LUTY BELLE WAS pacing the drawing room when Mrs Jeffries arrived. ‘Mornin’, Hepzibah,’ she said. She gestured towards the settee, indicating that her guest was to sit down. ‘I’ve been expectin’ you.’
‘But you only came to see us yesterday,’ Mrs Jeffries exclaimed as she settled herself comfortably on the plush velvet cushions. ‘Surely you don’t imagine we’ve found Mary so quickly.’
‘ ’Course not. But I knowed you’d have found somethin’ out by now.’ Luty sank wearily into a seat next to the settee, her bright orange skirts clashing horribly with the deep red of the overstuffed wing chair. ‘And you bein’ the kind of woman you are, I knowed you wouldn’t waste any time tellin’ me what you’ve learned.’
Mrs Jeffries could see she was very worried. There was a decided slump to her shoulders and deepening lines of worry around her black eyes and thin lips.
‘We’ve learned several interesting things,’ Mrs Jeffries began briskly.
Luty’s face brightened. ‘I knowed I could count on you,’ she said earnestly. ‘I knowed you’d come up with something!’
‘First of all, we’ve learned that Mary came back here the day she was supposed to have gone to the Everdenes. She was seen in the gardens on the evening of the tenth. A witness saw her get into a hansom cab.’
‘But that don’t make no sense,’ Luty said. ‘Why’d she come back here after she’d gone to all that trouble to git that danged job?’
‘We’re not sure. Are you sure that your butler’s information is correct? Are you absolutely certain he actually went to the Everdenes’ home and enquired after Mary?’
‘ ’Course I’m sure. Hatchet’s got no reason to lie. He might be an old stuffed shirt, but he does what I tells him. If he says he went there, then he did.’ Luty shook her head. ‘And they told him that Mary had come that day, worked the one evenin’ and then left.’
‘Hmm, yes. Then obviously, either we have a case of mistaken identity here or someone is not telling the truth.’
Well, I know it ain’t Hatchet,’ Luty said. ‘Why’d you think Mary come back? She was mighty anxious to git away from here. Kinda give me the idea she wanted to put plenty of distance between herself and the Lutterbanks.’
‘She may have had equally good reason for wanting to put some distance between herself and the Everdenes,’ Mrs Jeffries said. ‘We don’t know that she didn’t go there and then decide to leave. There are some that say that the Reverend Everdene isn’t an honourable man.’
Luty’s lips curled in disgust. ‘Couldn’t keep his hands to himself, eh? Mary wouldn’t put up with bein’ pawed by the likes of Andrew Lutterbank; I don’t reckon she’d put up with it from some preacher either. That might explain why she hightailed it back here. Maybe she was hopin’ I hadn’t left yet.’
‘Did she know what time you were leaving?’
‘Yup. All the servants except Hatchet left right after breakfast. Mary was still here then, but she knew I were fixin’ to be on the noon train. She left at nine o’clock, after she’d helped me do a bit o’ packin’, and Hatchet and I left for the station about eleven-fifteen.’
‘Is it possible she came back, hoping to get into the house and stay here until you returned?’ Mrs Jeffries asked.
‘Don’t reckon so,’ Luty said slowly. ‘Mary helped Hatchet and me lock this place up tighter than a floozie’s corset early that mornin’. She’d a had to break out a window or knock down a door to git in, and I knowed she wouldn’t do somethin’ like that no matter how desperate she was.’
‘Do you think she came back to get help from Garrett McGraw?’
‘Maybe,’ Luty said doubtfully. ‘Like I told ya yesterday, Garrett was right sweet on Mary. But I’m purty sure that Mary has an understandin’ with Mark McGraw. Too bad Mark’s at sea. He’d a made danged sure that no one was botherin’ the girl. But he ain’t even due back in the country for another week or two, so he couldn’t a taken Mary in. And I don’t rightly see why she’d come to git help from Garrett. Ain’t nothin’ he could do.’
‘Perhaps he sent her to his home?’ Mrs Jeffries suggested. ‘The witness said Garrett put her into a hansom cab.’
‘Nah,’ Luty said. ‘The McGraws are as poor as church mice. Mark sends money home whenever he can, but it don’t go very far when you’ve got seven mouths to feed. Mr McGraw was hurt in a bad accident a couple of years ago and ain’t worked since, so they’s in a bad way. Garrett knows how hard life is for his family. He wouldn’t be sendin’ Mary there for them to feed and house.’ She broke off and stared morosely at the far wall for a few seconds. Then she added, ‘It don’t look good, does it, Hepzibah?’
‘It looks better than it did yesterday,’ Mrs Jeffries replied. ‘At least we’re beginning to put together Mary’s movements. Smythe is trying to track down the driver of the hansom that picked Mary up, and Betsy is trying to trace her friend, Cassie Yates.’
‘Why you lookin’ for her?’ Luty snorted. ‘Cassie ain’t the kind to be takin’ someone in.’
Yes, but you did say she and Mary were friends. We’re hoping Cassie Yates may have some idea of where Mary could have gone.’
‘I don’t think so. The only reason they was friends was because Mary felt sorry for her. Cassie was such a cat the other girls couldn’t stand her.’
‘But we’re assuming that Mary was desperate,’ Mrs Jeffries explained. ‘We’ve heard that Cassie may have got married recently. If she’s a respectable married woman, there’s a chance that Mary may have gone to her to stay until you returned from Venice.’
‘Cassie Yates a respectable married woman!’ Luty laughed. ‘That’s danged unlikely.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘I don’t know what kinda tales you been hearin’, but Cassie Yates ain’t the type o’ woman to tie herself down to jest one man. Why at least twice, I’ve seen the little tart with men, and they wasn’t jest talkin’ neither, if’n you take my meanin’. One time she was letting Andrew Lutterbank kiss her, and the other time she was behind that big old oak tree with a blond-haired young feller, and they wasn’t havin’ tea together. Besides, if’n Mary went to Cassie, then why ain’t I heard from her?’ Luty jumped to her feet and began to pace the room. ‘Even if’n Cassie’d take her in, and that’s a big if’n, believe me, that don’t explain why she didn’t contact me when I come back. Mary knew when I was comin’ home.’
Mrs Jeffries lowered her gaze and stared at the scrolling pattern of acanthus leaves in the Brussels-weave carpet beneath her feet. She had no choice. She had to tell Luty about the body. Despite her assurances to Betsy and the others, there was a chance that the corpse was the remains of Mary Sparks. Luty had a right to know.
‘Luty,’ she said softly, ‘there’s something else I must tell you.’
Luty stopped pacing. ‘What?’
‘There’s been a murder. They’ve found the body of a young woman. She was wearing a dark blue dress. Inspector Witherspoon says the girl’s been dead several months.’
The elderly woman stiffened and seemed to brace herself. ‘Do you think it’s Mary?’
‘No. But I had to tell you. The possibility does exist. The timing is too coincidental to ignore. Besides that, the deceased had dark blonde hair and a silver brooch was pinned on the lapel of her dress.’
For a moment, Mrs Jeffries thought Luty might faint. She watched her close her eyes, sway gently to one side, clutch the back of the chair and then take one deep, shuddering breath. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked in alarm.
Luty’s eyes flew open and she straightened her spine. Ignoring Mrs Jeffries’s question, she hurried to the door and flung it open. ‘Hatchet,’ she bellowed. ‘Bring me my hat and cane.’
Puzzled, Mrs Jeffries leapt to her feet. ‘What are you doing?’
‘What does it look like? I’m gittin’ ready to go out.’ Luty took her hat and cane from the tall, white-haired butler, nodded her thanks and jammed the hat on her head. ‘They’ve got the body somewhere, don’t they?’
‘Yes, of course they do,’ Mrs Jeffries replied. ‘Oh, no. You’re not going to . . .’
‘Yup. I wanta see it. I wanta see with my own eyes if it’s Mary.’
‘But, Luty,’ Mrs Jeffries protested. According to Inspector Witherspoon, the body is so . . . so . . .’
‘Rotten.’
‘Decomposed.’ She smiled gently, trying to think of a way to dissaude her friend from such a gruesome undertaking. There was no point in going to identify the remains if they were in no state to be identified. Luty would only upset herself. ‘The inspector says it’s impossible to tell who the woman was. You won’t be able to tell whether that unfortunate young girl was Mary or not. For goodness’ sake, Luty, you’ll only distress yourself.’
‘Fiddlesticks, Hepzibah.’ Luty scurried to the door. ‘I’ve seen plenty o’ corpses in my time, and ain’t none of them ever sent me into a faint or caused a hissy fit. Now, come on, let’s git this done. The sooner’s we git there, the quicker we’ll know that it ain’t Mary.’
Mrs Jeffries hurried after her.
Hatchet, who Mrs Jeffries assumed was used to his employer’s eccentricities, had already hailed them a passing hansom by the time they stepped outside.
Mrs Jeffries instructed the driver to take them to Scotland Yard.
‘You will be careful, madam,’ the butler said as he helped them into the cab.
‘Ain’t I always, Hatchet?’
‘Not that I’ve noticed, madam,’ he informed her as he slammed the door shut and nodded to the driver.
Luty settled back in the seat and grabbed the handhold to steady herself as the driver cracked the whip and the horses trotted forward. ‘Where’d they find the body?’
‘In the cellar of a torn-down house,’ Mrs Jeffries answered. ‘On Magpie Lane. That’s in Clapham. All the houses had been torn down to make way for a new road, but then they changed their minds. They ended up digging instead, supposedly for one of those new underground railway lines.’
Luty made a face. ‘Horrid things. Trains is bad enough. Fancy those fools thinkin’ that anyone would want to ride one that went underground.’ She faltered and her brows came together. ‘Magpie Lane. Now, where have I heard that name before?’
‘You’ve heard of it?’ Mrs Jeffries asked. ‘When? Where?’
‘Offhand, I don’t rightly remember. Give me a minute now.’
‘Think, Luty. It may be important.’
‘Why? I’ve heard of lots of places.’
‘Because this street wasn’t occupied by gentry or anyone else you’re likely to have met. The homes that were torn down were all small houses let by the month. If you’ve heard the name before, there’s a good chance that Mary had too.’
‘Nells bells,’ Luty said disgustedly. ‘It went plum out of my head.’ She held up her hand. ‘Don’t worry, Hepzibah, it’ll come back to me. Just give me a few minutes to clear my mind.’ She turned and stared out the open window. Luty remained silent as the cab rumbled up Knightsbridge and past Hyde Park. Mrs Jeffries was deep in thought as well. The hansom rolled on through the busy streets, and she jumped when Luty finally spoke.
‘It were at that silly garden party last August.’
‘What was?’
‘Magpie Lane. That’s where I heard the name. Emery Clements was complainin’ about it.’ She gave another inelegant snort. ‘He kept goin’ on about how his solicitors had evicted the tenants too early. Said the houses was all sittin’ empty when they could have been collectin’ rent.’
‘Who gave the party? Who was there?’ Mrs Jeffries noticed they were drawing close to Charing Cross. They’d be at the Yard soon.
Luty rubbed her chin. ‘The Lutterbanks. They was the one’s giving it. That caused some talk too, seeing as how they was all supposed to still be in mourning for old Angus Lutterbank. He’d only died the month before. Not that I blame them fer not wastin’ too much time grievin’ for Angus – he was a nasty ol’ fool. Had so few friends and neighbours willin’ to come to his funeral service that the Lutterbanks made all their servants go jest to fill up the pews.’ She snorted. ‘But the place still looked half-empty.’
‘Please, Luty,’ Mrs Jeffries interrupted. About the party?’
‘Oh, sorry. Anyways, like I was sayin’, they had this here party and invited most of us that lives round the gardens, but they’re such miserable people, most folks didn’t come. Let’s see. The Lutterbanks were all there, including Andrew and his sister, Fiona. I remember because Andrew kept gabbing at the maid serving the sandwiches. And they had two of their friends with them. Emery Clements, he was the one doin’ all the braggin’, and another young feller named Malcolm Farnsworth. There was others there too, but I’ll have to think awhile to remember their names.’
‘Was Mary there?’
‘No. Mary was never anywhere near Andrew if she could help it.’
Mrs Jeffries leaned forward as the cab drew to a halt. ‘Was anyone else nearby? Any other neighbours or servants?’
The cab stopped, and the driver leapt down and helped the ladies out. Luty handed the man a few coins, ignored his effusive thanks for the generous tip she’d included and grabbed Mrs Jeffries’s arm.
‘Garrett was weeding one of the flower beds,’ Luty continued thoughtfully. ‘And one of the other gardeners was plantin’ some early bulbs. I recall that because Mrs Lutterbank come out of her stupor long enough to yell at the boys to go work somewhere else. Well, I can tell you I told her quick enough that those boys were workin’ where they’d been told to work and if’n she didn’t like it, to take it up with the head gardener and not be shoutin’ at them like they was dirt under her feet.’
‘Yes, yes, I’m sure you did. Quickly, before we reach the inspector’s office, tell me everything you heard about Magpie Lane.’
‘All I heard Clements talk about was them houses bein’ empty and him losin’ his precious rent,’ Luty replied as they climbed the steps and went inside.
‘So every one of the people at the party knew that there were empty houses on Magpie Lane.’
‘Yup. A body would’ve had to be deaf not to hear Clements’s voice. He’s louder than a mule with a burr under its blanket.’
Mrs Jeffries nodded and suddenly remembered something else. ‘Why would Garrett be nervous to talk about Mary Sparks?’
Luty stopped abruptly. The uniformed constable behind the counter at the far end of the room stared at them curiously.
‘I don’t rightly know,’ Luty replied slowly. ‘There shouldn’t be any reason for him to shy away from talking about Mary. I could see him not wanting to talk about Cassie Yates, but exceptin’ for him bein’ a bit sweet on Mary, there ain’t no reason for him to not want to talk about her.’
The constable came out from behind his desk and headed in their direction. Mrs Jeffries ignored him. ‘Why would Garrett not want to talk about Cassie Yates?’
‘Because that time she was bein’ pawed behind the oak tree, well, Garrett happened to see it. He blushed so hard I was scared he was goin’ to pass out from it.’ She cackled. ‘And we weren’t the only ones to see her carryin’ on either. Andrew Lutterbank was watching the whole thing from one of the upstairs windows. Come to think of it, it was right after that that Cassie left the Lutterbanks and went to work in that shop.’
Mrs Jeffries turned to the approaching constable and gave him a dazzling smile. ‘Good morning, Constable. Could you direct us to Inspector Witherspoon?’
The mortuary at St Thomas’s Hospital was one of Inspector Witherspoon’s least favourite places. As he escorted the two ladies into the huge room, he tried not to wince. He loathed the peculiar trick of lighting that cast a faint, greenish glow on everything. Every time he set foot in this horrid place, he could feel the blood rushing from his head to his toes. He hoped he wouldn’t become ill. It would simply be too embarrassing if he were to disgrace himself in front of Mrs Crookshank and his own housekeeper. He glanced at them out of the corner of his eye.
Both women were looking around the room with avid curiosity.
Dr Potter, who’d done the post-mortem on the body found in Magpie Lane, came forward to greet them. He was holding in his hand a dark red, wet object the size of a potato. Witherspoon cringed as the man paused next to a table and dropped the ominous-looking thing in a jar of liquid.
‘What are you doing here, Inspector?’ Dr Potter asked, smiling politely at the two ladies. ‘I didn’t expect to see you until the coroner’s inquest.’
‘Good day, Doctor.’ Witherspoon tried not to breathe too deeply. The smell was appalling. ‘I know the inquest isn’t until the day after tomorrow. But as we already know we’re dealing with a murder, we’re not waiting until it’s official before we start investigating.’
Potter’s bushy black eyebrows rose. He was a heavyset man of medium height, with thick black hair and a florid complexion.
‘Allow me to introduce you to these ladies.’ The inspector gestured to Luty. ‘This is Mrs Crookshank, and this is my housekeeper, Mrs Jeffries.’
Dr Potter nodded politely.
‘Mrs Crookshank would like to view the er . . . deceased,’ Witherspoon explained hastily. ‘She may be able to help in the identification.’
The doctor looked surprised. He turned to Luty Belle. ‘You want to view the body, madam?’
‘Unless you know of any other way I kin tell if’n it’s Mary Sparks, I reckon I’ll have to.’ Luty gave him a long, hard stare.
‘Mary Sparks?’ the doctor repeated.
‘That’s a young friend of Mrs Crookshank’s,’ the inspector said. ‘She’d like to ensure that the body isn’t that of Miss Sparks.’
‘But, madam,’ Potter protested, ‘I doubt you’ll be able to tell. The remains are in an advanced state of decomposition.’
‘Why don’t you let me be the judge of that? If’n it’s Mary, I’ll be able to tell, all right.’
Dr Potter wasn’t used to having his judgement questioned. He drew himself up to his full height and fixed Luty with an intimidating glare. ‘In my opinion, madam, I hardly think that’s likely. The girl’s own mother wouldn’t be able to identify her. If you’d like, you may look at the victim’s clothing. That may help tell who she was.’
‘Dang and blast, man,’ Luty cried in exasperation. ‘This is no time for social niceties. I want to look at that corpse. It may be someone I know. I ain’t squeamish and I ain’t gonna faint, if’n that’s what you’re frettin’ on.’
‘Well, really,’ Dr Potter said huffily. He turned and gestured towards one of his assistants, and the young man had to hastily wipe a wide smile off his face. ‘If you insist, Dr Bosworth will take you into the morgue. Good day to you.’
‘Oh, dear,’ Witherspoon murmured. ‘I believe he’s offended.’
‘Stupid fool,’ Luty muttered. She marched behind the assistant like the Queen of Sheba. ‘Men! What did the man expect me to do, faint or have a fit? It’s a wonder the police ever git anyone identified. I’ve seen worse than anything they have here.’
As they walked down a long hallway, Luty kept up a long litany of various horrors and dead people she’d dealt with in her long life. By the time Bosworth ushered them through the door and into the morgue, the poor young man’s eyes were bulging. Mrs Jeffries noticed that Inspector Witherspoon had gone pale. Wanting to spare the doctor and the inspector further assaults on their sensibilities, she tugged on Luty’s arm. ‘Luty, please. You’re making me quite ill.’
Luty broke off and stared at her suspiciously. She knew Hepzibah Jeffries wouldn’t turn a hair over some of the things she’d been telling. Then she glanced at the inspector and the young physician. Seeing they were both pale, she nodded.
Bosworth gestured for them to come inside. They stepped into the dim, eerily quiet room. There were three tables, and on the centre one a shroud-draped corpse rested in silent dignity. As they walked farther into the room, Mrs Jeffries realized that the temperature was very low. She wondered how the hospital kept this room so cold.
‘It’s not a very pretty sight,’ Bosworth warned as he drew back the covering. Mrs Jeffries steeled herself, Luty took a deep breath, and Inspector Witherspoon stepped back a pace.
The face was unrecognizable. Black, bloated and without colour, it could be identified as female only by the long blonde hair.
‘Humph,’ Luty snorted. ‘The hair is the right colour, but I can’t tell anything from looking at the face.’
Mrs Jeffries nodded. ‘Did Mary have any distinguishing marks or scars upon her person?’
‘Not that I know of.’ Luty gestured for Bosworth to lower the covering. She turned to the inspector. ‘Where’s her clothes?’
Witherspoon, who was trying not to look at anything except the floor, didn’t realize that Mrs Crookshank was addressing him.
‘He gone deaf or something?’ Luty asked irritably when the inspector didn’t reply.
‘Inspector Witherspoon,’ Mrs Jeffries said gently, ‘Luty would like to see the victim’s clothing.’
‘Huh. Oh. Certainly. Uh, I believe they’re . . .’ He broke off because he didn’t quite remember where they were.
Bosworth finally spoke up. ‘They’re still here. The police haven’t taken them into evidence yet. We don’t like to let them go until after the coroner’s verdict.’
Witherspoon, who’d never heard of such nonsense, shook his head. ‘All right, then. Go and get them. We’ll wait, uh, well, out in the hallway.’
They moved into the corridor, and Witherspoon took several long, deep breaths of air. After a few seconds he began to feel better.
‘How come they took her clothes off anyways?’ Luty wanted to know. ‘Seems downright disrespectful if you ask me.’
‘Dear lady, nothing could be further from the truth,’ Witherspoon assured her quickly. ‘But the doctors can hardly determine causes of death if they can’t examine the victims, and the only way to do that is to undress them.’
‘Here’s the victim’s things, sir,’ Bosworth said, handing a cloth bag to Inspector Witherspoon.
Gritting his teeth, the inspector put the bag on the floor and reached inside. He pulled out a tattered, dark blue dress with a silver brooch pinned to the lapel.
Luty Belle gasped. Then she reached over and lifted the right sleeve. A small moan of distress escaped her as she studied the inside lining of the wrist.
‘I take it the dress is familiar to you?’ Mrs Jeffries said gently. Her heart went out to Luty. One look at the woman’s face was enough to assure her that the dress had, indeed, belonged to Mary Sparks.
Numbly, Luty nodded her head.
‘But how can you be sure?’ Mrs Jeffries persisted.
Luty didn’t answer right away. Her throat worked convulsively for a moment, and her breathing was harsh. ‘Because I told her to sew this here little pocket into the lining.’ She held the sleeve towards Mrs Jeffries. ‘Mary didn’t like to get out and about much. She was always scared of pickpockets and the like. Last summer, I showed her this old trick from when me and Archie used to hang about the Barbary Coast.’ She blinked furiously to hold back the tears. ‘See, the pocket’s just big enough to hold a few coins. But Mary never carried more than a shilling or two.’
Witherspoon knew he should be relieved now that the body had been positively identified. But he felt awful. Poor Mrs Crookshank, despite her eccentricities, was dreadfully upset.
‘There, there,’ he said. ‘Don’t distress yourself, madam. You have my assurances that Scotland Yard will find the evil perpetrator that foully ended this young woman’s life.’
Luty gave him an incredulous stare. Mrs Jeffries quickly said, ‘Of course, Inspector. We have every confidence in the police.’
Witherspoon’s chest expanded. Luty snorted.
‘Now,’ the inspector said. ‘Why don’t you take Mrs Crookshank outside for a bit of fresh air? I wouldn’t want to question her until she’s quite recovered herself.’
‘I ain’t lost,’ Luty interrupted, ‘and you can ask me any questions you want. There’s only one thing that’s important now and that’s findin’ Mary’s killer.’
‘Are you going to keep the bag of clothes?’ Bosworth asked. He was staring at Luty Belle in morbid fascination.
‘Yes, yes. Of course I’m going to keep the clothes. This is evidence, man.’ Witherspoon made a mental note to speak to Constable Barnes. The deceased’s effects should have been taken into evidence at once.
‘Luty,’ Mrs Jeffries said. ‘Can you identify the pin?’ She pointed to the silver brooch.
‘Yup. It’s Fiona Lutterbank’s all right, but I can’t figure how it comes to be on Mary’s dress.’ She pursed her lips. ‘I knows Mary didn’t steal it.’
‘Are you saying this brooch is stolen property?’ Witherspoon asked curiously.
‘According to Fiona Lutterbank it is.’ Luty shrugged her shoulders. ‘But I wouldn’t believe her if she told me that dogs have fleas and cows eat grass. Girl’s a godawful liar. She probably gave Mary the pin and then told her father Mary stole it.’
‘Oh, dear,’ Witherspoon said. He didn’t much like the way this was going. Mrs Crookshank didn’t seem the type of lady who would stand back and let the police handle this murder in a tactful and diplomatic manner. He certainly hoped she wouldn’t go about making wild accusations and calling people liars. That could make things most awkward. Most awkward, indeed.
‘Are you absolutely certain that Mary didn’t steal that brooch?’ Mrs Jeffries wasn’t sure why she was pressing the point, but her instincts were telling her it was important.
‘Hepzibah. I’m a very old woman, and I’ve spent my life learning to judge a person’s character. That’s the only way you survive in a wild place like Colorado.’ Luty crossed her arms over her chest. ‘And I’m tellin’ you, that girl was no thief. She’d have starved to death before she ever took something that didn’t belong to her. I don’t know whys that danged pin is on her dress, but I do know that however it got there, Mary Sparks didn’t steal it.’
‘But nonetheless, the pin is there.’
‘Bosworth,’ Dr Potter shouted from the other end of the corridor. ‘Would you mind getting back to work?’
Bosworth started and then reluctantly excused himself. He continued to look longingly at the three of them as he trudged off.
‘Now, now, Mrs Crookshank,’ Witherspoon said. ‘I don’t question that you’re an excellent judge of character, but sometimes even the best of us are fooled.’
The inspector refused to let go of the idea that Mary Sparks was a thief. Well, it would explain so very much. Yes, yes, he could see it now. No doubt Mary Sparks was part of a ring of thieves. Masquerading as a housemaid, she obtained positions in fine homes and took to stealing. There was probably a man in the situation as well, he decided. Someone she passed the goods on to. No doubt he’d stabbed her when she demanded a bigger share of the booty.
Luty glared at him. ‘Speak for yurself, Inspector. I ain’t wrong about Mary. And if’n you’re fixin’ to pass her murder off as a fallin’ out among thieves, you’d best just think agin.’
For one horrid moment, Witherspoon thought she’d read his mind. ‘No, no,’ he assured her quickly. ‘I’m sure Miss Sparks was of the very finest character. You have my solemn word, madam. Regardless of the circumstances under which the unfortunate young woman was slain, I won’t rest until her killer is brought to justice.’
‘Humph.’
While Inspector Witherspoon and Luty Belle were sparring with each other, Mrs Jeffries was thinking hard. Her mind went over and over every scrap of information she and the other servants had come across. Luty was certain Mary wasn’t a thief. So why was a stolen brooch pinned on the lapel of her dress? But perhaps Luty wasn’t such a good judge of character after all. She slanted the woman a quick, assessing glance.
Luty had launched into a recitation of some of Scotland Yard’s more spectacular failures. The inspector, much to his credit, was vigorously trying to defend the police force without offending his opponent.
Mrs Jeffries studied Luty’s sharp, shrewd eyes. The American woman hadn’t carved out a fortune in the ruthless wilds of the American West by being a fool. Therefore, she was inclined to accept Luty’s assertion that Mary wasn’t a thief. But if Mary hadn’t stolen the brooch, who had? The murderer? And why pin it on her dress after she’d been killed?
‘Inspector,’ she said quickly, interrupting Luty’s tirade about the lack of gas-lighting fixtures in the poorer sections of London. ‘Why don’t you show Mrs Crookshank the betrothal ring? Perhaps she’ll know something about it.’
‘Huh.’ Witherspoon blinked in surprise. ‘Oh, yes.’ He reached into the bag and fumbled for a moment before withdrawing the gold chain and the ring dangling on its end. ‘Have you ever seen this, madam?’
Luty reached for the ring. She frowned as she studied it.
‘Do you think Mark McGraw gave it to her?’ Mrs Jeffries asked. ‘You did say you thought the two of them had an understanding.’
‘I’ve never seen it before,’ Luty replied, handing it back to the inspector. ‘But it don’t look like anything Mark would have given her. It’s awfully fancy.’
‘What about the shoes?’ Mrs Jeffries said. ‘Perhaps you’d better show them to Luty as well. She may be able to tell you where Mary is likely to have bought them.’
Witherspoon dutifully dug into the bag once again and lifted out a pair of black high-topped shoes. Luty snatched them from his hand.
For several long minutes she stared at them. Then all of a sudden she started to smile. The smile turned into a chuckle, and the chuckle soon turned into a laugh. Within seconds, Luty was laughing so hard her whole body shook.
Witherspoon, thinking the woman had become so overwrought by the sight of Mary’s shoes that she’d lost her mind, began to wring his hands. ‘Oh, dear. Please, Mrs Crookshank. Do calm yourself.’
He turned to Mrs Jeffries. ‘I knew this would be too much for her. Please, can’t you do something? She’s having hysterics.’
‘She’s not having hysterics, sir,’ Mrs Jeffries replied. ‘She’s laughing.’
‘I ain’t never had hysterics in my life,’ Luty protested as she brought herself under control. ‘I was laughin’ because this here pair of shoes is about the happiest news I’ve had in a month of Sundays.’
‘What are you saying, Luty?’ Mrs Jeffries stared at her friend curiously.
‘I’m sayin’ that that corpse I just looked at ain’t who I thought it was.’
‘You mean, now you’re saying that the deceased isn’t Mary Sparks?’ If Witherspoon hadn’t been so confused, he’d have been depressed.
‘It sure as shootin’ ain’t.’ Luty grinned. ‘I don’t know who that poor woman is, but I know who she isn’t. She ain’t Mary Sparks.’
Mrs Jeffries tilted her chin to one side. ‘What leads you to that conclusion?’
Luty waved the pair of shoes under Witherspoon’s nose. ‘These shoes. They ain’t Mary’s. These clodhoppers are big enough to fit a bear. Mary’s feet are small and dainty. They ain’t much bigger than a child’s. I knows because I was going to give her a pair of my old slippers last year when Mark was home. He was plannin’ on takin’ her on an outin’ to Richmond Park. Now I’ve got right small feet for a woman my size, and my shoes looked like they was a couple of rowboats on Mary’s tiny feet.’ She cackled with glee. ‘So that means that Mary’s still alive.’
‘Well, if Mary Sparks isn’t the woman in there,’ Witherspoon gestured towards the room they’d left earlier, ‘who is?’