sincerely hoped he wasn’t blushing. Gracious, this case was getting complicated. “Are you saying that Haydon Dapeers was trying to force his attentions on his own sister-in-law?”
Joanne Dapeers stared him directly in the eye, not in the least embarrassed to be speaking bluntly about such a delicate matter. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. He was a disgusting man, Haydon was, always after the young women. Only this time Michael wasn’t having it.”
“I take it Mr. Taggert, er…”
“He’s in love with Sarah Hewett,” Joanne finished. “And I expect now that Haydon’s dead, he’ll ask her to marry him.”
“Mrs. Hewett is a widow, isn’t she?” Barnes asked. “So why does Mr. Dapeers’s death have any bearing on whether or not she remarries?”
Joanne shrugged. “I don’t know. Sarah hated having to live with Haydon and Moira, not that she had anything against Moira. She’s a nice enough woman. A bit wrapped up in her charity work and the missionary society, but she was always kind to Sarah. It was Haydon Sarah couldn’tstomach. I know for a fact that Michael Taggert’s been after Sarah to marry him and I know that Sarah loves Michael too. But for some strange reason, she kept putting him off.”
Tom frowned at his wife. “You shouldn’t be repeating gossip, Joanne.”
“Why not if it’s true?” she queried.
Confused, Witherspoon asked, “Excuse me, Mrs. Dapeers. But are you merely repeating what others have told you about Mr. Taggert and Mrs. Hewett’s relationship? Or do you have knowledge of your own about the matter?”
“Am I under oath, then?” she asked irritably. “Despite what my husband says, I’m not repeating gossip. I know bloody good and well that Michael Taggert wanted to marry Sarah, because he told me so himself. He also told me that she loved him but she kept putting him off and wouldn’t tell him why. He was sure it was because of some nastiness that Haydon was up to. Now, if you don’t believe me, you can ask him yourself.”
“When did Mr. Taggert tell you all this?” Witherspoon asked.
“Last week,” she replied. “He used to come in here after he’d finished working at the Gilded Lily. He’s a nice young man and we chatted quite a bit. He told me all about him and Sarah.”
“What time is the inspector due home?” Betsy asked as she laid the table for late-afternoon tea.
“I’m not sure,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “You know he keeps such irregular hours when he’s on a murder.”
“I hope he’s not expectin’ a big cooked dinner,” Mrs. Goodge grumbled. She put a plate of sliced brown bread on the table next to the teapot. “It’s too hot to do much cookin’ and I’ve been busy today. I’ve had to send word to all my sources and I’m not sure it’ll do much good.”
“Of course it will,” Mrs. Jeffries soothed. The cook was obviously still annoyed that their latest victim was only a mere publican. Mrs. Jeffries didn’t much blame her. Not that she felt a publican was any less important than a member of the aristocracy, it was just that it was so much easier to find out gossip about the upper classes. They were so much more visible and they had far larger households than the lower classes. For once, she felt very sympathetic to Mrs. Goodge’s plight. It was a bit like her own. Mrs. Jeffries hadn’t exactly found out much today either. She certainly hoped the rest of them would have something worthwhile to report.
“Has anyone heard from Luty or Hatchet?” Betsy asked. She pulled her chair out and sat down, grateful to be off her feet. Her head was sore from the beer she’d had at the pub and her stomach was upset. But she was delighted with what she’d found out. If she was very clever, she could find out ever so much information when she met with Hamilton tomorrow. His sister had worked for the Dapeerses, she was bound to know something.
“Smythe sent them a telegram early this morning,” Mrs. Jeffries
Joanne Dapeers stared him directly in the eye, not in the least embarrassed to be speaking bluntly about such a delicate matter. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. He was a disgusting man, Haydon was, always after the young women. Only this time Michael wasn’t having it.”
“I take it Mr. Taggert, er…”
“He’s in love with Sarah Hewett,” Joanne finished. “And I expect now that Haydon’s dead, he’ll ask her to marry him.”
“Mrs. Hewett is a widow, isn’t she?” Barnes asked. “So why does Mr. Dapeers’s death have any bearing on whether or not she remarries?”
Joanne shrugged. “I don’t know. Sarah hated having to live with Haydon and Moira, not that she had anything against Moira. She’s a nice enough woman. A bit wrapped up in her charity work and the missionary society, but she was always kind to Sarah. It was Haydon Sarah couldn’tstomach. I know for a fact that Michael Taggert’s been after Sarah to marry him and I know that Sarah loves Michael too. But for some strange reason, she kept putting him off.”
Tom frowned at his wife. “You shouldn’t be repeating gossip, Joanne.”
“Why not if it’s true?” she queried.
Confused, Witherspoon asked, “Excuse me, Mrs. Dapeers. But are you merely repeating what others have told you about Mr. Taggert and Mrs. Hewett’s relationship? Or do you have knowledge of your own about the matter?”
“Am I under oath, then?” she asked irritably. “Despite what my husband says, I’m not repeating gossip. I know bloody good and well that Michael Taggert wanted to marry Sarah, because he told me so himself. He also told me that she loved him but she kept putting him off and wouldn’t tell him why. He was sure it was because of some nastiness that Haydon was up to. Now, if you don’t believe me, you can ask him yourself.”
“When did Mr. Taggert tell you all this?” Witherspoon asked.
“Last week,” she replied. “He used to come in here after he’d finished working at the Gilded Lily. He’s a nice young man and we chatted quite a bit. He told me all about him and Sarah.”
“What time is the inspector due home?” Betsy asked as she laid the table for late-afternoon tea.
“I’m not sure,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “You know he keeps such irregular hours when he’s on a murder.”
“I hope he’s not expectin’ a big cooked dinner,” Mrs. Goodge grumbled. She put a plate of sliced brown bread on the table next to the teapot. “It’s too hot to do much cookin’ and I’ve been busy today. I’ve had to send word to all my sources and I’m not sure it’ll do much good.”
“Of course it will,” Mrs. Jeffries soothed. The cook was obviously still annoyed that their latest victim was only a mere publican. Mrs. Jeffries didn’t much blame her. Not that she felt a publican was any less important than a member of the aristocracy, it was just that it was so much easier to find out gossip about the upper classes. They were so much more visible and they had far larger households than the lower classes. For once, she felt very sympathetic to Mrs. Goodge’s plight. It was a bit like her own. Mrs. Jeffries hadn’t exactly found out much today either. She certainly hoped the rest of them would have something worthwhile to report.
“Has anyone heard from Luty or Hatchet?” Betsy asked. She pulled her chair out and sat down, grateful to be off her feet. Her head was sore from the beer she’d had at the pub and her stomach was upset. But she was delighted with what she’d found out. If she was very clever, she could find out ever so much information when she met with Hamilton tomorrow. His sister had worked for the Dapeerses, she was bound to know something.
“Smythe sent them a telegram early this morning,” Mrs. Jeffries
Similar Books
