CHAPTER 9
The next morning, Mrs. Jeffries was awake and down in the kitchen well before anyone else in the household. She took a sip of tea and stared across the room at the pale light seeping in through the window. She hadn’t slept well at all; her mind simply wouldn’t quiet. Between her domestic worries and the details of this case, she doubted she’d had more than two hours’ rest and it had all been for naught, at least as far as the murder was concerned. That flash of insight she’d experienced yesterday hadn’t come back and that, of course, was her own doing. She knew good and well that thinking too hard and trying to connect all the pieces was the worst thing to do! But she hadn’t been able to stop herself.
But the sleeplessness had resulted in something useful. In the wee hours of the morning, she’d made a decision. There was one problem she could take care of today and, despite her misgivings, she was going to do it.
There was a knock on the back door, startling her and almost causing her to knock over her mug of tea. Getting up, she hurried down the hall and unlocked the door. It was still very early, so she cracked it open an inch to see who was there. “Constable Barnes, you’re here awfully early. Is anything wrong?” She backed up and waved him inside. “Come in, come in, it’s freezing out there. I’ve made tea.”
“I could do with something hot.” He stepped across the threshold and moved aside so she could shut the door. They started up the corridor. “I wasn’t going to stop, I was going to leave you a note, but when I got here I saw the light on so I knew someone must be up. Lucky for me it wasn’t the inspector.” He chuckled as they came into the kitchen.
Mrs. Jeffries pointed to the table. “Sit down, I’ll get us some tea and you can tell me what this is all about.” She was suddenly very happy. Barnes coming by at this time of day had to mean he had something of importance to report.
She poured his tea, refreshed her own, and handed him his mug as she slipped into her chair. “Now, what were you going to leave a note about?”
He took a quick drink before he spoke. “I meant to mention it to the inspector yesterday, but we were so busy that I completely forgot until late in the evening. I was so annoyed at myself for forgettin’ something which might be important that it kept me awake most of the night.”
“I know precisely what you mean,” she agreed. “This case seems to be keeping all of us up. I didn’t sleep much, either. Now, what was it?”
“It was a conversation I overheard at the funeral yesterday.” He took another quick sip. “Sorry, but this is warm and it was ruddy cold outside. I’m sure the inspector told you about the ruckus between Richards and Dorian Kettering.”
She nodded. “He did and he also mentioned how indiscreet the solicitor was and how angry Mrs. Fox became.”
“She’d have been even angrier if she’d heard what the servants were mumbling about her.” Barnes grinned. “I made it a point to walk out of the church behind them and, believe me, all of them were complainin’ that now that Miss Kettering is gone, Mrs. Fox is acting like she owns the place. I expect her nose will be out of joint quite a bit when the Society of the Humble takes possession of it. But that’s not what I came to tell you. As we left the church, I heard one of the maids telling Mrs. McAllister that she thinks she’s catching the same thing that poor Miss Kettering had before she died.”
Mrs. Jeffries stared at him curiously. “What does that mean?”
“It was hard to hear very clearly—remember, we were leaving the church and everyone was crowded in the center aisle—but I think the girl was referring to Miss Kettering’s complaints that she heard people walking in the house at night,” he explained.
“I didn’t hear everything she said,” he continued, “but I did hear Mrs. McAllister tell the girl not to worry, she thinks it’s just the house making strange noises as old houses do, because only the night before, she’d heard someone walking about herself.” He leaned back in the chair and shrugged. “I know it doesn’t sound like a very important piece of information, but I tell you, Mrs. Jeffries, it kept me awake half the night and I don’t know why.”
Mrs. Jeffries said nothing for a moment, she simply stared off at a spot somewhere over Barnes’ shoulder. “I know why. The house was built by a royalist during Cromwell’s reign,” she murmured.
Barnes’ brows drew together in confusion. “Sorry, I don’t understand what you’re getting at. What’s that got to do with the servants starting to hear things?”
She wasn’t sure she understood it, either, but suddenly she was sure she was on the right track. She took a deep breath. Explaining her idea wasn’t going to be easy, and if she was wrong it might cause the constable a great deal of embarrassment. “You’ll need to get the inspector to search the Kettering house again, and this time, if my idea is correct, you’ll need to be exceedingly thorough.”
Mrs. Jeffries stood in the shadows beneath the oak tree in the communal garden and watched the path. She pulled her cloak tighter against the chill and hoped they’d hurry up and get here; it was cold and their morning meeting was due to start soon. She wanted to have a word with Betsy beforehand.
They appeared suddenly out of the midst from the far side of the garden. They came down the path hand in hand. They walked silently, as couples that are very easy with one another can do. Mrs. Jeffries waited till they were almost at the tree before she stepped out. “Good morning.”
“Mornin’, Mrs. J.” Smythe grinned cheerfully. “What are you doin’ out ’ere?”
“Good morning, Mrs. Jeffries.” Betsy gave her a timid smile.
“I was waiting to speak to you.” She kept her attention on Smythe. “I need your help. We’ve got to air the attic out—there’s terrible smell up there—and Wiggins has gone up to open all those little windows at the top.”
“He’ll never get ’em open on his own.” Smythe shook his head. “They’re stuck. It’ll take the two of us to pry ’em loose.”
“That’s what I told him.” Mrs. Jeffries nodded eagerly. “But he said he wanted to try it on his own and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings—Wiggins does like to think he’s very strong. Would you slip up there and help him? You can tell him I sent you up because I didn’t want him late for our morning meeting.”
He nodded, gave Betsy’s hand a squeeze, and hurried toward the house.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Mrs. Jeffries turned to Betsy. “I need to speak with you.” She took her arm and led her toward the wooden bench under the tree.
“But the bench will be wet,” Betsy protested halfheartedly.
“No, it won’t. I’ve wiped it down with a towel. Now sit down.”
Betsy flopped down, folded her arms over her chest, and stared at the housekeeper defiantly. “Alright, I’m here. Now, what is it? If it’s about Phyllis, I told you yesterday I’d be nice to her.”
“It’s not about Phyllis.” Mrs. Jeffries noted that Betsy’s face was pale, there were dark circles under her eyes, and she looked as if she’d lost weight. “It’s about you.”
Betsy straightened up, uncrossed her arms, and balled her hands into fists. “I knew it, I just knew it. You’re going to ask the inspector to give me the sack so you can give my job to Phyllis,” she charged. “You think that just because Smythe is rich and I don’t need the wages, you can take it away from me.” Her eyes filled with tears. “But you can’t. It’s my place, Mrs. Jeffries. It’s my place and I won’t be driven off like I’m nothing.”
The agony on the girl’s face broke her heart. “Oh, Betsy, I’d never do that. You know I’d die before I’d hurt you. We’d never want you to go. If you’ll recall, the one time you tried to leave, I’m the one that begged you to stay.”
Betsy sniffed and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “But I’ve said I’ll be nicer to Phyllis, so if you’re not going to sack me, what’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” Mrs. Jeffries sighed. “Oh, Betsy, I’m so worried about you that I can’t think straight. And I’m not the only one. Mrs. Goodge is concerned and even Wiggins has noticed that something is amiss. Now listen, I’m going to speak my mind and if you don’t like what I’ve got to say . . . well, there isn’t anything I can do about that. Because what I’ve got to say is important. There’s something wrong with you, and I’m not just talking about your attitude. You don’t look well.”
“I didn’t sleep much last night.”
“Neither did I,” Mrs. Jeffries retorted. “And part of the reason why is that I’m so concerned about your health that it’s all I can think about when I shut my eyes. I don’t think you quite see yourself in a true light. One moment you’re sweet as can be and the next you’re snapping poor Phyllis’ head off. Hasn’t Smythe noticed it as well?”
“He has, but I told him the moods were because I was getting used to being married,” Betsy mumbled. “I know I’ve been awful and I don’t like it, either. It’s just that for the last month, sometimes I feel like I’m all jumbled up inside. One second, I’ll feel like I’m going to cry, and the next, I’ll be so happy I could laugh like a loon.”
“But why do you seem to dislike poor Phyllis so much?” Mrs. Jeffries asked. “That’s what I can’t comprehend and that is what is so worrying. You’ve only started acting this way in the last month or two. When Phyllis first arrived, you were very nice to her. What happened? That’s what I need to understand. You’re a kind, sweet woman and it’s not at all like you to be mean to someone who is too scared of losing her position to fight back. You’ve never been a bully, Betsy.”
Betsy covered her face with her hands and sucked in a long, hard breath. “I was scared she wanted to take my place,” she finally murmured. “I know it’s silly to feel that way—you’d never run me off—but every time I saw you or Mrs. Goodge or the inspector being nice to her, it made me feel like I wasn’t needed. Or wanted. I’m so sorry and I won’t do it again, I promise.”
Mrs. Jeffries put her arm around Betsy’s shoulder and with her other hand lifted her chin until they faced each other. Betsy stared at her. “I know you won’t, but that’s not my concern.”
“What is the concern?” Betsy whispered.
“Sometimes, when people’s behavior changes, it means there is something physically wrong. I know you’ve said you’ll go to see a doctor, but I want your word of honor that you’ll do it right away.”
Betsy smiled tremulously and her eyes filled with tears again. But then she began to giggle. “I give you my word.”
Mrs. Jeffries drew back. “What is so funny?”
“I was going to the doctor anyway, but you see, there’s really no need. I know what’s wrong with me.”
“Oh, you’ve medical training, now, do you?” This time it was Mrs. Jeffries who crossed her arms over her chest.
Betsy laughed out loud. “No, but I did have a nice long chat with my neighbor Mrs. Verner. She’s not in the least shy about getting right to the heart of the matter.”
“Does this Mrs. Verner have a medical degree?” Mrs. Jeffries demanded. Really, young people, sometimes they simply didn’t know what they were about.
“No, but she does have three children.” Betsy threw her arms around the housekeeper. “Mrs. Verner said that sometimes in the beginning your emotions can get the better of you and you can latch onto silly notions, like I did about Phyllis taking my place, but that all passes. Oh, Mrs. Jeffries, I’m going to have a baby.”
Betsy ducked her head to hide her own smile. Mrs. Jeffries was having the very devil of a time keeping her feelings hidden, as it were, but she had no doubt the housekeeper would keep her word. Betsy had made her promise to keep her secret just a bit longer. She hadn’t told Smythe yet and if her husband knew about the baby, he’d not want her dashing about London finding clues. She didn’t want anyone else knowing before him, either. But it had felt good to tell someone, almost as good as it had felt yesterday evening when she’d spoken with Mrs. Verner and finally figured out was wrong . . . well, not wrong exactly. She helped herself to a slice of bread. Gracious, she was hungry this morning. Now she understood why she’d been acting like such a silly cow. Now, at the very least, she could keep herself in check when those childish feeling overwhelmed her. She wondered how much longer they were going to last.
“Cor blimey, what are you two grinnin’ about?” Wiggins asked as he slipped into his place at the table. “Did Mrs. Jeffries figure out who our killer is? Which reminds me, there’s a few bits that I forgot to tell yesterday. But it weren’t really my fault because the inspector come home and we didn’t get to finish our meeting properly.”
“What did you forget?” Luty asked. “Somethin’ important?”
Wiggins frowned and swiped at his shoulder to remove a cobweb that he’d picked up in the attic. “I’m not sure. You remember when I was tellin’ ya about Rosemarie Lewis. She mentioned that Susan Edwards—she’s the scullery maid at the Kettering house—”
“We know who she is,” Mrs. Goodge said quickly. “Go on, we’ve not got all day and we need to save a bit of time for Mrs. Jeffries to tell us about Constable Barnes.”
“Susan told Rosemarie Lewis that she’d felt bad when Miss Kettering had been murdered so she’d told Mrs. McAllister about how the cook had switched the cocoa. Mind you, in her next breath, Rosemarie said Susan complained that the cook hadn’t shared the good drinking chocolate with any of them, she’d kept it all for herself. Rosemarie told her to stop being a ninny, that bein’ as someone had murdered Miss Kettering, she didn’t think anyone would care much about the stupid tricks the cook might have played.”
“That’s very interesting,” Hatchet murmured.
“I’m not finished,” Wiggins said. “Susan was worried she was going to get the sack because when she turned around, Mrs. Fox was standing there and Susan thought she might ’ave heard her.”
“What does Mrs. Fox have to do with it?” Luty demanded. “She don’t own the place. Besides, all of the servants are probably goin’ to be let go when Richards and his bunch take over.”
“But that’s not goin’ to be for a while,” Wiggins argued. “And I think that the scullery maid was hopin’ to get a few more weeks in her pay envelope before she was let go. Accordin’ to what Susan told Rosemarie, the family is lettin’ Mrs. Fox run the house.”
“Mrs. Fox is right there, almost on the premises,” Ruth commented. “It seems a sensible way to proceed. But why would the scullery maid fear getting let go because of the actions of the cook? That’s what I don’t understand.”
“Because it was Mrs. Fox that sent the cocoa to Miss Kettering in the first place.”
“Susan knew about the switch and she was probably frightened that Mrs. Fox would take her anger about the deception out on her,” Mrs. Jeffries murmured. Suddenly, everything became crystal clear in her mind. She could see it all now. She knew exactly who the killer was.
What she didn’t know was why.
But what if she were wrong? Oh dear, she’d been so distracted this morning by Betsy’s wonderful news she’d only half listened to Wiggins. Drat. More importantly, what was she going to do about it? But perhaps she wouldn’t have to do anything. She’d told Barnes what she suspected about the house. Surely that might yield some evidence. But what if it didn’t? What if her original supposition was completely wrong?
“Right, then, are you through?” Mrs. Goodge asked Wiggins. “Because if you are, we need to hear what Mrs. Jeffries learned from the constable.”
“I’m done.” He grinned broadly, glad to have gotten that last bit of information off his chest. He, along with everyone else at the table, looked at the housekeeper expectantly.
Lost in thought, Mrs. Jeffries didn’t notice she was now the center of attention. She stared off into space, her gaze unfocused as she tried to connect the pieces together. It made sense, yet it didn’t make sense.
Hatchet cleared his throat. “Uh . . . Mrs. Jeffries, is everything alright?”
“Huh?” she muttered. “Uh, yes, I’m fine. I was just thinking.”
“Do you know who the killer is?” Luty asked eagerly. “Usually when you go off all starry-eyed like that, you’re getting ready to figure it out.”
“Not as yet.” Mrs. Jeffries smiled apologetically. She felt a bit bad about lying, because she had figured it out, but she wasn’t sure. Oh dear, that didn’t make sense. “But Constable Barnes came by with some very interesting information this morning and I think we’re moving forward with this case.” She hesitated and then plunged ahead with her idea about the Kettering house. She was relieved that none of them laughed. After all, secret staircases and hidden passages sounded so very melodramatic when one actually said them out loud.
Smythe leaned over and whispered in Betsy’s ear. “Are you alright, love? You look pale.”
“It’s the light in here,” she replied. “And I’m fine. Mrs. Jeffries, what did the constable tell you?”
Mrs. Jeffries told them what she’d learned. She paused for a breath and Wiggins interrupted. “Do you think the ’ouse is haunted, then?”
“No, of course not,” she replied. “As a matter of fact, I think there’s a very rational explanation for those footsteps and I said as much to the constable.” She stopped as she realized the full implications of what Wiggins had said just a few minutes ago.
“She’s doin’ it agin.” Luty leaned toward the housekeeper. “See, she’s gettin’ all dreamy-eyed. If she was younger, I’d say she was in love.”
Mrs. Jeffries snapped out of it. “Wiggins, please go to the Kettering house straight away. You need to find Constable Barnes and tell him that it’s imperative he search the cook’s room.”
“What’s he lookin’ for?” Wiggins was already on his feet. “And what if the inspector sees me? What do I say?”
“Tell Barnes to find the cocoa—that’s the key to this whole case,” she replied.
“Wiggins can’t go,” Smythe said. “’E’s already talked to half the people that work there. I think I’d better go. No one has seen me before.”
Wiggins started to protest and then realized the coachman was right. He sat back down. Then he leapt back up. “But I can go in case there’s a message to bring back ’ere,” he pointed out. “I don’t ’ave to go to the ’ouse. I can lolly about on Brook Green and if Smythe needs something done, he can nip out and tell me.”
Mrs. Jeffries agreed. “We’ve often had to dash about when we’re at this point in a case. Having you on hand there is a very good idea.”
“Should I go as well?” Hatchet offered. “Young Wiggins can stay on the green and I can take Madam’s carriage to one of the side streets to have at the ready if we’ve a need to get somewhere quickly.”
“What about me?” Luty demanded. “Shouldn’t I go? It’s my carriage.”
“Of course it’s your carriage, madam,” Hatchet said soothingly. “But if circumstances get a bit rough-and-tumble, I want you safely away from any danger.”
“We can stop in Knightsbridge and I’ll get my Peace-maker,” Luty declared.
“That won’t be necessary, Luty,” Mrs. Jeffries said quickly. “I don’t think anything is going to happen today. As a matter of fact, I’m sure of it. But I do think Hatchet’s suggestion is a good one. It wouldn’t hurt to have your carriage at the ready.”
“Right, then, we’ll be off.” Smythe dropped a kiss on Betsy’s forehead, pushed to his feet, and grabbed his coat. Wiggins and Hatchet followed suit.
As soon as the men had gone, Mrs. Goodge crossed her arms over her chest and focused her attention on Mrs. Jeffries. “You goin’ to tell us who you think is the killer?” she demanded. “Or are you goin’ to be like you usually are and keep us all in suspense until the last possible minute?”
“I only do that because I’m never sure of my conclusion,” Mrs. Jeffries said defensively. “Honestly, I don’t try to keep you in the dark deliberately.” She winced inwardly. She was keeping a secret, a wonderful secret that would delight everyone in the household, but she couldn’t say a word. Blast.
“I’m going to stay busy. It’s the only way to make the time pass,” Betsy announced as she pushed back her chair and stood up. “I’m going to polish the furniture in the drawing room and the inspector’s study. Besides, Phyllis will be here soon and it won’t do to have her finding all of us sitting here chatting.”
Luty sighed heavily and turned her attention to the housekeeper. “How long do you think this idea of yours is goin’ to take to bear fruit? Should I go home or should I stay here? I don’t want to miss anything.”
Betsy, who’d bent down to pull the polishing oil out of the bottom of the pine sideboard, straightened and looked at Mrs. Jeffries.
“I don’t want to miss anything, either,” Ruth stated. “But on the other hand, if you really don’t think something is going to happen, I’ve some correspondence to finish. My women’s group is soliciting funds from our sisters in America.”
Mrs. Jeffries wasn’t sure what to tell them. On the one hand, her idea could be completely wrong, in which case sitting around the kitchen would be a waste of everyone’s time. On the other hand, what if Barnes found something? “I don’t think anything is going to happen. What we could do is go about our business and meet here this afternoon for our usual time.”
Luty got up. “Fine then, I’ll go out and flag down a cab. I’ve got a couple more people I want to speak to about our case. No sense in stopping now if you ain’t sure you know who did it.”
“I’ll walk you to the corner,” Ruth offered. “And if you’re going to keep at it, so will I. I’ve another source I can tap after I’ve written my letters.”
A tall, wiry man stepped in front of Witherspoon as he and Barnes got out of the hansom in front of the Kettering house. “Are you the policeman trying to find who killed Miss Kettering?”
“I am. I’m Inspector Witherspoon and this is Constable Barnes. Who might you be, sir?”
“I’m Danny Taylor, I’m the gardener here. I was on my way in to get Mrs. McAllister, but then I saw the hansom stoppin’ out front and I had a feelin’ it might be the police. Mrs. McAllister said you’d probably be back once we laid Miss Kettering to rest.”
Witherspoon grimaced. He’d meant to interview Taylor, but to date, he’d not found the time. “Mr. Taylor, the constable and I were going to come and speak with you, we simply hadn’t gotten around to it as yet. But as you’re here, is there something you want to tell us?”
“It’s not so much telling you as showing you,” he said hesitantly. “I’ve found something you ought to see.”
Witherspoon winced. He hoped it wasn’t another corpse.
Barnes, correctly reading his superior’s facial expression, stepped forward. “Where is it, Mr. Taylor? Lead the way and we’ll follow.”
“It’s in the back of the carriage house.” Taylor pushed open the wrought-iron gate and started up the walkway. “I found it today when I was looking for some oil to keep the gate from squealin’.” He led them up the walkway, around the main house, across the garden, and around to the back of the carriage house. He stopped in front of a wide door that was swung up on hinges into the ceiling. The space inside was wide enough for at least three carriages.
“This is where the rigs were kept,” he explained. “But Miss Kettering sold all the vehicles years ago and got rid of the horses as well. Pity, really, they were nice animals. My dad was quite fond of them.”
“Your family has been in service here for a long while?” Witherspoon asked. He craned his neck to see into the interior of the gloomy space, but he couldn’t spot anything that looked like a body. Good, he hoped it stayed that way.
“Three generation of us,” Taylor announced proudly. “Mind you, most of that time the Fox family lived here, not the Ketterings, but you’ll want to see what I found this morning. It’s this way.” He went inside and they followed. The floor was swept clean and there were shelves along one side of the room. The other half appeared to have been partitioned off into two rooms. “This side is where the stable used to be. When I was a lad, the family had six horses, but they built up the stalls and turned them into rooms.” Taylor stopped by the door nearest them. “This used to be mine. It was right nice.”
“Your family lived there?” Barnes asked.
He shook his head. “We lived in a set of rooms in the main house when I was growing up, but when my parents died, I moved out here. But I’ve not lived here for a year. Miss Kettering asked me to leave. She didn’t like having a single man on the place.” He continued on toward the end of the corridor and stopped at the last door. “But what you need to see is in here. This is used as a storage shed.” He opened the door and then stepped back. “Take a look in there, sir.”
Witherspoon steeled himself and moved toward the opening. But Barnes moved faster. He stuck his head inside first and then disappeared into the small room. A moment later, he reappeared holding a burlap bag that had been tied at the top with a piece of thin rope. “Is this it?”
Taylor nodded. “Open it up, sir.”
Barnes put the bag on the ground and untied the rope. He spread the sides open, revealing two silver candlesticks, a Dresden shepherdess figurine, a silver bowl, three spoons, a carved wooden box, and a stuffed parrot missing most of its tail feathers. Barnes looked at the inspector. “I think we’ve found the missing knickknacks Mrs. McAllister told us about.”
“I concur, Constable. Let’s take them inside and see if she can identify them.” He glanced at Taylor. “When did you notice this was here?”
“Today.” He nodded toward the open door. “Like I said, I went to get oil for the front gate and found that bag. I looked inside. Frankly, I wasn’t sure what to do. But then you showed up and made the decision easy.”
“When was the last time you were in here?” Barnes got to his feet.
“Last week, Mrs. McAllister wanted some paraffin for the downstairs lamps. We don’t use it much anymore, it’s too dangerous. But Miss Kettering insisted that we have a lamp on each floor. She was always worried the gaslights wouldn’t work.”
“And I take it the bag wasn’t there then?” Witherspoon asked.
Taylor shook his head. “No, nothing in that room but the oil and the paraffin.”
“Does everyone in the household have access to the room?” Barnes tied the rope loosely around the top of the bag.
“No one does but me and Mrs. McAllister. We keep it locked. But when I came here today, the door was standing open.”
Witherspoon walked over, bent down, and examined the lock closely. “There’s no indication that anyone tampered with it,” he mused. “No scratches on the plate or on the wood.”
“So whoever opened it must have had a key,” Barnes said. He turned to Taylor. “Did Mrs. McAllister open it for any reason?”
“I doubt it. She generally asks me when she needs the lamps refilled and, like I said, we refilled them last week so she’d no reason to come out here. Besides, she’s had her hands full with the service and the reception.”
“Were you here when Miss Kettering was murdered?” the inspector asked.
Taylor didn’t look offended by the question. “I was with the others at Mrs. Grant’s funeral in Kent,” he replied matter-of-factly.
“Have you seen anyone coming or going in this area in the past few days?” Barnes swept his arm in a wide arc.
“No one, at least not while I’ve been here. But I’m only here during the day. If you want to know what happens at night, you’ll need to ask Mrs. Fox. She lives upstairs.”
“You live off the property, is that right?”
“I’ve a room in a lodgin’ house nearby. Miss Kettering did give me a raise to pay for the room, I’ll give her that much.”
Barnes put the burlap bag gently down on the ground and went to where the inspector stood by the open door. He studied the lock for a moment and then looked at Taylor. “These are old, aren’t they?”
“Yes, when they built this room, they took the lock off the butler’s pantry and put it in here. Miss Kettering wasn’t one to waste money.” He turned and pointed to the room that used to be his. “She got that lock off the door to the library. She said there wasn’t any reason to keep a library locked, most people wouldn’t bother stealin’ books.”
“So if the locks are old, does that mean that Miss Kettering didn’t change the locks when she bought the place?” Witherspoon asked.
“I don’t think so, but Mrs. Fox might be the best one to ask, or Mr. Dorian Kettering; they both grew up here.”
“We’ll do that, Mr. Taylor, and thank you for your cooperation,” Witherspoon said.
“If you need me for anything else, I’ll be working on the other side of the house.” Taylor nodded respectfully and left.
Barnes picked up the burlap bag. “Shall we go see Mrs. McAllister, sir?” He was very relieved. Mrs. Jeffries had made it clear that the Kettering house had to be searched again and he’d done some fancy talking himself to get the inspector here. “And should I send for some lads?”
“Lads?” Witherspoon looked puzzled. “Why?”
Barnes nodded toward the bag. “It’s like you said, sir, there’s more to this place than meets the eye. If the gardener can find a bag of stolen knickknacks, who knows what else is here? Your idea that we need another search is a good one, sir. These old houses have a lot of secrets.”
Witherspoon nodded in agreement. “Ask the constable at the front to get us some help from the local station. I’ll take the bag into the house and see if I can find Mrs. McAllister.” Barnes handed him the bag and both men headed for the open doorway.
Witherspoon laughed softly and hefted the sack as he spoke. “Wouldn’t it be ironic if these had been stolen by someone from the Society of the Humble? They’d have been stealing from themselves. They own this place now and everything in it.”
They came out of the carriage house and went their separate ways. Barnes hurried to the front and Witherspoon started across the garden.
He reached the door and knocked. Mrs. McAllister herself opened up. “I saw you and the constable from the upstairs window. Do come inside, Inspector.”
He stepped inside, holding the bag carefully in front of him to avoid damaging the contents. “I’ve something I must show you,” he said as she closed the door.
She glanced down and moved in front of him. “So I see. Let’s go in here.” She pushed open the first door on the corridor. “This is our dining room. But it ought to be empty.”
Witherspoon followed her. A long oak table, darkened with age, dominated the room. Shelves filled with mismatched china, crockery, mugs, and odd-sized serving platters were on the wall opposite where he stood. Gray linoleum, buckling in places, covered the floor.
The inspector put the bag on the table, flicked off the loosely tied rope, and spread it open. Mrs. McAllister, who’d moved to stand beside him, gasped. “Dear me, where on earth did you get those things?”
“Are these the objects that have been stolen from the house?” Covertly, he lowered his eyes and watched her expression. She wasn’t one of the major heirs of the estate, but she was getting a legacy. He’d known people to kill for less. He was no expert at reading faces, but in his judgment, she certainly didn’t look guilty, only surprised.
“They most certainly are.” She clasped her hands together. “Where on earth did you get them?”
“The gardener, Danny Taylor, found them today. He saw us get out of a cab and showed them to us,” Witherspoon said. “He found them when he went to get some oil for the front gate. They were in that little room at the back of the carriage house.”
“But that’s impossible, that room is always kept locked. How could anyone have gotten inside it?” she protested.
“That’s what I wanted to ask you. Mr. Taylor said that you and he are the only ones with keys.”
“That’s true, but my key is right here.” She pulled a round brass ring out of her pocket and held it at eye level for a moment. There were a dozen keys on it. She grabbed one of them by the tip. “This is my key and it’s still safely on my ring. I can assure you, Inspector, I haven’t been near that room in quite a long time. I never go out there.”
“That’s what Mr. Taylor told us,” he replied. “Have you seen anyone on the grounds that shouldn’t have been here?”
She smiled wearily. “Inspector, yesterday there were dozens of people here for the funeral reception. They were milling about all over the place. Even some of those wretches from the Society of the Humble managed to get into the house. I recognized them, but I didn’t want another scene so I said nothing to Mr. Kettering.”
Witherspoon nodded in understanding. “I imagine you or someone else in the household would have noticed if any of the funeral guests had been carrying a burlap sack. However, someone may have slipped out and unlocked the door for an accomplice. I forgot to ask Mr. Taylor if the outer door was open. Do you know?”
“It was closed. It is only opened when the gardener is working on the grounds and there was no work done yesterday.”
“Is that door kept locked as well?”
“Yes, Miss Kettering wanted every door in the place kept locked,” she replied.
“Then the bag must have been put there before yesterday,” he mused. “I don’t suppose we’ll ever know, but at least these items have been returned to the household.”
“Thank you, Inspector.” She scooped up the bag. “I’ll put these back in their proper places.”
“Mrs. McAllister, how many people are in the house today?”
She looked surprised by the question. “Just the usual number, the servants and the cook from the agency. Why?”
“We’re going to search the house again,” he said. “We’ll do our best to avoid disrupting your routine, but there will be a number of policemen about the place.”
“I hope you find something, Inspector. I must say, I am feeling a bit more sympathetic to Miss Kettering. The night before last I was sure I heard footsteps walking about the house. But when I got up and looked, there was no one there.”
“Where is your room?”
“On the floor above Miss Kettering’s.” She smiled sheepishly. “The rest of the servants are in the attic, but Mrs. Grant and I had rooms along the third floor corridor. I suppose I might have been overly sensitive. It’s been strange having both the cook’s room and Miss Kettering’s room empty.”
“I take it the cook from the agency doesn’t live in?” he commented. He’d no idea how these things worked. He left domestic issues up to Mrs. Jeffries.
“No, she doesn’t, and I don’t know how much longer we can keep her on or what’s going to happen to the household. The servants have been asking. They’re all worried they’re to be chucked out at a moment’s notice. They’ve heard that she left the house to the Society of the Humble and they’re worried. People have got to have time to find other places to work and live.”
“I’m sure there’s been some provision in Miss Kettering’s will for domestic arrangements. Why don’t you ask Mr. Johnston about it? Furthermore, it does take a while before an estate is disbursed.”
“That’s good to know.” She smiled gratefully. “I’ll have a word with him. He seems a decent sort of man; I’m sure that at the very least he’ll be able to tell us how much time we’ve left here. I’m going to his office tomorrow morning for the formal reading of the will. I’ll ask him then.”
“I would advise you to get there a bit early so you can speak with him privately,” Witherspoon suggested. “He may be more forthcoming out of the earshot of the other heirs. If you’ll excuse me, I’d better see if the constables have arrived so we can begin the search. We’ll try to stay out of everyone’s way.”
Mrs. McAllister hesitated. “You might want to have a word with Mrs. Fox before you start. She’s in charge of the household until things get sorted out legally.”
Wiggins spotted Barnes coming out the front gate of the Kettering house. They were in Luty Belle’s carriage and Hatchet had instructed the coachman to drive by the house before finding a suitable spot to wait along one of the streets near the green. “Cor blimey, there goes Constable Barnes. He’s in a ruddy ’urry.”
Hatchet banged on the ceiling, his signal to the driver to stop, then he turned to Wiggins. “Jump out and get the constable. Tell him we’ve a message from Mrs. Jeffries.”
Wiggins waited till the rig slowed and came to a halt. He flung open the doors, leapt to the ground, and raced across the road.
Barnes heard running behind him and looked over his shoulder. He smiled slightly, not at all surprised by the footman’s sudden appearance. He was used to this sort of thing from the Witherspoon household. “Hello, Wiggins. What brings you here?”
“We’ve got a message for you, Constable,” Wiggins explained quickly. He glanced toward the Kettering house. “Get in the carriage and we’ll take you where you need to go. It’s from Mrs. Jeffries.”
“Right, then, let’s hurry.” Barnes crossed the road. “I’ve got to get to the local police station before I can go back to the house.”
Bernadine Fox wasn’t pleased to see him; Witherspoon could see that from the way she glared at him. He was standing in the center of her elegant drawing room. She hadn’t invited him to sit down.
“This is most inconvenient, Inspector,” she complained. “There is much work to be done today. I told Dorian and Patricia I’d do an inventory of the house for them. Haven’t your people already searched?”
“True, but we need to do it again,” he replied. “We’ll do our best to stay out of the way. Can you tell me if you’ve seen any strangers hanging about the carriage house in the last few days?”
“Strangers, no, why do you ask?” She regarded him warily.
“We—or rather, the gardener—found a burlap sack filled with items from the household in the little storage room just below here.”
“What items?” she demanded. “What are you talking about?”
“The knickknacks that have been stolen from the Kettering house this past year.”
“They were a bit more than knickknacks, Inspector,” she retorted. “Some of the items that are missing are very valuable and I know who took them. It was one of those wretches from the Society of the Humble. You really should search their premises. I’m sure you’d find all sorts of incriminating evidence if you did.” Her eyes narrowed angrily. “I can’t believe Olive was foolish enough to leave that confidence trickster a third of her estate. Well, we’ll see about that. I’ve spoken with Dorian and Patricia about taking the matter before a judge and I think I’ve made them see reason.”
“Be that as it may, ma’am, right at the moment, my concern is the return of the stolen goods.” He couldn’t put his finger on why this mattered, but he had a feeling it might be very important. “And whoever took them to begin with obviously decided to bring them back. They deliberately put them in a place where they’d eventually be found, the little storage room just below your flat. I was wondering if you might have seen anyone or perhaps heard strange noises.”
She thought for a moment and then shook her head. “No, Inspector, I saw no one. But I’m a heavy sleeper, so if they broke into the carriage house during the night, I wouldn’t have heard them.”
