Free 02 - Mrs. Jeffries Dusts for Clues by Emily Brightwell Page B

weren’t successful in tracking down the driver of the hansom?” Mrs. Jeffries suggested. Really, she thought, Smythe was being awfully childish today.
    He raised his dark brown eyes and gave her a long, level stare. Then he grinned. “Successful? Well, I reckon that depends on ’ow ya look at it. I got a right earful of gossip about that funeral the Lutterbanks had a few months back. The blokes I was talkin’ to had done the funeral drivin’. But none of them had picked up Mary Sparks on the night she disappeared.”
    “What’d you hear, then?” Mrs. Goodge leaned forward with an expression of avid interest on her broad face.
    “Just that the family insisted all the drivers come inta the church for the service, paid ’em extra to do it, and the funny thing was, the only one doin’ any cryin’ at the funeral was one of the housemaids.”
    “Yes, yes,” Mrs. Jeffries interrupted impatiently. “I’m quite certain that’s all very interesting. However, we really must keep our minds on our current problem.”
    Smythe flushed guiltily. “Sorry. Like I was sayin’, I ain’t found the one that picked Mary up yet, but I will. One of the other drivers gave me the names of three men who were working the streets around the gardens that night. I’ve done talked to one of ’em, and he don’t remember the lass, but I’m hopin’ one of the other two will.” He rubbed his chin. “Do you happen to know if Mary was pretty?”
    Wiggins’s eyes lit up.
    “I’m assuming she must be,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “Garrett McGraw’s infatuation and the fact that Luty has implied that Mary had to fight off the unwanted attentions of Andrew Lutterbank lead me to assume she must be a most attractive young woman.”
    “Good.” Smythe leaned back in his chair and fixed Betsy with a cocky grin. “I like lookin’ for pretty girls.”
    “Me too,” Wiggins added.
    Betsy and Mrs. Goodge both snorted, and even Mrs. Jeffries smiled before turning to the footman. “All right, Wiggins, it’s your turn. Did you follow Garrett McGraw after he left the gardens yesterday evening?”
    “Course I did. But it didn’ do no good. He just went home.”
    “He didn’t stop off anywhere?” Mrs. Jeffries prodded. She’d rather hoped that young Garrett would lead them to Mary. He was the last person known to have seen her and therefore their only real clue.
    “He didn’t stop,” Wiggins answered. “He went ’ome. I hung around outside a bit, but the only one who come out was one of Garrett’s little brothers.”
    Mrs. Jeffries nodded. She looked expectantly at Mrs. Goodge.
    “Sorry,” the cook said, “I ain’t remembered anything about the Lutterbanks, but I’ve got me feelers out. Give me another day or two—I’ll have a few bits and pieces by then.”
    “Very well,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “I believe it’s my turn now.”
    The others sensed the change in her tone. Everyone’s expression sobered as they gave her their full attention.
    “This morning I told Luty Belle about the murdered girl,” Mrs. Jeffries began solemnly. “She insisted on going to the mortuary and viewing the body. It wasn’t a chore I relished, but once Luty Belle Crookshank makes up her mind, there’s no stopping her.”
    “Ugh, how awful,” Betsy said sympathetically.
    “Indeed, it wasn’t very pleasant,” Mrs. Jeffries agreed. “But you’ll all be pleased to know that despite the distastefulness ofthe task, we learned something very important. Luty’s sure the body isn’t Mary Sparks.”
    “Thank the good Lord for that,” Mrs. Goodge said.
    “However, there is something else you should know.” Mrs. Jeffries paused. “Whoever the girl was, she was wearing Mary’s dress, and the broach that Mary had been accused of stealing from the Lutterbanks was pinned on the lapel.”
    “Cor! Blimey, this is getting more confused by the minute.” Smythe scowled. “’Ow did this girl come to be wearin’ Mary’s clothes?”
    “I