Mrs. Jeffries and the Three Wise Women

by Emily Brightwell

  “The biggest problem will be getting to her. She’s just had her afternoon out and won’t get another till next week. I’ll have to get into the Bruce house.”

  “Be careful,” Smythe warned. “I don’t fancy my wife gettin’ arrested for trespassin’.”

  “Not to worry, I’ll come up with something.” Betsy patted his hand. “Can Amanda stay here or should I take her home? I’m sure Elinor can watch her for me.”

  “Leave her here,” Mrs. Goodge said. “Between the two of us, she’ll do just fine.”

  “What can I do, Mrs. Jeffries?” Hatchet asked.

  “Ann Holter took a hansom home the night Gilhaney was killed.” Mrs. Jeffries hesitated. “I need to know if the cab took her straight home or if it stopped anywhere. Also, we need to find out if she left her home once she got there.”

  Hatchet raised an eyebrow. “I can easily get cabdrivers to talk; my problem is the same as Miss Phyllis’, getting them to remember her. It can’t be helped, I suppose. Let’s just hope Miss Holter was memorably obnoxious that night.”

  “I’d like to do something as well,” Ruth offered.

  “Can you find out how much laudanum it would take to make someone sleepy but not unconscious and how long it would take before the person felt the effects of the drug?”

  Ruth considered it. “I’m not sure—would a doctor know this?”

  “A doctor would claim to know this, but unless he dosed himself with it on a daily basis, he’d tell you what he read in a medical book and we need to know what happens in reality. I’d rather you find out from someone who takes laudanum,” Mrs. Jeffries explained. “Do you know of any such person and would they tell you?”

  “I do and they would.” Ruth grinned. “I don’t have to tell you who I speak to, do I? I shouldn’t like to violate their privacy and, well, they’re quite well known in some social circles.”

  “No, we don’t need to know their identity.”

  “Is there somethin’ in particular ya need me to do?” Smythe looked at the clock. “Because I’m pretty certain my source will ’ave somethin’ useful to tell me this mornin’.” He wanted to get to Blimpey before the Dirty Duck opened for business and he had to queue up to speak to him.

  “I suspect your source is important.” Mrs. Jeffries knew whom he meant. “But do try to get back as quickly as possible.”

  Smythe squeezed Betsy’s hand, pushed back his chair, and stood up. He stopped long enough to drop a quick kiss on Amanda’s curls before disappearing down the hall.

  “What do ya want me to do?” Wiggins asked.

  “Go and talk to your source at Walker’s.” She told him what she needed him to find out. She gave him his instructions.

  “That doesn’t sound ’ard. Hodges likes to chat. But I probably can’t get to ’im before lunch. So I’ll be gone till then—is that okay or is there something else you need me to do?”

  “No, lunchtime will do, but do get back as early as possible.”

  “Why?” Luty studied her. “You think somethin’ is goin’ to happen today?”

  Mrs. Jeffries wasn’t one to believe in silly nonsense like messages from the spirit world, but she did believe in intuition, though if she were taxed with having to explain the difference between the two of them, she’d be hard-pressed to do so. “I think it’s possible. But it could just be my imagination running away with me.”

  “Then let’s get out on the ’unt,” Wiggins said.

  Betsy eyed the two godmothers as she headed for the coat tree. “Don’t you spoil her, now. She’s not to have too many sweet biscuits, and make her take a nap.”

  “Stop fretting, I’ll not let her have too many biscuits,” Mrs. Goodge promised.

  “She’ll have a nap after we have our playtime together.” Luty had her fingers crossed behind her back. “So don’t you worry about her, she’ll be just fine with us.”

  • • •

  Blimpey was drinking a tea and reading the newspaper when Smythe arrived.

  “You want a cuppa?” Blimpey waved his mug in the air.

  “Just ’ad one.” He sat down across from him. “What ’ave you got for me?”

  Blimpey chuckled and folded the newspaper and laid it on the table. “I’ve ’eard quite a bit—some of it you lot probably already know. But as I don’t know what you know, I’ll tell ya everything. To begin with, Newton Walker doesn’t trust his son-in-law, Ted Bruce. Mind you, this is after givin’ Bruce a free hand in running his business for more than fifteen years.”

  “We did know about that bit.”

  “Did ya know that Walker actually retired three years ago, but after Bruce took the company public, he went back to work a year ago and brought in Gordon Chase as well?”

  Smythe thought for a moment. “We knew Walker had retired. Why? What have you found out?”

  “Why?” Blimpey laughed. “Because goin’ public was supposed to increase the profits, but instead, things got worse.”

  “We heard that, too. It looks like someone is embezzlin’ and that’s the real reason Walker hired Gilhaney.”

  “Probably, and my guess is that Walker thinks the guilty party is Ted Bruce. But that’s not the important thing. One of my sources at Thomas Cook’s said that this same Mr. Bruce has booked a one-way passage on the Tartar Prince. She’s sailing from Southampton at midnight tonight.”

  “Where’s she bound?” Smythe got to his feet.

  “South America—he bought a ticket to Buenos Aires. He also bought a first-class ticket on the London and Southwestern Railway for the five o’clock from Waterloo. That should get him to Southampton in plenty of time.”

  • • •

  “Amanda’s just had her lunch. I’ve put her in my room for a nap,” Mrs. Goodge explained to Smythe as she came out of her quarters by the back stairs. “Betsy isn’t back, nor is Wiggins. But the others are.”

  “We can’t wait for them.” He hurried into the kitchen. “We’ve got to ’ave our meeting now. Something’s going to happen today; one of our suspects is makin’ a run for it.”

  Luty and Hatchet, who’d just come in from getting some fresh air in the communal garden, hurried to the table. Phyllis dropped the last of the dirty silverware into the soapy water in the sink and raced toward her seat. Ruth, who’d just taken off her cloak, shoved it onto the coat tree.

  Mrs. Jeffries shoved the stack of household bills into the sideboard as everyone took their spot. “What’s happened?”

  “I don’t know who you think our killer is, but Theodore Bruce is leavin’ the country. He’s takin’ the five o’clock train from Waterloo to Southampton and sailing for South America. He booked a single, one-way passage, so he’s not takin’ the missus.”

  “Oh dear, I was afraid something like this would happen,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “But he’s not leaving until five o’clock? Good, that buys us a bit of time.”

  “I suppose our information has now been rendered irrelevant,” Hatchet said. “Pity, really. I was successful.”

  “It’s not irrelevant,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “I need as many facts as possible to come up with a way to get the inspector to see that it isn’t Mrs. Bruce who is the killer, it’s Ted Bruce. You found out Ann Holter’s movements?”

  “Indeed, she was obnoxious, but that isn’t why the hansom driver remembered her,” Hatchet said. “She got into the cab in front of the Chase home and then insisted the driver stop at a wine merchant’s, a shop named Maywood’s. She paid him extra to go inside and buy her a bottle of a cheap brand of pinot noir, which she then opened herself with a corkscrew she had on her person. Then she had him drive her around Hyde Park several times while she drank it. He helped her into her house at half past ten.”

  “No wonder he remembered her,” Phyllis muttered.

  “By then she’d have been too drunk to kill Gilhaney,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “I was fairly sure she hadn’t done it, but we have to be certain. Other than Ted Bruce she was the only one I couldn’t elimina
te until now.” She looked at Phyllis. “Any luck?”

  Phyllis gave a negative shake of her head. “No, I’m sorry. I did manage to speak to Peggy, but she was in the kitchen when Mr. Chase took the guests outside to watch the fireworks. She had no idea if anyone lingered in the dining room.”

  “Don’t be sorry, I didn’t have much hope in finding out that tidbit.” Mrs. Jeffries smiled reassuringly and then glanced at Ruth. “Did you speak with your friend?”

  “She was quite surprised by the question, but willing to answer. According to her, a person who hadn’t taken laudanum previously could be made sleepy with a very small amount, no more than a half ounce. More than that and they’d drop off very, very quickly. I’m assuming from the task you gave Phyllis that you think the laudanum was administered to someone at the dinner party?”

  “Ted Bruce slipped it into his wife’s wine.” Mrs. Jeffries was sure of it now. “He didn’t want her knowing when he came home that night.”

  “But they had separate rooms,” Luty pointed out.

  “But they watched each other all the time, remember. That night was the one time he wanted her sound asleep. He didn’t want her snooping around watching what he was doing, especially if he was putting Gilhaney’s jewels and brass knuckles into his ‘hidey-hole.’”

  They heard the back door open and everyone turned as Wiggins came into the room. “Sorry to be so late, but it took ages to get back.”

  “Did you speak to the clerk?”

  “I ’ad to buy the little sod two gins,” Wiggins said. “But that loosened ’is tongue. He said that it was Bruce who was supposed to tell ’em about bringin’ down the ledgers and such from storage and give them the key as well. But ’e never said a word about it and the clerks couldn’t go up on their own, not without the key.”

  “And when the row between Chase and Bruce was going on, the one where each accused the other of having not done it, he was too intimidated to speak up, right?” Mrs. Jeffries said.

  “That’s right. He said Bruce is a nasty sort and he didn’t want to say anything. He heard Mr. Bruce tellin’ Mr. Chase that he’d let the clerks know, that he’d stop on his way out as he was meetin’ someone.”

  Again, they heard the door open and, this time, footsteps running up the corridor. Smythe leapt to his feet as his wife raced into the kitchen. “I’m fine.” She stopped and caught her breath. “Sorry to be so long, but I got an earful.” She grinned at Mrs. Jeffries. “You were right, Molly talked a blue streak once I’d given her a bob or two. Mrs. Bruce had a visitor this morning and Molly, being the sort she is, made sure she caught his name. It was that Mr. Smalling, Gilhaney’s solicitor.”

  “No doubt he told her more about her legacy,” Mrs. Jeffries said.

  “But that’s not the most important bit,” Betsy continued. “Mrs. Bruce knows about her husband’s secret compartment under his desk. As soon as the solicitor left, Mrs. Bruce marched into his office and helped herself to whatever he had in there. He keeps it in a big, battered brown briefcase. Molly watched her take it upstairs. She put it in her bedroom and then locked the door.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Betsy’s excitement faded as she saw the serious expressions on the faces around the table. “What’s wrong, what’s happened?”

  “Ted Bruce ’as bought a one-way ticket to South America. His ship leaves late tonight,” Smythe explained quickly.

  “Cor blimey, you think that solicitor tellin’ Mrs. Bruce she’s inherited a lot of money means that she’s tossin’ him out?”

  “It could.” Mrs. Jeffries needed to have a good long think about this development, but knew that wasn’t possible now. Events were moving too quickly.

  Ruth looked at the housekeeper. “This doesn’t sound good.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” Mrs. Jeffries rested her elbows on the table and entwined her fingers together. “It’s possible she knows what her husband is planning and if she confronts him, it could be very dangerous.” She looked at Betsy. “Did Molly have any idea how long Mrs. Bruce has known about the hiding spot?”

  “She didn’t say and I didn’t think to ask,” Betsy replied. “What should we do?”

  “The inspector and Constable Barnes were going to interview Mrs. Bruce today,” Mrs. Jeffries said slowly. “They were going to the station first to read the constables’ reports and then to the Yard for a meeting. So perhaps things will work out properly … oh, that’s ridiculous. They’ve no idea what Bruce is planning.”

  “How do we tell them?” Mrs. Goodge got up. “I’m going to make tea, it’ll help us think.”

  “Was Ted Bruce still at the office when you spoke with Hodges?” Mrs. Jeffries glanced at the clock and did some quick calculations.

  Wiggins’ face creased in thought. “I don’t know … Wait a minute, he did say something. When he demanded a second gin, I said wasn’t he worried about bein’ late back and he laughed. He said Mr. Chase wouldn’t care and Mr. Bruce was takin’ the afternoon off.”

  “He probably has shopping to do,” Hatchet said.

  Luty poked him in the arm. “Don’t be flippant, this is serious.”

  “I am serious, madam. Buenos Aires is in the Southern Hemisphere; right now it’s summer there. Bruce probably went to buy some clothes.”

  “We have summer here, you know. Why wouldn’t he take his own clothes?”

  “He can’t risk packing a bag, madam.” Hatchet folded his arms over his chest. “Remember, the Bruces watch each other closely. He’d not want his wife to catch him tossing his seersucker suits into a case. Besides, South American summer is warmer than our English ones. Trust me on this, I’ve been to both Argentina and Chile in January.”

  “You’re right, that’s probably why he took the afternoon off,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “A quick trip to Oxford Street and then home to grab whatever he has in his hiding spot.”

  “What do you think it is?” Ruth asked.

  “I know what it is,” she said. “Money. He’s been embezzling from Walker’s for years. Small amounts some years, larger ones other years. That’s why he murdered Gilhaney.” She took a deep breath. “We may have a bit of time. But we’ve got to get a message to Constable Barnes.”

  • • •

  “Well, at least you managed to discover where Mr. Gilhaney was buried,” Smalling said. “Now I can get the legal process started and the poor man moved and laid to rest next to Miss Wakeman. When can I take my late client’s possessions?”

  “Not until after we make an arrest,” Witherspoon said. “Some of the items in his strongbox might be used in evidence.”

  “But that’s absurd!” Smalling sprayed spittle as he spoke. “Absurd, I tell you. You’ve had six weeks to search them properly. They belong to the estate and I want to do a proper appraisal so his property can be sold and disbursed as he wished. I liked Christopher—he wasn’t just a client, he was a friend …” He broke off as his eyes filled with tears. “And I mourn his loss deeply. I hate the idea of his clothes and his papers being in a stranger’s care.”

  Witherspoon’s irritation faded. He knew grief when he saw it. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Smalling. Losing a friend is very hard.”

  “Thank you.” Smalling brought himself under control. “Right, then. I’ve much to do. Luckily, I got one task off my plate. I saw Mrs. Bruce and got the documents signed so her legacy could be properly disbursed. It’s amazing how much paperwork there is even in a straightforward inheritance.”

  Barnes looked at the inspector. “That was quick,” Witherspoon finally said.

  “True, but there shouldn’t be any issues with the probate—he had no family and his instructions are quite simple.” He frowned. “Oh dear, I’ve just remembered, there was a bank certificate I neglected to have her sign. I suppose I’d better take care of that as soon as possible. I’ve an appointment tomorrow to meet with the Fulham Workhouse trustees and that might take all day.”

  There was a rapid knock on the door, then it opene
d and a constable stepped into the doorway and handed Barnes a folded sheet of paper. “Message for you, sir. It was brought in by a street lad; he claimed it was from one of your informants.”

  Barnes’ heart beat faster as he reached for the paper, but he kept his composure. “They always say that.” He forced a chuckle and then stepped as far away from Witherspoon’s chair as he dared. The message was short and to the point.

  Ted Bruce taking five o’clock train to Southampton, boarding ship to Argentina.

  Mrs. Bruce not the killer. Evidence she’s going to confront husband today.

  She’s in danger. Get to Bruce house.

  “Is it important?” the inspector asked.

  For a moment, Barnes wasn’t sure what to say, but then he realized the truth would be best. “I think we’d better get to the Bruce home, sir. My informant claims Mr. Bruce is getting ready to take a ship to South America.”

  “Mr. Bruce?” Witherspoon was confused, but nonetheless got up. “You’ll have to excuse us, Mr. Smalling, we must go.”

  As Barnes moved quickly toward the door, he crumpled the paper into a tight ball and shoved it into his pocket. He held the door as Smalling and the inspector hurried out into the hall.

  “Shall I fetch a couple of constables to take with us, sir?” Barnes asked as soon as the solicitor had disappeared.

  Witherspoon’s brows came together. “Well, it couldn’t hurt. This is most odd, isn’t it? I’ve no idea what is actually going on, do you?”

  “Not really, sir, but if the information is true, I think we’d better have a word with Mr. Bruce before he gets on a ship.” He sprinted down the corridor and was back a few moments later with Constables Griffiths and Evans in tow. “Ready, sir?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” Witherspoon replied.

  He thought about the situation as he stood on the pavement while one of the constables flagged down a four-wheeler. It was possible this was all a bit of a hoax, he thought as he buttoned his overcoat against the cold wind. On the other hand, Barnes had a remarkable network of informants and this information was very specific. The carriage pulled up at the curb and he climbed inside, took the corner seat, and began to go over each fact he knew about Ted Bruce and Walker’s.