Evans laughed but didn’t take his gaze or his gun off Lowery. “Don’t be a fool, Inspector. This country doesn’t hang men with a ‘Sir’ in front of their name. Agatha tried to warn my bitch of a wife, but she wouldn’t listen. Lowery’s a killer. He marries them and murders them with poison—calls it food poisoning from oysters. But Agatha Moran was onto him and she did what any mother would do; she tried to protect her child.” He shifted his weight but kept the weapon’s aim steady and focused. “My wife didn’t realize I knew about their little deal, but I did. I knew from the beginning that she hadn’t given birth to Rosemary, but I love my daughter as much as I could love a child from my own body. My only real regret in this whole mess is that I murdered the real mother, the one who was trying to save my daughter’s life.”
“Why did you kill her?” Witherspoon wanted to keep him talking. “You claim that she was trying to protect Rosemary from this man, so why did you murder her?”
“Because I only heard half of what she said to Arabella on that Monday,” Evans admitted. “Ironic, isn’t it? I’d come home early that afternoon. I had a headache and was just going to slip up the stairs and lie down. Then I heard her arguing with Arabella. But I didn’t hear the entire conversation. All I heard her say was, ‘If you don’t stop this marriage, I’ll tell everyone she’s a bastard.’ ” He gave a bitter, ugly laugh. “I thought Agatha Moran wanted more money. Years ago, Arabella paid her to go away and leave us alone. My wife didn’t think I knew about that, either, but I did. Then this morning, Tobias Sutton told me the truth: He’s Rosemary’s biological father and Agatha had gone to him for help in getting the marriage stopped. She found out that Lowery had married and murdered a woman in France, just like he murdered Beatrice Trent.”
“Why didn’t Mr. Sutton come to us with this information?” Witherspoon asked.
“Because he was afraid Eleanor would call off their engagement if she found out he’d fathered a child out of wedlock,” Evans said. “But he finally realized he had to do something, that he couldn’t let this fiend get his hands on Rosemary, so he came to see me this morning and told me everything.”
“For God’s sake, arrest this lunatic before he hurts someone,” Lowery sobbed.
Evans made a growling sound deep in his throat and started toward him.
“Sir Madison, do be quiet,” Witherspoon said quickly. “Mr. Evans is telling us something very important. Do go on, Mr. Evans. Tell me what happened the day Miss Moran was murdered.” He was stalling for time: As long as Evans was answering questions, he wasn’t pulling the trigger.
Evans halted but kept his gaze locked on Lowery. “I followed her that day. The deadline she’d given Arabella was up, you see, so I had to do something. I took a knife out of one of the cutlery boxes on the shelf in my office, stuck it in my coat, and went to Islington. When she came out her front door, I knew she was going to my house. I knew she was going to barge in to that wretched tea party and ruin my child’s life.” He sighed. “At least that’s what I thought at the time. It was only today that I learned she was trying to save Rosemary, not hurt her.”
“When you stabbed her, how did you manage to keep the blood off your clothing, sir?” Witherspoon asked the question casually, as though they were having a conversation.
“I knew where she was going, so I took a shortcut through the mews and climbed through one of the empty window frames in the conservatory. I grabbed the oilcloth from that fancy Spanish table my wife ordered. It’s ruined now and I’m glad,” he replied. “I held the cloth in front of me when I stabbed her.”
Suddenly, there was a commotion from the hallway. Footsteps pounded across the floor and everything happened at once.
“No!” Witherspoon cried out a warning, but it was too late.
Three constables charged into the room. Evans looked over his shoulder, saw them rushing at him, and fired off two shots at Lowery just as the policemen tackled him. Witherspoon and the other constables joined the fray. The inspector got his hand around the gun before Evans got off the third shot.
“Let me go!” Evans cried. “I missed, I missed. He’s got to die.” He fought like a wild man, bucking and screaming as they wrestled him to the ground.
Witherspoon rose from the floor and handed the gun to a constable. He rushed to Lowery. The man was curled into a ball, crying, and blood was soaking through his shirt. “I’m shot,” he moaned as tears ran down his face. “You let that lunatic shoot me.”
Witherspoon knelt beside him, lifted his shirt collar, and examined the wound. “You’ll be fine, sir. The bullet barely grazed you.”
The constables hauled Evans to his feet. He said nothing as they put the handcuffs on him and led him off.
“You mean I’m not going to die?” Lowery straightened up and dabbed at his cheeks.
Witherspoon thought the fellow might eventually hang, but he didn’t want to tip his hand about that matter. “Not just yet.”
“What if the inspector isn’t back in time?” Mrs. Goodge glanced at the clock, her expression anxious. “What’ll we do? It’s almost two fifteen.” The cook’s new pearl gray bombazine dress rustled softly as she paced in front of the hallway door. Samson was perched on his stool, watching her as she moved back and forth.
“We’ll ask Betsy’s brother- in-law to walk her down the aisle,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. She was dressed in an elegant rust-colored day dress, matching hat, and new kid shoes. “But let’s keep our fingers crossed that all will be well.”
Wiggins, Luty, and Hatchet had gone to Lowery’s home, but they’d arrived after Evans was under arrest and the inspector had taken him to the station. A neighbor had reported that Lowery’s housekeeper had slipped out a side door and gotten help when Evans had come barging into the house waving a gun.
Now they had to hope that the inspector could get away long enough to do his duty and get Betsy married off properly. Betsy and Smythe were both completely in the dark about the events of the morning. They’d discussed the matter and decided they’d tell them the whole story when they returned from their wedding trip.
“Ruth dropped Constable Barnes off at the station hours ago,” Luty added. “He told her he’d do his best to get the inspector out of there and back here on time, and the lads have agreed to help with the paperwork. She went on home to change for the weddin’.”
“Where’s Smythe?” Hatchet asked.
“He and Wiggins have already gone over to the church. Betsy should be here any minute,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “I think I hear the carriage . . .” She dashed to the window. “Thank goodness, we’re in luck, it’s Ruth . . . oh, and she’s got the inspector with her. We’re going to make it. We’re going to have a wedding!”
A few moments later, Ruth and the inspector appeared in the kitchen. “Gerald’s made an arrest,” she announced brightly. She winked at Luty. Mrs. Jeffries gave Ruth a quick, grateful smile. “How wonderful, sir. We knew you’d get this case solved.”
Witherspoon smiled modestly. “Thank you all, but I wasn’t sure myself that we’d have a happy ending to this day. I’ll tell you all about it later. Right now, I’d better tidy myself up a bit.”
“You can use the mirror in my room.” Mrs. Goodge put on her new white gloves.
“Thank you, I believe I’ll do just that.”
Mrs. Jeffries noticed there was a smudge on the edge of his collar and his cravat needed to be straightened. “Betsy will be here any moment. The rest of us had better go. Isn’t it a beautiful day for a wedding? We’ll see you at the church, sir.”
“You look very lovely, my dear,” Witherspoon said to Betsy as they entered the narthex.
She wore a cream-colored lace gown with a high neck, fitted bodice, and long, elegant sleeves. A matching veil was held in place with a garland of pink roses.
“Thank you, sir, and thank you for doing this for me.” She blushed with pleasure and then took a deep breath. “You know, walking me down the aisle. You’ve been so very good to me and
I’m so proud to have you by my side.”
He patted her hand. “Our household wouldn’t be the same without you, and I’m deeply honored that you asked me.” He smiled. “Are you ready?”
She nodded and took her place next to him. “Are you alright, sir? It looks like your bottom lip is swollen.”
He’d gotten clipped in the mouth during the struggle with Evans, but he wasn’t going to mar her wedding by mentioning such an ugly incident. “I had a bit of an accident earlier today, but I’m fine.” He gave her his arm and signaled to the lad on the door leading to the sanctuary.
The doors opened, the music started, and he and Betsy walked down the aisle.
“I can’t believe they’re finally married,” Ruth said to Mrs. Jeffries. “I’m so happy for the both of them. Do you think they’ll resent the fact that we didn’t tell them about Evans?”
They were sitting on chairs in the drawing room. Betsy and Smythe were in the place of honor on the settee. Mrs. Jeffries pulled her foot back to avoid her toes getting trampled by a waiter passing with a tray of canapés.
“This is their special day and it doesn’t seem right to discuss murder and mayhem.” Mrs. Jeffries shrugged. “We’ll tell them what happened when they get back from their wedding trip.”
Constable and Mrs. Barnes drifted by; she was laughing and he was holding her hand as they made their way to the happy couple to pay their respects. Smythe got up and introduced them to Norah and Leo, who were occupying the chairs on the other side of the settee.
“How did you figure it out?” Ruth asked. “If you hadn’t sent Wiggins to the Evans house this morning . . .” She broke off as Witherspoon came toward them.
“There you are.” He beamed at Ruth. “Are you enjoying yourself? Would you like some champagne?”
“I’m having a wonderful time, and I’ve just had a glass.” Ruth patted the empty chair next to her. “Now do sit down and tell us what happened. We’re dying of curiosity.”
“Well, it was very odd, you see. I expect Mrs. Jeffries told you that someone put a note under our door this morning. The note was very explicit: It said that Sir Madison Lowery was going to be murdered.”
“Do you have any idea who might have done such a thing?” she asked.
Witherspoon thought for a moment. “Not as yet. But regardless of who it was, I couldn’t ignore it. I couldn’t take the chance,” he explained as he sat down. “When we arrived at the Lowery house, Jeremy Evans confessed, but as he was holding a gun on Lowery at the time, I was quite worried that things could go badly.”
“Gracious, that must have been so frightening,” she said.
“Unfortunately, blood was shed and Lowery was wounded, but not seriously.” He told them everything that had transpired at the Lowery household.
Mrs. Jeffries listened carefully, and a slow, satisfied smile formed on her lips as he related the details of Evans’ confession. She’d been right. She had figured it out in time! She hadn’t lost her reasoning ability and she could still put the puzzle pieces together.
“But how did he keep from getting blood on his clothes?” Ruth asked curiously. “After all, didn’t Dr.—” She clamped her mouth shut.
“After all what?” Witherspoon repeated.
“Uh, I meant I once heard a doctor say that stabbings are always messy,” Ruth said quickly.
“And that doctor would be right.” The inspector patted her hand. “Evans kept the blood off his clothes by grabbing one of the oilcloths from the conservatory. He held it in front of him when he stabbed her.”
Mrs. Jeffries’ spirits soared. She’d been right about that, too. She raised her hand and signaled the waiter. This called for another glass of champagne. Maybe two.
“So if the oilcloth had blood on it, what did he do with it?” Ruth asked.
“He stuffed it in an old carpetbag.”
Mrs. Jeffries beamed at the waiter as she helped herself to a glass. They were doing a wonderful job. “Thank you.”
Ruth took a glass as well. “But didn’t you search the Evans house that night?” she asked the inspector.
Witherspoon pursed his lips. “No, I’m ashamed to say we didn’t. We’d no compelling evidence that gave us cause for a thorough search. By the time we realized her murder was directly connected to the Evans household, he’d gotten rid of it. He weighted the bag down with stones and tossed it into the Thames. I doubt we’ll ever recover it, but we’ve no real need to, as he’s confessed to the murder.”
“Where did he get the knife?” This question came from Mrs. Goodge, who’d come up behind them and been listening.
“From the cutlery kit in his office,” Witherspoon replied. “The place is full of all sorts of odd items that his company imported into the country. He took the knife and went to her house. I don’t think he’d have gone through with the murder if she hadn’t gone to Chepstow Villas.”
“You mean, at that point, he thought that Miss Moran was willing to make Rosemary a social pariah rather than see her married to Lowery,” Ruth clarified.
“That’s right.” Witherspoon sighed. “He just didn’t know then why she didn’t want the girl to wed him. Evans thought she was simply greedy, that she was trying to blackmail Mrs. Evans for more money to keep quiet. He only realized today the real reason behind her determination to keep Rosemary away from the man.”
“Are you goin’ to arrest Lowery?” Mrs. Goodge waved at Wiggins, who was standing across the room, chatting with Phyllis.
Witherspoon thought for a moment. “I’m not sure we can,” he answered. “Even if he did murder two women, they’re both long buried, and any evidence of what really caused their deaths is interred with them. However, all of the facts are bound to come out at Evans’ trial, and at that point, it will be up to the Home Office as to whether or not we pursue a prosecution of Lowery.”
“Once the details get out and into the papers, Sir Madison will be a social pariah himself. He’ll be broke and there won’t be a family in the entire country that’ll let him near one of their daughters,” Mrs. Goodge muttered.
Witherspoon laughed and got to his feet. “If you dear ladies will excuse me, I must go and thank Constable Barnes. He’s the one who rallied the lads into doing the paperwork and suggested we put Evans in a holding cell so I could get back in time for the wedding. Oh, and Ruth, it was so good of you to bring the carriage to fetch me home. Your timing was impeccable.”
Ruth smiled but waited till he’d walked away before she said, “My timing was the result of a quick message from Constable Barnes.”
Mrs. Goodge laughed. “This has been a wonderful day.” She glanced at the housekeeper. “You’ll have to tell us the rest of the details later.”
“We’ll have a quick meeting after the reception.”
“Luty and Hatchet are dyin’ to find out the rest of it,” Mrs. Goodge said. She glanced across the room. Their two friends were chatting with the newlyweds. “Seein’ those two lovebirds so happy makes me wonder how Rosemary Evans must be feelin’ right now.”
“I imagine she’s relieved not to be marrying Lowery and brokenhearted that her father committed a murder to save her.” Mrs. Jeffries sighed. “But they have a lot of money, and I imagine that rather than face the social humiliation of having a murderer in the family, Arabella Evans will probably pack up and leave the country.”
“That’s what I’d do,” Mrs. Goodge said. “I’m goin’ to get another plate of food. It’s actually very good.”
“I’ll come with you.” Ruth got up as well. “That black currant cream is absolutely delicious.”
“I made that dish,” the cook said proudly as she led the way to the dining room. “And the Battenberg cakes and the scones. The caterers did the rest.”
Mrs. Jeffries sipped her champagne. She’d not lost her touch. She saw Betsy stand up and make her way through the crowd.
“Alright.” Betsy stopped in front of her and put her hands on her hips. “What’s going on? I know
something has happened because you’ve got an expression on your face like a cat that’s just got the canary.”
“I’m just happy that you’re finally married. It was a beautiful wedding. I was quite surprised to learn that Smythe’s Christian name is Goodwin.”
“That’s right, I’m Mrs. Goodwin Smythe.” Betsy’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You’re trying to change the subject, aren’t you? Come on, tell me what happened. You know I’ll not have a moment’s peace until I know.”
“Jeremy Evans was arrested today,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “We didn’t want to say anything to you and Smythe because this is your special day and we didn’t want it ruined.”
“Ruined? What’ll ruin it is if we don’t know what’s happened.”
“Betsy, it’s your wedding day and we all want it to be special for—”
“You and the others have already made it the most special day of my life,” she interrupted. “I’ll never forget what all of you have done for me, for us.”
“Then why do you want it tainted with the details of an ugly murder?” Mrs. Jeffries asked softly.
“Because it’s not just about the murder. It’s about justice!” she exclaimed. “Surely you must know how important our cases are to Smythe and me. They mean everything to both of us. I came from nothing, Mrs. Jeffries, and I got lucky and found myself at Upper Edmonton Gardens. Coming here changed my life in ways you can’t imagine. You and the inspector believed in me; you encouraged me to be my best, to learn to speak properly, to read books and newspapers and magazines because I had a right to be a part of the world. But the best thing you ever did for me was to give me a chance to serve the cause of justice. Because justice, doing what’s right, making sure that the innocent don’t suffer because it’s convenient for the rich and the powerful, that’s the most important thing anyone can do in their entire life.”
“Well said, my love,” Smythe commented softly as he came up behind her. He looked at the housekeeper expectantly. “Come on, Wiggins let it slip that there’s been an arrest. So you’d best give us the details. We’ll not leave for our weddin’ trip until you do.”
Prime Crime Holiday Bundle Page 79
