“Yes, I’m afraid so.” She pointed to the first door in the short corridor. “Those are his former rooms. I’m afraid I can’t let you in, but there would be no point in doing so. None of the gentleman’s things are still there. As a matter of fact, I’m quite glad you’ve come here. I’ve sent several letters to that other police officer, Inspector Nivens, but he’s never replied.”
Witherspoon rested against the newel post while Barnes caught his breath. “About what, Mrs. Lennox?”
“About Mr. Gilhaney’s things.” She gave an exasperated sigh. “He told me that the police would try to locate Mr. Gilhaney’s next of kin. But I don’t think he’s done anything about it.”
“You have Mr. Gilhaney’s personal items?” Barnes asked, his expression hopeful.
“They’re stored in the box room.” She pointed up toward the attic. “Surely he had someone who should inherit his things. He was a very good man and I feel terrible that no one has claimed his possessions. It’s not right, Inspector. He wasn’t here very long, but he was one of the nicest gentlemen I’ve ever met. He was always offering to help me and the other tenants. We couldn’t believe it when he was murdered like that. I know he had friends here in London and if the police can’t find his next of kin, I’m going to contact one of them. Someone close to him should have his personal things.”
“You know who they are?” Barnes asked quickly.
“I don’t know them properly, Constable, but I have met several of them and one of the housemaids knows where one of them lives,” she replied. “Oh dear, this is going to sound strange, but do hear me out. Mr. Gilhaney was a very handsome man and Laura, the upstairs maid, was a bit infatuated with him. But he was always a gentleman and treated her most kindly. However, I noticed that Laura always made it a point to be the one who answered the front door when Mr. Gilhaney was expected. People tend to come and go at the same time each day and I suspect she kept watch for him from one of the upstairs windows.”
“You keep the front door locked and he didn’t have a key?” Barnes asked.
“That’s correct. If my tenants are staying out late, I’ll give them a front door key so they can come in when they like. I don’t approve of the maids having to stay up till all hours of the night. But as I was saying, Laura made it her business to be at the door to take Mr. Gilhaney’s coat and hat of an evening. One day, he had a friend with him and, as usual, Laura met him at the door and then took his friend into the parlor to wait while Mr. Gilhaney got something from his room. I came downstairs just as the two of them were leaving for dinner. I overheard Laura telling Gina—she’s the downstairs maid—that Mr. Gilhaney’s friend lives in Clapham, next door to her sister.”
Witherspoon stared at her curiously. “Mrs. Lennox, there’s something I don’t understand. If you knew the whereabouts of one of Mr. Gilhaney’s friends, why didn’t you contact him about the next of kin?”
“I did, Inspector. I spoke to him at Mr. Gilhaney’s funeral. Three of his old friends were there and they all said the same thing. Mr. Gilhaney had no relations here in London; he’d been raised in a workhouse. One of them thought he might have had some cousins in Manchester or Liverpool. That’s why I was so eager for the other policeman to make inquiries. But as I said, he never replied to my letters.” She clasped her hands together. “Handing his possessions over to one of his friends is a last resort. It doesn’t feel right, not if he has family somewhere. There were several items of value, the sort of objects that should stay in a family rather than go to strangers.”
“What kind of items?”
“Rings, Inspector. There were two rings in his room and one of them looked to be an heirloom. It’s a lovely sapphire ring set in an old-fashioned heavy gold setting. The other was more modern, just a simple green stone in a very plain setting.”
“An emerald?” Barnes guessed.
She shook her head. “No, Constable, this is a very light green stone. I’ve no idea what it is, but it was obviously important to Mr. Gilhaney. He kept it in a velvet box. The other ring was stored in a red fabric pouch.”
• • •
“Why are you following me?” The housemaid turned, put her hands on her hips, and glared at Wiggins.
“I’m sorry, miss, but you’re mistaken. I’m not following you,” Wiggins lied. “I’m just walking to the high street.” He pointed toward the busy shopping thoroughfare fifty yards farther up the road. “My guv says there’s a hardware store there that sells brass ’andles.”
“You’re lyin’,” she charged. “I saw you hangin’ about in front of the master’s house. The only reason I came out with the likes of you around was because Cook ran out of salt and without that, none of the food will taste decent. Now, get off with you before I start screaming loud enough to bring the fixed-point constable here. He’s just on the corner and I’ve a fine set of lungs.”
She was a petite young woman with dark brown hair tucked up beneath her housemaid’s cap, an oval face, deep-set brown eyes, porcelain skin, and a slightly turned-up nose.
“I’m sorry, miss.” He gave her a weak smile as he silently cursed himself. He’d been careless and he knew it. He’d been daydreamin’ and not payin’ proper attention. Now he’d been seen. “You’re right, I was following you. But not because I mean you any ’arm,” he protested as she quickly stepped back from him. “I was hopin’ you could help me. I’m in a bit of a mess.” It took less than two seconds to decide which way to go here and he hoped he’d made the right choice. “I’m a reporter, miss, and if I don’t give my guv some information about that murder, I’m getting the sack.”
She stared at him suspiciously. “What murder?”
“The one from Guy Fawkes Night.” He breathed a bit easier. “That Gilhaney fellow, the one that was shot in the mews just down the road.”
“You mean the man that was robbed? Why would the papers care about that now?” Her expression cleared just a bit.
Wiggins realized she probably had reason to be suspicious of strange men. A girl as pretty as her had to be careful. “Because our source at Scotland Yard says the bloke weren’t killed by a robber. It was a straight-out murder and your master and mistress were with him that night.”
“They were at the Chase house,” she replied. “But they already talked to the police.” She said nothing for a moment, her expression thoughtful, and then she laughed. “So that’s what they were arguin’ about this morning at breakfast. I thought I heard the mistress tell the master the police would likely be round again. I wondered what she was on about.”
“Probably Gilhaney’s murder.” He smiled, and this time she smiled back. “Can you tell me what you overheard? Can you remember their exact words?”
Her grin disappeared and was replaced with a worried frown. “I can’t and I’ve already said too much.”
“You’ve not said hardly anything,” he protested. He planted himself in front of her. “Come on, tell me something. My guv don’t care about what I give ’im but I’ve got to give ’im something.”
She shook her head. “Then you’re out of luck, I don’t know anything. I don’t know what they were talkin’ about this morning and even if I did, I’d not say a word. You’re not the only one who worries about losing their position. The Bruces would sack me in an instant if they thought I’d been talking about them.” She stepped around him and stalked away.
“Look, I don’t want to get you into any trouble, but surely, you must ’ave overheard a few bits about the murdered fellow.”
She looked back the way they’d just come and he turned to look, too. The Bruce house was out of sight. “Listen, I’m not goin’ to say it again, I’ll not risk my position by talking to you. I hate the place, but I’ve nowhere else to go.” She started moving again, this time almost at a run.
He raced after her. “But I’ll not let on that I heard anything from you, I promise.”
She stopped and whirled to face him. “Why should I believe you? You don’t know what t
hose people are like. It’s a right miserable household. The master and mistress watch each other like hawks, they get angry over the least little thing, and if something is out of place and they can’t see it, they’ll accuse you of stealing.” She stalked off again.
“Something was missing from the house?”
“Lord, you’re a determined one, aren’t you.” She ignored him and kept on going.
He wasn’t learning very much, but at least she’d stopped threatening to scream for the police. That would be hard to explain if the inspector caught wind of it. But he wasn’t giving up. First of all, he didn’t want to leave her with the impression that he was just a nasty reporter, and if he could get her to slow down and listen to him, maybe she would see that he was a decent enough fellow. Secondly, he wanted to have something to say at their meeting this afternoon, even if it was just a bit of silly gossip about the Bruces. “Can you tell me what was taken, at least?”
“Nothing. Nothing was taken.” They’d reached the corner. She looked both ways and then dashed into the heavy traffic, dodging between a hansom cab and a slow-moving omnibus. He was right on her heels.
“Nothing,” he repeated.
“That’s right, nothing. But the mistress thought Anna had taken her ruddy perfume bottle, until Miss Bruce found the stupid thing in the front garden.” She snorted faintly. “What use would a housemaid have for an empty little perfume bottle? It’s not like Anna could afford to buy something to put in it.”
“When was this?” He didn’t much care what was being said as long as he could keep her talking.
“How should I know? It was weeks ago, but they’re still watching Anna like they think she’ll pinch the silver.” She weaved around two elderly men walking very slowly. “But that wasn’t the worst of it. Miss Bruce—that’s the master’s sister—told the mistress that someone had taken some of her medicine. The only reason none of us were accused of stealing was because the bottle was still there and the mistress thought Miss Bruce was mistaken about how much was left. Like I said, it’s a right miserable place to work.”
“I’m sorry, miss, I didn’t mean to be rude. I know what it’s like to live at the mercy of others.” He remembered what his life had been like before he came to the Witherspoon household as a footman for Euphemia Witherspoon.
“Do you?” She laughed harshly. “Then quit following me and asking me all these questions.”
In truth, he was being ridiculously persistent. But she was a very pretty girl. He felt guilty as an image of Phyllis flashed through his mind. “You’re right, and I’m truly sorry. Let me buy you a cup of tea,” he pleaded. “There’s a nice tea shop on the high street and I’d like to make up for being so rude.”
“You just want to get me to tell you something.” She didn’t look at him, simply kept on walking. “I’ve nothing to say and if you think I’m going to lose the roof over my head for a cup of tea and a bun, you’re sadly mistaken.”
• • •
Barnes grabbed the handhold as the hansom swung away from the curb in front of the Ladbroke Road Police Station. The inspector and Barnes had stopped in with Gilhaney’s possessions, which consisted of two suitcases and a large, hinged wooden box. They would go through them thoroughly once they’d finished taking statements from the rest of the Bonfire Night dinner guests.
“There’s something I don’t understand, sir,” the constable said. “By all accounts, Gilhaney was a very successful man—he must have had an estate. But none of Inspector Nivens’ reports mention finding a post office or bank account or an investment firm that handled his wealth. So where did he keep his money? And if he had money, who is going to inherit it? You’d think that when Nivens realized it was a botched robbery, he’d have found out who benefited financially from Gilhaney’s death.”
“That is troubling,” Witherspoon agreed. “Inspector Nivens didn’t follow up obvious areas of inquiry. I suppose the kindest thing one can say is he simply wasn’t used to handling murders. Perhaps when we go through the victim’s things, we can find some answers. Otherwise, we’ll need to contact his previous employer and landlady in Manchester and see if they can help us. Speaking of which, when we stopped in at the station, the duty sergeant said we’d received a reply back from the Manchester police. Gilhaney was highly regarded and no one had a bad word to say about him.”
“It’s beginning to seem like Gilhaney’s behavior the night he was killed was out of character for him,” Barnes muttered. “It’ll be interesting to see what his old friends from Clapham have to say about him. I’ve got the address from the housemaid for one of them and he should know where the other two live. We caught a lucky break there, Inspector.”
“We did indeed. Let’s hope our good fortune continues and Leon Webster can help shed some light on this case.”
The two policemen discussed the investigation as the cab made its way to the east end of London. Webster’s Metals was located in a two-story brown brick building on a narrow lane off the Commercial Road. The offices were on the first floor. Barnes led the way inside to a huge room filled with three rows of clerks. A man at a desk in the back stood up and came toward them. He didn’t look happy. “I’m Leon Webster. I take it you’re here to see me.”
“That’s right.” Witherspoon introduced himself and the constable. “We’d like to ask you some questions.”
“I’ve already told that other policeman everything I know,” he complained. “I don’t know what else you expect to learn.”
“Is there someplace we can speak privately, sir?” Witherspoon asked.
“We can use the file room.” He led the way down the narrow front hall to an open door at the end of the corridor. They followed him into a dimly lighted room at the far end. A badly scratched table and six chairs, along with filing cabinets topped with ledgers, file boxes, and stacks of paper, were the only furnishings.
Webster pulled out a chair and flopped down. “Now, do be quick about this. I’ve work to do.”
“May we sit down, sir?” Witherspoon asked politely. “We’ve a number of questions to ask and this will take a few minutes.”
“Sit down, then,” he muttered. He was a small rabbit of a man, with a long nose, watery blue eyes behind his spectacles, and thinning brown hair.
“Thank you.” Witherspoon took a seat and waited until Barnes was settled with his notebook and pencil out before he spoke. “On the night that Christopher Gilhaney was murdered, you said in your original statement that you left the Chase house and walked straight home. Is that correct?” he asked.
“That’s right.” Webster shifted in his seat.
“Are you sure, sir?” Barnes asked.
Webster looked away. “Of course I’m sure.”
“You’d be prepared to swear to this fact under oath?” he pressed.
“Well, it’s been quite a while since that night, let me think for a moment.” Webster pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his forehead. “Actually, I might have stopped at a pub that night … yes, that’s right. I did. It was a workingman’s pub, not the usual sort of place I’d go to. It was near the river. I wanted a drink.”
“You wanted a drink? But hadn’t there been plenty of wine served at the Chase home?” Witherspoon said. “Mrs. Chase said you left the dinner party before the port was served.”
“I don’t like port, furthermore, the wine they served at dinner was very poor quality,” he snapped. “The Chases are a bit like the late Mr. Gilhaney, not really the sort I’d choose to have as social acquaintances, but as Mr. Newton Walker was going, I could hardly refuse.”
“You sound as if you didn’t like Mr. Gilhaney,” Barnes said.
“I had no feelings about him one way or the other.” He shrugged. “He was simply a boorish guest of the Chases.”
“And you left the party very early. Wasn’t that a bit boorish?” the constable said, deliberately keeping the pressure up.
“Do you often speak to your betters in such a ma
nner?” Webster’s eyes narrowed.
“Constable Barnes is doing his duty,” Witherspoon said firmly. “As I’m sure you must have realized, we’ve already had a statement from both Mr. and Mrs. Chase as to the events that night.”
He sagged a bit. “Then I’m sure Mrs. Chase told you why I left. I was tired of being insulted by Christopher Gilhaney. He was rude to me from the moment he arrived. By the time dessert was served, I’d had enough.”
“Do you know the name of the pub you stopped at?” Barnes needed Webster to supply the name. If Webster got there right before closing he’d have had plenty of time to lie in wait for Gilhaney. He could easily have killed him.
“I don’t remember the name—no, wait, it was the White Hart and it was on Linndal Road. Why? Do you intend to ask them to verify my account? Don’t waste your time. Gilhaney was killed weeks ago. By now no one is going to remember that I was there.”
“You don’t know that, sir,” Witherspoon said. “Furthermore, it’s our duty to confirm your movements that night. Why was Mr. Gilhaney so insulting? Had you met him before? Did he have a grudge against you?”
“Of course not,” Webster snapped. “I’m sorry the man was killed, but he was a dreadful person, a boor, and most certainly not a gentleman.”
“Do you know of anyone who had a grudge against Mr. Gilhaney?” Witherspoon asked.
“Considering his uncouth behavior, I imagine he had a multitude of enemies. He knew he had enemies as well.”
“How do you know that, sir?” Witherspoon asked.
“He carried a set of brass knuckles, Inspector. I saw him switch them from one of his coat pockets to another when he was in the cloakroom.”
Witherspoon was surprised. “Did you tell Inspector Nivens about this?”
“He never asked, Inspector.” Webster gave them a sour smile. “One doesn’t like to speak ill of public servants, but Inspector Nivens spent less than two minutes taking my statement. I would have told him what I’d seen, but he was in a hurry to leave.”
Mrs. Jeffries and the Three Wise Women Page 11
