Mrs. Jeffries & the Silent Knight by Emily Brightwell (black female authors .TXT) 📕

but I suppose we’ve no other course of action.”

Mrs. Jeffries and the Silent Knight

41

“I don’t feel right about it, either, but Mrs. Goodge is

right,” Wiggins said. “Hatchet’s nerves is already strained a

bit and he’d be out of that ‘ouse like a shot if ‘e knew we ‘ad

us a murder. Besides, it don’t feel so much like I’m breakin’

my promise to Luty as long as Hatchet doesn’t know about

the case, either.”

“Luty been runnin’ ‘im ragged,” Smythe chuckled.

“That’s not surprisin’.”

“At first Hatchet was so worried about ‘er, ‘e wouldn’t

leave ‘er side,” Wiggins explained. “But now that Luty’s out

of danger and just needs bed rest, she’s bored and miserable. She’s not bein’ mean or nasty, she just wants a bit of attention.”

“Then it’s settled,” Mrs. Jeffries said firmly. “We’ll wait

until tomorrow to contact Hatchet about the murder. But

contact him we must, we don’t wish to offend him.”

“And we’re likely goin’ to need both he and Luty’s information about the deceased on this case,” the cook said stoutly. She looked at the housekeeper. “You did say the victim was a baronet, right?”

“That’s right,” she glanced at Smythe. He pulled one of

the chairs out from the table and pushed it toward the oven,

then he set his wet boots on it. “Can you tell us the basics, at

least.”

“I’ve got enough for us to get started.” He sat down next

to Betsy. “The house is on Derby Hill Road, which is just

off the Upper Richmond Road. It’s at the end of the street

and sits on about an acre and a half to two acres of land. The

other houses along the road are big ones, but they’ve not got

as much property. It’s goin’ to be bloomin’ ‘ard to do much

investigatin’ along that street, it’s not like London, a

stranger will be noticed right away.”

“Cor blimey,” Wiggins exclaimed. “What am I goin’ to

42

Emily Brightwell

do? You know it’s usually the servants that gives me my bits

and pieces.”

“Not to worry, lad,” the coachman said kindly. “I said it

was goin’ to be difficult, not impossible. We’ll find ways to

find out what we need to know. Sheen Common is about a

quarter of a mile away, and I expect that’s were a lot of the

servants go on their day out. Actually, for a place the size of

the Braxton house, I didn’t see all that many servants.”

“I thought you said the constables were searching the

grounds,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “Perhaps the servants were all

inside.”

“They were, but generally you’d see ‘em comin’ to the

windows to sneak a peek. But I only saw a maid peekin’ out

of one of the attic windows.”

“Perhaps they’re short on staff,” the cook suggested. “A

lot of these old noble families are stingy and work their servants to death.”

“What makes you say it’s an ‘old’ noble family?” Mrs.

Jeffries asked curiously. The cook’s network of connections

was intricate and vast.

Mrs. Goodge shrugged. “I’m not sure; it just popped

into my head. Why?”

“Because sometimes we know things without being

aware we know them.” She shook her head impatiently. “I’m

not explaining this very well, but given your extensive

knowledge of important families in this country, you may

have made the remark because you’ve heard something

about the family without even realizing it.”

“The name of the dead man did sound familiar,” she admitted, “but I honestly can’t remember anything I might have heard about him or his family.”

“The house looked old as the ‘ills,” Smythe remarked.

“It was a big brick monster of a place that looked like bits

Mrs. Jeffries and the Silent Knight

43

had been added onto it without much thought. There was a

terrace running along part of the back of the ‘ouse and

right next to it, a huge greenhouse or conservatory. It was

filled with plants. There was a statue in a pond behind the

terrace, and that’s where the victim was. I did manage to

get a glimpse before the lads hauled the body off to the police van.”

“Were there any other outbuildings?” Mrs. Jeffries asked.

“There was a heap of bricks on the far side of the front of

the house that looked like they ‘ad once been a carriage

‘ouse. But the roof sagged, the windows were broken, and

one of the big doors was gone. There weren’t no carriages inside, nor any others that I could see about the property.”

“You’d think a baronet would have a decent carriage,”

Betsy muttered. “Was the rest of the house shabby?”

“It was a bit ‘ard to tell.” Smythe shook his head. “There

was still a lot of snow about. It was meltin’ fast, but it was

still on the roofs and windowsills. But my impression was

the main ‘ouse was in good enough condition. The grounds

looked really nice, like they’d been well taken care of before

winter set in, and the glass in the greenhouse was so clean,

you could almost count the flowers.”

“You did a fine job of getting the ‘lay of the land’, so to

speak.” Mrs. Jeffries drummed her fingers on the tabletop,

“That ought to give us enough information to get started.”

“Too bad it’s in Richmond.” Betsy made a face. “That’s

not very convenient.”

“It’s not as bad as you think, lass,” Smythe said kindly.

“There’s good train service between Shepherds Bush Station

and Richmond.”

“Shepherds Bush,” she frowned. “Uxbridge is closer, but

I suppose it’ll have to do.”

“You’ll take the local shops, of course.” Mrs. Jeffries nod44

Emily Brightwell

ded. Betsy had a real genius for getting information out of

local shopkeepers.

“There’s some along the main road right by the railway

station,” Smythe said. “I’ll show you. We’ll go along this afternoon. I spotted a pub off the Sheen Common that I want to ‘ave a go at.”

“What can I do?” Wiggins asked glumly. “The servants

aren’t likely to be on the common today, with a death in the

‘ouse, they’ll not be getting any time out today.”

“No, but it’s someone’s day out. Staff from other houses

might be out taking the air on the common or going to and

from the train station. Have a go at it, Wiggins. Servants

talk to one another, and you never know what you might

find out until you look,” Mrs. Jeffries said encouragingly.

He didn’t look convinced. “Well, I don’t know, Mrs. Jeffries. It’s a bit of a gamble.” He