Read Online The Ghost and Mrs. Jeffries by Emily Brightwell - Free Book Online
Authors: Emily Brightwell
Ads: Link
chance, happen to mention to anyone that the house was going to be empty?” Witherspoon asked. “Perhaps you may have mentioned it to someone on your way to Fulham, someone on the tram or the train?”
“I’m hardly in the habit of confiding in complete strangers,” Mrs. Trotter said. “Furthermore, though I may be forced by circumstances to use common public conveyances, I certainly don’t speak to anyone.”
Witherspoon was suddenly curious. Thomasina Trotter had definitely known better days. “How long have you worked for Mr. and Mrs. Hodges?”
Mrs. Trotter’s thin eyebrows rose. “The terms and conditions of my employment in the Hodges household haven’t anything to do with this crime. Therefore it is hardly the business of the police.”
The inspector tried to think of a reasonable reply. He was saved again by Constable Barnes.
“We’re askin’, ma’am,” Barnes said quietly, “because if you’ve been here awhile and you know the neighborhood, you just might be able to tell us if you saw any strangers hangin’ about afore you left?”
“I see.” She smiled slightly. “Well, in that case, I shall answer the question. I’ve worked for Mrs. Hodges for twenty years, and as it happens, I did see a stranger in the neighborhood on the night she died.”
“Before you go into that,” Witherspoon interrupted. He’d suddenly remembered there were several basic questions concerning this household that he hadn’t asked. “Could you please tell us precisely what everyone in the household was doing prior to being given the evening off?” He was quiteproud of himself for thinking of that line of inquiry.
Surprised, Mrs. Trotter stared at him. “How on earth is knowing our movements going to help?” She shrugged. “But I assume you should know your business.” She made it clear from her tone that she didn’t believe this for one minute.
“Just tell us what everyone in the house was doing from,” he said slowly, “er, five o’clock onward.”
“Everyone with the exception of myself was eating their supper here in the servants’ hall. We’d already been told Mr. and Mrs. Hodges were going out for the evening.”
“They weren’t planning on dining at home?” Witherspoon asked.
“No. They were dining with Mrs. Hodges’s nephew, Jonathan Felcher. He’d offered to take them out to dinner and they’d accepted.” She laughed harshly. “They were so stunned to actually receive an invitation from him! He’s usually around here cadging meals off them. But that’s neither here nor there. At half past five, the maids cleared up the dishes and cleaned the hall. Cook left to go visit her half sister in Notting Hill.”
“So you knew by this time that Mr. Hodges was giving you the evening free?” the inspector said quickly.
“Oh no. Cook always went to her half sister’s on Wednesday evening,” Mrs. Trotter replied. “Mr. Hodges didn’t tell us we had the evening free until well after cook had left. It was probably close to six o’clock. The maids—they’re sisters—immediately left to catch the late train. Peter, the footman, disappeared, probably to go to his father’s, and I gathered my things and went to visit my old nanny in Fulham.”
The inspector’s head was spinning. He took a deep breath and tried to think of the next reasonable question. “May we have the lady’s name and address?”
“Wouldn’t you rather I tell you about the strange person I saw hanging about?”
“Er, uh, yes.” Witherspoon decided he could wait a few moments for the nanny’s address. He hated being rude.
“It was a woman. She was standing just at the corner and I happened to notice her because she was completely veiled.”
“Perhaps she was in mourning,” Witherspoon suggested.
“In a red veil?” Mrs. Trotter replied. “No, this woman was standing at the end of the street. Just standing there. It didn’t strike me as odd at the time; I thought perhaps she was waiting for
“I’m hardly in the habit of confiding in complete strangers,” Mrs. Trotter said. “Furthermore, though I may be forced by circumstances to use common public conveyances, I certainly don’t speak to anyone.”
Witherspoon was suddenly curious. Thomasina Trotter had definitely known better days. “How long have you worked for Mr. and Mrs. Hodges?”
Mrs. Trotter’s thin eyebrows rose. “The terms and conditions of my employment in the Hodges household haven’t anything to do with this crime. Therefore it is hardly the business of the police.”
The inspector tried to think of a reasonable reply. He was saved again by Constable Barnes.
“We’re askin’, ma’am,” Barnes said quietly, “because if you’ve been here awhile and you know the neighborhood, you just might be able to tell us if you saw any strangers hangin’ about afore you left?”
“I see.” She smiled slightly. “Well, in that case, I shall answer the question. I’ve worked for Mrs. Hodges for twenty years, and as it happens, I did see a stranger in the neighborhood on the night she died.”
“Before you go into that,” Witherspoon interrupted. He’d suddenly remembered there were several basic questions concerning this household that he hadn’t asked. “Could you please tell us precisely what everyone in the household was doing prior to being given the evening off?” He was quiteproud of himself for thinking of that line of inquiry.
Surprised, Mrs. Trotter stared at him. “How on earth is knowing our movements going to help?” She shrugged. “But I assume you should know your business.” She made it clear from her tone that she didn’t believe this for one minute.
“Just tell us what everyone in the house was doing from,” he said slowly, “er, five o’clock onward.”
“Everyone with the exception of myself was eating their supper here in the servants’ hall. We’d already been told Mr. and Mrs. Hodges were going out for the evening.”
“They weren’t planning on dining at home?” Witherspoon asked.
“No. They were dining with Mrs. Hodges’s nephew, Jonathan Felcher. He’d offered to take them out to dinner and they’d accepted.” She laughed harshly. “They were so stunned to actually receive an invitation from him! He’s usually around here cadging meals off them. But that’s neither here nor there. At half past five, the maids cleared up the dishes and cleaned the hall. Cook left to go visit her half sister in Notting Hill.”
“So you knew by this time that Mr. Hodges was giving you the evening free?” the inspector said quickly.
“Oh no. Cook always went to her half sister’s on Wednesday evening,” Mrs. Trotter replied. “Mr. Hodges didn’t tell us we had the evening free until well after cook had left. It was probably close to six o’clock. The maids—they’re sisters—immediately left to catch the late train. Peter, the footman, disappeared, probably to go to his father’s, and I gathered my things and went to visit my old nanny in Fulham.”
The inspector’s head was spinning. He took a deep breath and tried to think of the next reasonable question. “May we have the lady’s name and address?”
“Wouldn’t you rather I tell you about the strange person I saw hanging about?”
“Er, uh, yes.” Witherspoon decided he could wait a few moments for the nanny’s address. He hated being rude.
“It was a woman. She was standing just at the corner and I happened to notice her because she was completely veiled.”
“Perhaps she was in mourning,” Witherspoon suggested.
“In a red veil?” Mrs. Trotter replied. “No, this woman was standing at the end of the street. Just standing there. It didn’t strike me as odd at the time; I thought perhaps she was waiting for
Similar Books
