning that they’d hired another maid had taken the wind out of her sails. She knew she was being silly; Mrs. Jeffries had made it perfectly clear that the girl was only there to help out until she and Smythe were back from their wedding trip. Which was another thing that was worrying her—she’d no idea where she was to live and no idea where they were going after the vows and the reception. To top it off, she was certain Norah and Leo regretted coming back to England. “I had a final fitting.”
He pulled her into his arms, but instead of kissing her, he stared at her with an anxious, worried frown. “Are you alright? Your eyes are red. Have you been cryin’?”
“It’s the wind.” She gave him an overly bright smile that didn’t fool him for a minute. “It makes my eyes water. Come on, let’s go upstairs and get this over with.” She pulled away, grabbed the handle of the door that led to the second floor of the pub, and flew up the stairs.
Norah was waiting for them when they came into the sitting room. “I wondered when you’d get here.” She smiled as she said it, but the smile didn’t mask the irritation in her eyes.
Leo stepped out of the bedroom, a welcoming smile on his face. “Hello, I’m glad you’ve come. We’ve not had near enough time to visit. Can you stay for lunch?”
“Of course,” Betsy said. She went to the couch and sat down across from her sister. “That’s why we’ve come.” She patted the seat next to her. “Sit here, Smythe.” When he slipped into the spot next to her, she grabbed his hand and hung on for dear life.
Leo took the chair next to Norah, and for a few seconds, the four of them stared at one another. Then everyone began to speak at once, then stopped, and all of them erupted in laughter.
“You go first,” Betsy said to Norah. “After all, you’re the oldest.”
“Why you cheeky monkey.” Norah giggled. “And all I was going to say was that I hope you both like pork roast, because that’s what I’ve ordered for lunch.”
After that, everyone seemed to relax. Smythe and Leo got into an intense discussion about the best wood to use for cabinetry while Betsy and Norah talked about the wedding lunch menu, Betsy’s dress, Norah’s dress, and whether or not the bride and groom had to leave before any of the guests.
By the time Betsy and Smythe were ready to take their leave after lunch, Betsy felt much better than when she’d arrived. She was ashamed of herself. She shouldn’t have dreaded spending a few hours with Norah; she and her sister were finally getting to know each other again.
Luty wished she’d worn something a bit more subdued than her bright green cloak with its shiny brass buttons, but she’d no idea she was going to be following Eleanor North’s housekeeper down a busy Bayswater street. She increased her pace as the black-garbed figure ahead of her rounded a corner. Luty doubled her efforts to keep up with the woman. She had no idea what she’d do once she caught up with her, but she was sure she’d think of something. Hoping that she wouldn’t see anyone she knew, she continued following her prey down Westbourne Grove. She stopped and leaned against a postbox as the woman went into the L & C Bank.
She thought for a moment and suddenly had an idea. Even by her standards, it was a pretty pathetic one, but it was all she could come up with at short notice. The truth of the matter was that she was desperate to contribute something. So far, all she’d managed to find out was that Lowery was broke, the Evanses were rich, and Tobias Sutton was a lousy lawyer.
She moved closer to the bank building and positioned herself by the front door and waited there. Luty took a deep breath as the door opened and an elderly woman, not dressed in black, stepped out onto the pavement. She gave Luty a cursory glance, nodded politely, and walked on. The door opened again, and this time, it was the one she’d been waiting for. Keeping her head down, Luty launched herself at the figure in black, slamming into the woman hard enough to send her reeling back against the door and sliding to the ground.
“Oh my gracious me,” Luty cried. “I’m so sorry. I was in such a hurry to git into that bank I almost killed ya.”
Dazed, the woman stared at her. She had gray hair and there were deep lines etched around her mouth and eyes. Her brown straw hat was askew, her coat gaped open, and her black bombazine skirt had hitched up to her knees. She scrambled to her feet as several passersby began to take an interest in the scene.
“You really should watch where you’re going,” she snapped, giving Luty a good glare.
“I am so sorry, ma’am.” Luty sniffled and looked away. She couldn’t cry at will but she could make her voice tremble. “It . . . it . . . was all my fault. I do hope you’re not hurt any.”
“I’m fine, thank you. There’s no real harm done, but you did give me a terrible fright.”
Luty sniffled again. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Oh dear, look ma’am, please, don’t upset yourself. I’m perfectly fine. I shouldn’t have lost control of my tongue.”
Luty kept her head down a moment longer. “No, you’ve every right to be angry. I was in a hurry and I wasn’t payin’ attention.” She dabbed at her cheeks an
d then looked up. “If you’re not in a terrible hurry, there’s a hotel that serves a nice tea just up the road. Please let me make this up to you.”
“I couldn’t possibly allow you to do that.” The woman smiled briefly as she straightened her hat. Then her eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she studied Luty from head to toe. “Well, if it would make you feel better—”
“Oh it most definitely would,” Luty interrupted. She wasn’t stupid; she knew the woman had changed her mind because she’d noticed the expensive cut of her coat and realized the muff she carried was sable. “Come on, then, the hotel isn’t very far.”
“I know the place,” the woman replied. “I’ve never been inside but it looks very expensive.”
“I’ve been there lots of times,” Luty said quickly. “After the scare I gave the both of us, I need somethin’ to wet my whistle. You look like you could use somethin’ to put the color back into yer cheeks, too. You’re as white as a goat’s hind end.” She was deliberately playing the part of the rich, uncouth American.
People were a lot less likely to watch their tongues when they thought you were a fool.
Five minutes later, she was ensconced in a secluded corner of the Imperial Hotel. Mrs. Enid Jones, housekeeper to Eleanor North, was sitting in the leather chair opposite her. A huge fern kept them nicely hidden from any prying eyes and insured they’d have privacy.
“I thought we’d go into the tearoom,” Enid murmured.
“Oh, we’ll be more comfortable here.” Luty waved a bellman over.
The bellman smiled in recognition. “Good day, Mrs. Crookshank. It’s lovely to see you again. What can I bring you and your guest?”
Luty hadn’t been lying when she said they knew her here. They ought to; she was one of their biggest investors. “A nice pot of tea and a tray of pastries.” She glanced at Enid. “Is that alright with you?”
Prime Crime Holiday Bundle Page 72
