Mrs. Jeffries and the Three Wise Women Read online

• • •

  Wiggins grimaced as he stared at the tall redbrick building that had once housed Christopher Gilhaney. The lodging house was at the end of a short road in Putney. A cold misty rain fell and he was chilled to the bone. He’d been up and down the street several times and hadn’t seen anyone so much as stick a nose out. “Blast a Spaniard,” he muttered as he started down the street again. “How can I find out anything if there’s no one to talk to?” It wasn’t fair, it just wasn’t fair. For the first time ever, he had big plans for the holidays and now they were ruined because Inspector Nivens couldn’t be bothered to investigate properly. Why should their inspector have to clean up Nivens’ mess? That’s what he wanted to know.

  He shoved his cold hands in his pockets and trudged to the end of the road. This was a stupid, pointless exercise. No one was going to come out in this misery of a day, and if they did, they’d probably not know a thing about the late Christopher Gilhaney. He turned the corner, intending to go around the block and up the other side of the street, when he spotted a sign on the side of a wooden fence across the road. It read CRAVEN COTTAGE – FULHAM and had an arrow pointing toward Bishop’s Walk.

  Nell’s bells, as Luty would say, Craven Cottage was Fulham Football Club’s new grounds and it was just up the road. He wasn’t a real Fulham supporter, but if he saw the place, he’d have something to tell Tommy. Tommy loved Fulham. It was his favorite team and Wiggins knew Tommy hadn’t been here yet.

  Cor blimey, it was Saturday so the players might actually be at the grounds practicing for this afternoon’s game. Tommy would be green with envy if Wiggins saw the grounds, or even better, some of the players, before he did.

  Wiggins hesitated and then came to a full stop. He glanced at the sign again and then in the direction of the lodging house. He was supposed to be getting a bit of information for their meeting. But from what little they knew, Gilhaney hadn’t even been in London very long so even if he could find someone to chat with, odds were they’d not know very much. Besides, it was blooming cold today and no one in their right mind was going to take it into their head to go for a stroll. It couldn’t hurt just to nip past the football grounds. If for no other reason than to see if Tommy had been exaggerating about how big he’d heard the grounds were.

  He made up his mind and headed toward Bishop’s Walk. Craven Cottage was less than a mile away. He could nip there, have a good look, and then get back for their afternoon meeting with time to spare. Mrs. Jeffries couldn’t expect him to find out something useful if there wasn’t anyone about to speak to, could she?

  • • •

  “Are you here for Miss Bruce’s laudanum?” The elderly man behind the counter stared at Phyllis suspiciously. He wore a heavy black apron over his neatly pressed white shirt. “I’ve never seen you before. When did you start working for them? Miss Bruce always gets her medicine herself.”

  “I don’t—” Phyllis began, only to be interrupted.

  “Then why are you in my shop asking questions about them?” he demanded. “This is a respectable chemist’s shop; we don’t give out information about our clients. What’s wrong with you, girl, have you no decency?”

  “But I just wanted to know how …” Phyllis tried again. She felt tears well up and blinked hard to hold them back. For a moment, she felt like she was fourteen years old again and facing Mrs. Lassiter, her old mistress, over some mistake she’d made.

  “She just wanted to know how to get to Seldon Place,” the woman who’d come into the chemist’s shop right behind her said. “For goodness’ sake, Mr. Conway, the girl is simply asking for directions.”

  “Don’t be absurd, that’s not all she was asking.” He shot Phyllis another accusing glare. “She was asking about them, about how often they come in here and what they buy.”

  As that was exactly what Phyllis had wanted to ask, but hadn’t, she wondered for a brief moment if the old man could read minds.

  “Mr. Conway, I came in right behind her. All she said was that she had a note to deliver to the Bruce family on Seldon Place but she couldn’t find that street. Now, come along, where’s your daughter? You’re not supposed to be out here on your own. You know that. Call her, now, I’ve not got all day.” The woman held up an empty shopping basket. “I’ve all my shopping to do yet and I must be home in time to give Leopold his tea.”

  Phyllis gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you, ma’am. The directions my mistress gave me weren’t very clear.”

  “Humph, I’ll bet they were clear as the church bells, but you probably weren’t listening, were you.” The chemist snorted in derision. “That’s the trouble with you young people, you’ve no sense at all.”

  “Father, your lunch is ready.” A young woman stepped out from a set of curtains behind the counter. She sighed heavily when she saw there were customers. “Father, I told you to call me if anyone came into the shop.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of our customers.”

  “I know you are, Father, but I’ll serve them and Mr. Bingley will be here in a few moments to take care of the afternoon’s prescriptions. Hurry along, Father, your food is getting cold.”

  He looked confused for a moment and then retreated behind the curtains.

  “I’m sorry if he was rude to you.” She smiled at Phyllis. “He’s elderly and shouldn’t really be working, but he insists. He gets very upset if we don’t let him come into the shop.”

  “That’s alright.” Phyllis edged toward the door. She felt sorry for the elderly man, but she felt sorrier for herself. This was the way her entire morning had gone. She’d not found out a ruddy thing and every single person she’d spoken to had been either too busy to chat or downright mean. “I didn’t mean to upset him. I was just so lost and hoped that one of the local shops could help me.”

  “She wanted to know how to get to Seldon Place,” the woman said. “I know it’s nearby, but I can’t think where it is.”

  “I’m not certain where it is, either,” the young woman behind the counter replied. “I think it might be one of those small streets near the river.”

  “Thank you.” Phyllis smiled brightly. “I’ll go in that direction. Good day, then.” She hurried out of the shop and started walking down the busy pavement. Thus far, she’d been to the butcher’s, the greengrocer’s, the chemist’s, and even the ironmonger’s shop and the only thing she’d learned was that Florence Bruce took laudanum. Fat lot of good that would do her—from what she’d heard, half the population of London took the stuff. Her footsteps slowed as she reached the last shop on the block, a tobacconist and newsagent’s shop.

  Phyllis climbed onto the top stair and stared through the window. A sour-faced woman stood behind the counter folding newspapers. She felt like crying. Could it get any worse? She’d been hoping for a friendly girl or lad, someone who wouldn’t be in a rush to get rid of her and who might know something about the Bruce household.

  She sighed in self-pity. It wasn’t fair, it just wasn’t right. Why did they have to get a murder now? For the first time since she could remember, she had a bit of money and something wonderful to do during the Christmas holidays. Her plans might not seem all that grand to anyone else, but to her, they were a sign she’d come up in the world, that she, too, could do things she’d only dreamed of when she was a young girl worrying that she might be tossed into the street for making the slightest mistake.

  She was just going to the theater and the music hall. All the three performances she had tickets for were at night, so even with the investigation, she could still go. But it wouldn’t be the way she’d hoped it would be. It wasn’t just the performances she’d looked forward to, it was going to the theater hours before the performance and seeing the brightly colored playbills and then going to have a cup of tea or perhaps even a light meal before the show itself. Now she’d be lucky if she could get there before the curtain opened.

  Suddenly, she was bumped from behind.

  She wh
irled around just as a man stumbled backward. “Oh dear, I’m terribly sorry, it’s my fault completely. I was so lost in my thoughts I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t mean to bump into you.”

  Phyllis stared at him for a moment and then gave him an apologetic smile. He was an incredibly handsome young chap. He was tall, with dark blond hair beneath his bowler hat, a broad forehead, high cheekbones, and the lightest, most beautiful blue eyes she’d ever seen. “It’s alright; it was my fault as much as yours. I shouldn’t have been standing in the doorway.”

  He returned her smile with one of his own. “Are you going inside, miss?”

  “No, I’ve changed my mind. I was only going to ask for directions.” She moved to one side and stepped past him onto the pavement.

  “Directions? Perhaps I can help? I work for an estate agent and I know the area very well.”

  Phyllis hesitated for a moment. After all, she, like most young women, had spent most of her life being warned about “strange men.” But then she realized she had no reason to worry. It was broad daylight and he was nicely dressed in a decent gray overcoat open enough to reveal he wore a proper navy blue business suit beneath it. “Actually, I’m dreadfully lost and I’ve a note that needs to be delivered. You wouldn’t by any chance happen to know where Seldon Place might be?”

  “I do.” He pointed straight ahead. “It’s that way, but you need to cross over the road at the first junction, turn left, and then turn right at the next street.”

  “Oh dear, it sounds dreadfully complicated.” She understood his directions, but she wanted to prolong this encounter as long as possible.

  “Only if you don’t know the neighborhood.” He took off his hat and she was thrilled to see he had wavy hair. “I don’t wish to seem forward, miss, but if you can wait for just a moment, I’m going in that direction.”

  “I don’t want to inconvenience you,” she replied. “But truth to tell, I’ve a terrible sense of direction.” That, of course, was a bold-faced lie. But it served to give her a bit more time with the young gentleman and find out if he knew anything about the Bruce family.

  “It’s no trouble at all. Let me get my newspaper and I’ll be right back.” He disappeared inside the shop.

  Phyllis ignored the wave of guilt that swept over her as an image of Wiggins’ earnest face flashed through her mind. She had a perfect right to smile and be nice to a handsome young gent who might be able to help with this case. She wasn’t being deceitful or disloyal to anyone else; it wasn’t as if she and Wiggins had an understanding. Far from it—until recently they’d been sniping at one another and had barely spoken. They’d cleared the air and she was glad of that; she was genuinely fond of the lad. But she wasn’t sure she wanted their relationship to move any further. Not at the moment.

  The young man returned. He had a newspaper tucked under his arm. He swept off his bowler again. “I’m Jonathan Talmadge.”

  “I’m Phyllis Thompson.” She could have bitten her tongue when she realized she’d given him her real name. When she was on the hunt, she always used a false name. It wouldn’t do to leave a trail back to the Witherspoon household. But then again, they weren’t likely to solve this one anyway so what was the harm. What’s more, if she ever saw him again, it would be awkward trying to explain why she’d lied about her name. “This is ever so kind of you.”

  “Not really, I’m delighted to be able to assist you. It’s this way. Do you live nearby?” he asked as they started walking.

  “I live near Shepherd’s Bush,” she replied, hedging just a bit because the Witherspoon household was actually in the Holland Park neighborhood. “I work there, I’m a housemaid.”

  “And I’m a clerk,” he said. “But I’m hoping one day to have my own estate agency.”

  She almost told him she hoped one day to have her own detective agency, but she wisely realized that would probably frighten him. She didn’t know a lot about men, but she had learned that most of them didn’t like the idea of a woman doing what she liked with her life. “It’s nice to have ambition,” she murmured.

  “What’s the address on Seldon Place?” He took her arm as they crossed the road and made a sharp left onto a quiet street.

  “Number twelve. I’m taking Mr. and Mrs. Bruce a note from my household.”

  “Ah, the Bruces’.” He nodded. “Interesting family. Their house is lovely. Of course, it’s been in the family for years. We often get inquiries from people about it.”

  “What kind of inquiries?”

  “Mostly people want to know if it is for sale. It’s a freehold property and that increases its value. But Mr. Newton Walker is no fool and he isn’t going to let it go at the current level of prices in that area.”

  “Mr. Newton Walker?” she repeated. “I thought it belonged to the Bruces.”

  He shook his head. “No, Mrs. Bruce’s father owns it and upon his death, it will go directly to her. But I doubt she’ll ever be interested in selling. She’s lived there all her life. Of course, if she does sell, she’ll give us the business. She went to school with our owner’s wife and she often recommends our firm to people.”

  “That’s very good of her.” Phyllis knew she was on very thin ice here. She’d no idea what to ask next, but she wanted to keep him talking.

  “It is. Of course, in all fairness, we do our very best for our clients. We work hard to get the full amount of worth out of a property when our customers are selling while at the same time, making sure our clients are getting value for money when they’re buying.”

  “I’ll remember that if I ever buy or sell some property,” she said.

  He gave an embarrassed laugh. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound as if I were bragging.”

  “No, no, you’re just proud of your firm.” She smiled. “I think that’s very admirable.”

  By this time, they’d reached the junction. He pointed at a street farther down the block. “That’s Seldon Place. The Walker house is easy to find. It’s the biggest one.”

  She couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t sound ridiculous, but she’d learned one thing. The house belonged to Mrs. Bruce. “Thanks so much for your assistance, Mr. Talmadge.”

  “It was my pleasure, miss.” He doffed his bowler for the third time. “Now I must go. I’m meeting a client nearby. Perhaps one day we’ll meet again.”

  She sincerely hoped so.

  CHAPTER 3

  “Let’s hope that Mr. Newton Walker’s memory is as good as Mr. and Mrs. Chase’s,” Witherspoon said as the hansom came to a stop. “Their recollection of the evening Gilhaney died was excellent.”

  “I’m not surprised, sir. I’ll warrant that Mrs. Chase has reminded Mr. Chase of it on more than one occasion these past weeks.” Barnes chuckled. “She did tell us that she only invited Gilhaney because her husband insisted.”

  They stepped out of the cab and Witherspoon stood on the pavement while the constable paid the driver.

  “From the looks of this place, he’s not hurting for money,” Barnes muttered as he joined the inspector. They stared at the home for a moment. The house was a five-story, made of pale gray stone with immaculate white trim around every window and a freshly painted peacock blue front door topped with an ornate half-circle transom window.

  “Well, he is a builder, so I suppose a beautifully maintained house is to be expected. If Mr. Chase was right, Mr. Walker should be home by now,” Witherspoon said as he and Barnes started up the short paved walkway.

  “I’m amazed that a man his age even works half days,” Barnes said. They climbed the broad stairs and he banged the polished brass doorknocker against the wood. “Mrs. Chase claimed he was at least seventy-five. I wonder why he came out of retirement to go back to work. Do you think we should ask him?”

  Before the inspector could reply, the door opened, revealing a tall, black-clad butler. If he was surprised to see a uniformed policeman on the doorstep, he didn’t show it. “Good day.”

  Witherspoon ste
pped forward. “We’d like to speak with Mr. Newton Walker.”

  The butler opened the door wider and motioned them inside. “Mr. Walker is waiting for you in his study. It’s this way.”

  Barnes gave the inspector a quizzical look as they moved inside and followed the butler down a long corridor. The inspector shrugged, indicating he, too, had no idea how Walker knew they were coming. They’d only decided to come here instead of going to the Bruce house when they climbed into the hansom cab after leaving the Chases.

  “The police are here, sir,” the butler announced as they stepped through the double doors.

  Shelves filled with books lined two of the walls, a fire crackled in the fireplace, and a calico cat was curled on a soft rug next to the hearth. The cat lifted its head, gazed at them for a moment, and then went back to sleep.

  Newton Walker sat behind a massive desk in front of three long windows. He had a thick thatch of unruly gray hair, bushy eyebrows, and a prominent nose above his mustache.

  He stared at Witherspoon for a long moment. “You’re the policeman who’s caught so many murderers, aren’t you? I told Denby at the Home Office to make sure to get you. I’m disgusted with how that other chap made a right mess of this case. I told him right off it wasn’t a ruddy robbery, but the fellow wouldn’t listen. Now the case is weeks old and the killer could be in Timbuktu. Please, please, both of you sit down. Would you like tea? Or perhaps coffee?”

  “Nothing, sir, but thank you,” Witherspoon said as he took one of the two leather wing-back chairs in front of the desk. He was pleasantly surprised. Often, the upper class had no qualms about treating the police as if they’d brought plague into their house. “And to answer your question, Constable Barnes and I, along with the hard work of many other police officers, have solved a number of murders. All of us will do our very best to solve this one as well.”

  Walker said to the butler, “Thank you, Banfrey, that’ll be all. I’ll ring if I need anything else.” He turned his attention back to the inspector. “A wise leader always gives credit where credit is due. Denby said you were a modest fellow. Let’s just hope this one hasn’t been left too late even for your substantial talents. Now, what do you need to know from me?”