MRS JEFFRIES WAS waiting in the hallway when Inspector Witherspoon arrived home. ‘Good evening, sir,’ she said cheerfully as she took his bowler hat and coat. ‘Have you had a good day?’
She knew he hadn’t had a particularly good day. One look at his long face had told her that much. But she wasn’t deterred, certain a cosy chat and a nice glass of sherry would no doubt fix him right up.
‘Good evening, Mrs Jeffries,’ Witherspoon replied. ‘As a matter of fact, it’s been a very dreadful sort of day.’
‘Oh dear, I’m so sorry to hear that.’ She turned towards the drawing room. ‘But not to worry, you’ll feel much better after you’ve had a chance to relax.’
The inspector dutifully followed her into the drawing room and sat down in his favourite wing chair. A fire blazed in the hearth, a glass of amber liquid was sitting on the table next to his chair, and Mrs Jeffries was gazing at him sympathetically. He felt much better already.
‘What delight is Mrs Goodge cooking up for our dinner tonight?’ he asked as he reached for his glass.
Mrs Jeffries desperately wanted to know whether the inspector knew of any unidentifed female bodies turning up in the last two months. But she didn’t want to arouse her employer’s curiosity. Not just yet. There would be time enough for that after she and the others had done more investigating into Mary’s disappearance. She curbed her impatience and decided to wait until he had some sherry in him before she brought up the subject. Besides, the inspector was always far more willing to talk on a full stomach.
‘Roast pork and poached apples,’ she replied with a smile. ‘Now, Inspector, tell me all about it.’
‘About what?’
‘Why, your dreadful day, of course.’ She gazed at him earnestly. ‘I know you never like to complain, but really, sir, sometimes it helps to get things off one’s chest. As soon as you walked into the house this evening, I knew something utterly appalling must have happened.’
‘You’re so very perceptive, Mrs Jeffries,’ he murmured with a relieved sigh. ‘And you’re absolutely right, as usual. There’s been a murder. A very difficult one, I’m afraid.’
‘How terrible.’ Mrs Jeffries tried to sound appropriately subdued, but it was difficult. Not that she condoned murder, naturally. Yet she couldn’t help but be elated by the fact that she and the rest of the household would now have two cases to work on. Not only would they find the missing Mary Sparks, but they could help their dear inspector as well. ‘Why do you think this one’s going to be difficult?’
‘Because the body was only found today.’ Witherspoon paused and took a deep breath. ‘And the murder was committed several months ago.’
‘Several months ago!’ Mrs Jeffries was scandalized. The trail would be colder than a February frost.
‘Perhaps even more. The police surgeon was only guessing when he made that estimate.’ The inspector drained the rest of his drink. ‘I tell you, Mrs Jeffries, the world has become an evil place. Imagine, this poor girl dead, stabbed right through the heart and buried in the bottom of some cellar and no one even notices she’s missing. You’d think that when a person didn’t appear as usual, someone would take the time and trouble to notify the police.’
Mrs Jeffries refused to jump to a conclusion. Just because Inspector Witherspoon had found the body of a woman didn’t mean that the body was Mary Sparks. Despite what the good inspector said, she knew dozens of people disappeared all the time in the city and no one bothered to tell the police. ‘That’s appalling. I take it the deceased is a young woman?’
‘Yes. Dreadful, isn’t it.’
‘How old was the victim?’
‘We’re not absolutely sure. The best the police surgeon could do is give us an estimate. He thinks she couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, but naturally, we’ll know more after the post-mortem.’
Mrs Jeffries asked, ‘Do you know who she is?’
‘No, I’m afraid not.’ Remembering the state of the body, he shuddered. ‘Unfortunately, she’d been in the ground so long her face is unrecognizable. But she was smallish, only an inch or so over five feet tall and she had blonde hair.’
Mrs Jeffries didn’t like the sound of that. ‘Oh dear, however are you going to find out who the poor girl was?’ She reminded herself that there were hundreds of women who had blonde hair.
‘We’re comparing her description to those we have of missing women. Hopefully, we’ll turn up something soon. It’ll be very hard to find out who murdered her if we don’t know who she is, er, was.’ He shook his head. ‘But we don’t really have much to go on.’
‘Not to worry, Inspector,’ Mrs Jeffries said briskly. ‘I’m sure you’ll find out everything you need to know and solve this case just as you’ve solved all the others. Was there anything unusual about the way she was dressed? Anything that would give you a clue?’
‘Not really. She was wearing a good-quality blue dress and she had several pieces of jewellery on her person. But it’s the sort of dress one sees everywhere. You know, very much like the one that Betsy wears on her day out.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t see that her clothing will be of much use, more’s the pity.’
‘Perhaps you’ll have better luck with the jewellery. What kind was it?’ Mrs Jeffries asked cautiously. A wedding ring, perhaps.’
She sincerely hoped it was. If the victim had been married, it almost definitely wasn’t Mary Sparks who had been found. But Mrs Jeffries’s hopes were quickly dashed.
‘Oh no,’ the inspector said. ‘Not quite. I believe the object we found is more properly called a “betrothal ring”,’ Witherspoon explained. ‘But the odd thing was she didn’t have the ring on her finger, as one would expect. She wore it round her neck on a small gold chain. There was a silver brooch on the lapel of her dress as well. Both pieces looked quite valuable.’
‘That should help you determine her identity,’ Mrs Jeffries replied slowly. Her mind was working frantically. She wished she’d asked Luty Belle if the brooch Mary Sparks had been accused of stealing had ever turned up at the Lutterbank house. She made a mental note to talk to Luty tomorrow morning.
‘I certainly hope so. I mean the girl was well dressed and had expensive jewellery on her person. She must be someone important. You’d think someone, somewhere would have reported her missing.’
‘One would think so,’ Mrs Jeffries agreed. ‘Obviously the murder wasn’t committed as part of a robbery.’
‘Uhmm, that was a bit of hard luck. After all, a robber would hardly have left a valuable ring and brooch on his victim.’ Witherspoon sighed dramatically. ‘A simple robbery would have been most helpful. It would certainly make this case easier to solve.’
Mrs Jeffries stared at him curiously. ‘Do you really think so?’
‘But of course.’ Witherspoon put his glass down. ‘Thieves have to sell their ill-gotten gains somewhere,’ he explained, ‘and we’ve got quite good connections into the criminal classes these days. Why, Inspector Nivens has several sources of information he regularly taps when it comes to robberies. Now if we’d been lucky on this case, the poor girl would have been robbed before she was murdered. I could then have quite legitimately taken Inspector Nivens up on his kind offer of assistance.’
‘Inspector Nivens offered to help you with this case?’ Mrs Jeffries asked carefully, striving to remain calm.
‘Oh, yes,’ Witherspoon answered as he glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘He came round Magpie Lane today as soon as he’d heard a body was discovered. Most thoughtful of him. But naturally, I couldn’t accept. You know the Chief Inspector’s views on having more than one senior officer on a case.’
By sheer willpower, Mrs Jeffries managed to restrain herself from blurting out precisely what she thought of Inspector Nigel Nivens. Her dear inspector was far too innocent about some things. But it was obvious to her that Nigel Nivens was just waiting for his chance to ruin Gerald Witherspoon. Why, the man had once had the audacity to complain to the Chief Inspector that Inspector Witherspoon must be getting outside help on the cases he’d solved. If Nivens was going to be snooping around on this murder, and she had no doubt that he was, they’d have to be very careful. Very careful indeed.
‘Do you think Mrs Goodge has dinner ready yet?’ Witherspoon asked.
Mrs Jeffries deliberately kept the conversation away from bodies and murder as she ushered the inspector into the dining room. She waited until he was well tucked into his supper before mentioning the subject again.
Witherspoon, who really wanted to get the horrid experience off his chest, soon told her every little detail about finding the body and questioning the workman. He particularly enjoyed repeating Jack Cawley’s remarks about the stupidity of engineers and local officials.
‘And really, Mrs Jeffries,’ he continued as he helped himself to another serving of poached apples, managing to edge a slice of apple onto the rim of the plate, ‘I’m amazed at how callous some people are.’
Mrs Jeffries snatched a spoon and shoved the apple back into the dish before it landed on the white linen tablecloth. ‘People aren’t really callous, sir,’ she said soothingly. ‘I expect they merely say whatever pops into their heads as a way of dealing with the horror of it. Finding a body when one is digging a trench must come as a bit of a shock.’
The inspector raised his eyebrows. ‘I wasn’t referring to the workman who found the body, I was referring to Constable Barnes. No doubt, there’s much truth to what you say, but really, I thought it most ungallant of the man to mention what big feet the victim had.’ He paused, remembering what else Barnes had said. ‘But then again, if he hadn’t commented on her feet, we might not have noticed she was wearing new shoes.’
‘New shoes?’ Mrs Jeffries cocked her chin to one side. ‘But if the body had been in the ground for two months, how could you tell? Weren’t the feet encrusted with dirt?’
‘Scuff marks.’ He smiled triumphantly. ‘There weren’t any scuff marks on the soles. Once the dirt was brushed away, it was very obvious the lady had put on a pair of brand-new shoes. Good leather too, good quality.’
‘I suppose you’ve already got the constable out looking for the shop that sold them.’
Witherspoon frowned. ‘Do you think that’s necessary? We’re hoping to identify the victim by tracking down the jewellery. Both the brooch and the ring are somewhat unusual. It should be easy enough to find the shop that sold them.’
‘But what if the victim didn’t purchase either of them? Perhaps they were gifts. Women don’t often buy jewellery for themselves.’
‘Oh, that doesn’t matter,’ Witherspoon replied airily. ‘I’ve already thought of that possibility. A girl hardly buys her own betrothal ring. Once we find where the jewellery was purchased, it’ll be quite easy to obtain the name of the person who bought the items. When we know that name, we’ll soon know the name of our victim. I suspect the betrothal ring, at least, was bought by a man for his young lady. He’s bound to know who she is, er, was.’
‘I take it you’re assuming that whoever bought it was engaged to the victim?’
‘Well, that had crossed my mind.’
‘Then why hasn’t he reported her missing?’ Mrs Jeffries asked blandly.
‘Er, perhaps he doesn’t know she’s gone,’ Witherspoon mumbled. But even to his own ears, that sounded like nonsense. Drat! Why hadn’t the man reported his fiancée missing? If, indeed, she was someone’s fiancée. But perhaps she wasn’t. Perhaps she was something else, something else entirely.
Witherspoon’s face fell as he realized just how many problems he might be facing. Perhaps he would have Constable Barnes try to trace the shoes as well. ‘You know, I do believe I will have Barnes see if he can find out who sold our victim her shoes. Can’t afford to ignore any line of inquiry, can I?’
‘Why, you’ve never done that, sir,’ Mrs Jeffries said hastily as she saw his gloomy expression. ‘You’re a most efficient policeman. You never leave any stone unturned. Why you’ve foiled the most diabolically clever murderers, and I’m sure you’ll do the same for this last unfortunate victim.’
Her words cheered him instantly. ‘Oh, please, Mrs Jeffries.’ Witherspoon flushed with pleasure at her praise. ‘You’re being far too kind. I’m merely a simple man. I do my duty to God, Queen and Country and hope that my small, insignificant contribution makes the world a better place.’
The sun was shining brightly as Mrs Jeffries came into the kitchen the next morning. Betsy, Smythe, Wiggins and Mrs Goodge were already sitting around the table, waiting for her.
‘Good morning, everyone,’ she said as she took her seat. ‘I trust that everyone was successful yesterday?’
‘Absolutely, Mrs J.’ Smythe grinned. ‘As a matter of fact, you’d best let me talk first today. I thinks you’ll be right interested in what I’ve come across.’
‘ ’Ow come you get ta go first?’ Betsy asked.
‘ ’Cause as soon as Mrs J hears what I’ve found out, I expect she’ll be wantin’ me to go out agin.’
Betsy started to protest, thought better of it, and contented herself with a sniff.
‘Please proceed, Smythe,’ Mrs Jeffries said quickly.
‘Well, it’s all right mysterious. One of the Lutterbanks’ footman told me he saw Mary Sparks back in the communal gardens on the evenin’ of September the tenth. That’s two days after she quit workin’ for ’em.’
‘Two days? Are you sure?’ Mrs Jeffries frowned. ‘Luty Belle said Mary only stayed the one night. What would she have been doing back in Knightsbridge the following evening? She was supposed to have been working for the Everdenes by then.’
Smythe nodded. ‘I’m sure. The footman was definite about the dates. He remembers because the tenth was always the day that Andrew Lutterbank got his quarterly allowance from his father. But on September the tenth, the old man refused to give it out. Instead, he and Andrew had a right old shoutin’ match. Every servant in the bloomin’ ’ouse ’eard the two of ’em goin’ at it. Wesley, that’s the footman, finally couldn’t stand it any more so he took himself out to the garden to get away from the screamin’. While he was out there, he saw Mary Sparks.’
‘What time was this?’ Mrs Jeffries asked.
‘He weren’t sure, but he said it had just gone dark when he seen her. Spotted her hangin’ about at the gate near the far end. He’s a right nosey ’un. Wondered what she were doin’, her havin’ left and all.’
‘How long did she hang about by the gate?’ Mrs Goodge asked curiously.
Smythe grinned. ‘Long enough to watch Andrew Lutterbank leavin’ in a huff. Wesley thought that was right peculiar too, said Mary were just hoverin’ down the far end when all of a sudden his nibs trots out the back door and flies down the path like the ’ounds of ’ades was on his ’eels. Well, Mary looked right surprised, and she jumped into that tangle of brush down at that end of the garden, waited till Lutterbank had stormed out the gate, and then a few minutes later, she and Garrett McGraw scarpered off as well. Wesley says he watched Garrett put the girl in a cab.’
‘Perhaps that’s when she went to the Everdenes,’ Betsy suggested. ‘Maybe she didn’t go right away, like she told Luty. Maybe when they give Mary the position, they told her not to come back till that evenin’.’
‘No.’ Mrs Jeffries shook her head, her expression thoughtful. ‘I don’t think so. Why would Mary lie to Luty about such a trivial matter? If the Everdenes had instructed her not to come till the evening, why not simply ask Luty for permission to spend the afternoon in Luty’s home? And we know she never asked. She told Luty as soon as she returned from the agency that she had the position, and then she left immediately. But obviously, despite what the Everdenes claim, Mary was not in their home that night, but back in Knightsbridge. How very curious.’
‘Maybe she was too proud to ask Luty to let her stay for the rest of the day,’ Betsy continued doggedly. ‘Luty did say that she was ever so proud.’
‘I suppose that’s possible,’ Mrs Jeffries agreed reluctantly. She noticed that Betsy’s chin was tilted in a determined angle as the girl glared at the grinning coachman. She had the distinct impression that Betsy was arguing more in an attempt to wipe that smug expression off Smythe’s face than for any other reason.
‘But it’s not bloomin’ likely,’ Smythe retorted. ‘Look, why should she fib to Luty about a piddlin’ little matter like what time she were expected at the Everdenes? Besides, we’ve only got their word for it that she even turned up at all.’
‘Are you suggestin’ she never went to the Everdene house?’ Betsy snapped.
‘I’m sayin’ it’s possible,’ Smythe argued. ‘We’ve only got their word fer it that she showed up, and then they claimed she up and quit the very next day. If you ask me, that story sounds like a load of codswallop. The truth of the fact is the last time anyone really saw Mary Sparks was the evening of the tenth.’
‘That’s the silliest . . .’ Betsy sputtered.
‘It’s not silly, it’s a ruddy fact,’ Smythe interrupted huffily.
‘Yes, of course it is.’ Mrs Jeffries said quickly. She smiled at Betsy. ‘Now let’s not argue among ourselves. Smythe does, indeed, have a point. Until we get assurances from someone other than the Everdenes that Mary was at their home on the tenth, we must assume that the last time she was seen was in the gardens on the afternoon of the tenth.’
Betsy gave Smythe one final glare. ‘Oh, all right,’ she muttered ungraciously.
Mrs Jeffries turned to the coachman. ‘I expect you know what I want you to do next.’
He nodded. ‘You want me to find that hansom driver and see if he took her to the Everdenes’ or to some place else?’
‘That’s correct.’ Mrs Jeffries turned back to Betsy. Now, what did Cassie Yates tell you about Mary?’
‘Not much o’ anythin’,’ Betsy admitted sheepishly.
Smythe smiled and said caustically, ‘Couldn’t get her ta talk, huh?’
‘Fat lot you knows about it,’ she retorted. ‘I can git anyone to talk. But you can’t get someone to chattin’ if’n they’s disappeared, can you?’
‘Cassie Yates has disappeared too?’ Mrs Jeffries asked in alarm. ‘Oh dear, this is getting most complicated . . .’
‘Don’t fret yourself, Mrs J,’ Betsy said soothingly. ‘From what I heard about Cassie Yates, she can take care of herself. I talked to one of the girls that works in the shop with ’er, and she reckons Cassie’s run off with some man. Says the girl had a couple of gentlemen friends and that she was goin’ around braggin’ about how both of ’em wanted to marry her. One of ’em had even posted the banns and bought the licence.’
Mrs Jeffries nodded. ‘Did you find out where Miss Yates lives?’
‘No. But I did find out she used to work for the Lutterbanks too. That’s how her and Mary become friends.’
‘Did they sack her?’ Mrs Goodge asked.
‘She quit about two weeks before Mary disappeared.’ Betsy gave Mrs Jeffries a puzzled frown. ‘Why’d you want to know where Cassie lives?’
‘Because this case seems to be getting complicated,’ Mrs Jeffries replied. She was hedging. Betsy was no doubt right and Cassie Yates was probably a respectable married woman by now. But she couldn’t get the thought of Inspector Witherspoon’s body out of her mind. She wasn’t certain the dead girl was Mary Sparks or Cassie Yates. A coincidence like that would be odd, but not unheard of. However, until both young women were accounted for, she wanted as much information as she could get.
‘What about me?’ Wiggins scratched his chin. ‘I found out quite a bit meself yesterday.’
Mrs Jeffries smiled at his enthusiasm. ‘Were you able to find Garrett?’
‘I found ’im all right, but I didn’t have a lot of luck gettin’ much out of the lad,’ Wiggins reported sadly. ‘ ’E was right friendly-like until I mentioned Mary’s name. Then ’e got all nervous and twitchy, kept lookin’ over his shoulder like he was expectin’ someone to be sneakin’ up behind ’im and listenin’. It were right peculiar if you ask me.’ He broke off and glanced towards the cupboard. ‘Is there any of them currant buns left? I could fancy a bite or two.’
‘The buns is all gone. When we’ve finished here, I’ll get you a roll.’ Mrs Goodge rolled her eyes. ‘Now get on with it, boy. What did Garrett say?’
‘Give us a minute. I’m gettin’ to that.’ He stopped and took a deep breath. ‘ ’E says he don’t know Mary very well, just enough to speak to her every now and again in the garden, and that ’e ain’t seen her since she left the Lutterbanks. But ’e also told me the Lutterbanks were a right nasty bunch, too. Fiona, that’s the daughter, likes to tell tales, and Andrew, that’s the son, is a bit o’ a bully. Mrs Lutterbank, who used to be just a little on the barmy side, is now completely round the bend, and Mr Lutterbanks has a bad temper. Anyways, as soon as Garrett started talkin’ about them, I asked him about Mary stealin’ the brooch.’ Wiggins paused dramatically. ‘That’s when ’e got angry. Claimed Mary Sparks wouldn’t steal nothin’ if her life depended on it, claimed the Lutterbanks were makin’ up tales and they ought to be horsewhipped. He got right worked up, went on and on about it.’
‘For someone who claimed not to know Mary very well,’ Mrs Jeffries said thoughtfully, ‘he certainly leapt to her defence quickly enough.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ Wiggins exclaimed.
‘I think we need to keep our eyes on Garrett,’ she continued. ‘Wiggins, why don’t you try and follow him this evening when he leaves work? See where he goes, find out where he lives and find out where his older brother lives.’
‘Huh? Older brother?’ Wiggins looked thoroughly confused. ‘What’s he got to do with it?’
Mrs Jeffries shrugged. ‘Possibly nothing. But Luty Belle mentioned that Mary was almost engaged to Mark McGraw. He’s away at sea. However, if he doesn’t live with his family, he may have rooms somewhere and Mary may have taken refuge there. Especially if she could convince Mark’s landlady she was his intended bride. It’s a tad farfetched, I’ll admit, but it’s worth looking into.’
Smythe and Betsy started to get up, each of them eager to get on with their investigating. The housekeeper waved them back into their chairs. ‘Don’t go just yet. I’m afraid there’s another matter we need to discuss.’
She then proceeded to tell them about Inspector Witherspoon’s newest case. As was her custom, she told them every little detail she’d managed to wheedle out of the inspector.
‘You don’t think the body they found is Mary, do you?’ Betsy’s eyes were as big as saucers.
‘It’s possible. But whoever the victim is, I hope you understand what this means.’
‘It means we’ve got two mysteries to solve.’ Smythe grinned wickedly. ‘Blimey, it’s either feast or famine around ’ere. When are we going to ’ave time to get our work done? I can’t neglect them horses forever.’ Smythe was absolutely devoted to the inspector’s two horses, Bow and Arrow.
‘Leave off with you, Smythe,’ Betsy said. ‘We’ll have plenty of time for everythin’.’ She grinned at the footman. ‘Except for poor Wiggins here. He might have to cut back on his courtin’ some.’
‘I’m not courtin’,’ Wiggins said indignantly.
‘ ’Course he’s not courtin’,’ Mrs Goodge teased. ‘He’s pinin’. There’s a difference, you know. That pretty little maid from up the road hasn’t looked his way once. She struts by with her nose in the air while the poor lad worships her from behind the drawing-room curtains.’
‘I never,’ Wiggins yelped. He blushed a bright pink. ‘I was washin’ them windows. Besides, Sarah Trippet isn’t my sort of girl at all. She’s too short.’
‘Maybe that’s why she’s always walkin’ about with her nose in the air,’ Smythe suggested. ‘She wants to look taller.’
Betsy and Mrs Goodge both laughed. Wiggins’s infatuations were legendary.
Inspector Witherspoon’s day was going from bad to worse. He stood over the trench where the body had been buried and shook his head. ‘Are you absolutely certain, Barnes?’
‘Absolutely, sir,’ Constable Barnes said. ‘These houses were vacant for months before they got around to tearing them down. The family that lived here was long gone before that body was buried. And you heard the police surgeon. He’s fairly sure that with the amount of decomposition, the girl’d only been here for no more than two months. The folks that lived here has been gone for four.’ He turned his head, frowning at the high wall on the other side of Magpie Lane. ‘For that matter, so’s everyone else. That brewery’s been abandoned for almost a year now. We’ll not be having any witnesses on this one, sir.’
‘Drat.’ Witherspoon glared at the one remaining house on the road. ‘Why haven’t they torn that one down yet?’
‘They forgot.’
‘They what!’
‘They forgot it,’ Barnes explained. ‘According to the clerk at Wildworth’s, that’s the property company that owns this land, they forgot there was one house left to be demolished. But that’s a bit of luck for us, sir. Mr Raines, the shopkeeper on the main road, claims there’s an old man who dosses down in that house. If we can find him, he might be able to help us with our inquiries.’
‘Excellent, Barnes. Get some men on it right away.’ Witherspoon started towards the house.
‘Yes, sir. Where are you going, sir?’ Barnes called.
‘To search that house,’ Witherspoon replied. ‘We’ve already searched this area, and we haven’t come up with a thing.’
‘But, sir. The men have already gone through it. They found nothing but the usual rubbish. Why are you going to do it again?’
Witherspoon hated to admit it was because he couldn’t think of anything else to do. ‘One never knows, Barnes,’ he called out briskly. ‘Perhaps I’ll spot something the chaps have overlooked.’
Mrs Jeffries waited patiently at the top of the stairs for the rag-and-bone man to finish his tea. She didn’t want to intrude on Mrs Goodge when she was pumping one of her prime sources for information. There was a regular stream of visitors to the kitchen at Upper Edmonton Gardens. Delivery boys, chimney sweeps, carpenters, and last week, there’d even been a man from the gas works chatting with Mrs Goodge as if they were old friends. But Mrs Jeffries didn’t mind. Mrs Goodge was quite good at prying every tidbit of gossip out of those that passed through her kitchen.
Mrs Jeffries had no doubt that right at this very moment the cook was working furiously to find out anything she could about the Lutterbanks and the Everdenes. She sighed and leaned against the banister. Such a pity, really. So many in the upper classes failed to notice that many servants were diligent, perceptive and often highly intelligent human beings. Sad really, but so many of the wealthy were most indiscreet in both word and deed in front of those they considered beneath them. But then again, Mrs Jeffries concluded, if they actually treated servants and working people like human beings, no doubt she and the household would find helping the inspector a great deal more difficult. Mrs Jeffries supposed one could see that as the silver lining around the dark cloud that society cast on most of the city’s population. It wasn’t much of a comfort, but she decided it would have to do. The world was changing, that was for sure. But a fair and equitable way of life for all people certainly wouldn’t happen in her lifetime. Still, she had great hopes that it would happen eventually.
She heard Mrs Goodge say ‘Cheerio, ducks’ to the rag-and-bone man and then the sound of the kitchen door closing. Mrs Jeffries flew down the stairs and into the kitchen.
Neither of the women wasted any time on preliminaries.
‘I’ve got an interesting bit of gossip about the Everdenes.’ Mrs Goodge smiled triumphantly.
Mrs Jeffries knew better than to ask the cook for her source. It could have been the rag-and-bone man who had just left, or it could have been any one of half a dozen other people. Mrs Goodge was nothing if not thorough. But the housekeeper was disappointed. She’d been hoping for a bit of information about the Lutterbanks. ‘Indeed. How very enterprising of you, Mrs Goodge.’
‘There’s tea on the table, Mrs Jeffries.’ Mrs Goodge waved a hand at the pot and moved her large bulk towards a chair. ‘If you’ll pour us a cup, I’ll tell you everything.’
‘It will be my pleasure.’ She sat down and poured out two cups of the steaming brew. Handing one to the cook, she gazed at her expectantly.
‘Well, it seems the Everdenes are from an old Yorkshire family. But there’s only the reverend and his daughter left. Their branch never had much money until recently, when the girl inherited a packet from a distant relative. And a good thing it was too. But that’s not the interestin’ bit.’ Mrs Goodge paused and took a quick sip of tea.
Mrs Jeffries curbed her impatience. It did no good to try and hurry the woman along. She would have her moment of glory.
‘The Reverend Everdene left his last congregation under a cloud.’ The cook smiled knowingly. ‘And us bein’ a bit more worldly than most, I reckon’s you can guess just what kind of a cloud I’m referrin’ to.’
Mrs Jeffries could. ‘Choirboys or young women?’
Mrs Goodge pretended to look scandalized. Then her broad face broke into a grin. ‘Young women. According to what I’ve heard, he used to limit his attentions to servants. But he made a mistake with the last one, and his hands got a bit too free with the daughter of the local magistrate. Naturally the church tried to hush up the scandal. But it ended with the Reverend Everdene out of Yorkshire and supposedly retired.’ She broke off and cackled with laughter. ‘It’s a nice piece of luck his daughter inherited all that money. He didn’t get another parish.’
‘Hmm,’ Mrs Jeffries said thoughtfully. ‘That may explain why Mary Sparks left the Everdene house so precipitously. If the reverend tried . . . well, anything, she may have felt justified in leaving her post without notice. If, of course, she was there in the first place.’
‘Humph. The old goat should be locked up. And him with a daughter too. He ought to know better.’ Mrs Goodge pursed her lips. ‘Disgusting. I feel sorry for the daughter, but at least she’ll be gone soon. She’s engaged to be married.’
‘But that still leaves us in the dark,’ Mrs Jeffries said thoughtfully. ‘We still don’t know for sure if Mary was ever at the Everdene house.’
‘True. But if she was, we’ve at least got an idea of what made her leave so quickly. The old fool probably tried to start pawin’ at her the minute she got there.’
‘That’s possible. I suppose the next step is to find out if Mary did or did not arrive at the Everdene house at all.’ Mrs Jeffries cocked her head to one side. ‘Mrs Goodge,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘If you were a young woman in genuine fear of being ravished, what would you do?’
‘Do?’ The cook snorted. ‘I’d pack me things and get out of that house. And I’d be quick about it too.’
‘But we know Mary hadn’t much money. If she were frightened and desperate, where would she go?’
‘I’d go to the one person who’d shown me a bit of kindness,’ Mrs Goodge said promptly.
‘Luty Belle Crookshank.’ Mrs Jeffries shook her head. ‘But Luty Belle was in Venice and the house was locked up.’
‘There’s ways of gettin’ into locked houses. There’s ways of gettin’ into locked gardens too. Remember, it were still early September. Even if Mary couldn’t get into Luty’s house for shelter, she’d probably feel safer sleepin’ in the communal gardens than she would walkin’ the streets. And the Everdene house is in Putney. It’s not close, but it in’t that far neither.’
‘Do you think she would have walked?’ Mrs Jeffries sipped her tea.
‘No. London streets are dangerous. If she’d had any money at all, she’d have taken a hansom.’
‘I think you’re right. And I think I’d better go have a nice little chat with Garrett McGraw.’
‘The gardening boy?’ Mrs Goodge looked puzzled. ‘Why?’
‘Because Mary knew that Luty was already gone. The only other friend she had was Garrett. If she crept back to Knightsbridge and hid in those gardens, it was for one reason and one reason only. She thought she could get help from someone.’
‘But we don’t know that she did any of that.’
‘No, but I’ve got to start somewhere.’ Mrs Jeffries rose to her feet. ‘And in all fairness, I must tell Luty Belle about the body in Magpie Lane.’