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

asked.

“Not really, she just said that it was a strange household,

and that no one in the neighborhood was as surprised by the

murder as they were pretending to be. I wanted to ask her

what she meant by that, but wouldn’t you know, half a

dozen customers came in all of a sudden, and I couldn’t keep

hanging about. I tried the greengrocer’s next, but there was

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a sour-faced old puritan working there, and she wasn’t interested in gossip, thank you.”

Everyone laughed. Mrs. Jeffries said, “We’ve all done

quite well today. We’ll meet again at breakfast, and I’ll tell

you what I get out of the inspector tonight. Now, we must

decide what to do about Luty and Hatchet.”

“It wouldn’t be right not to tell them,” Mrs. Goodge said.

“But Luty’s still so ill, and you know what she’s like,

she’ll not want to stay abed if we’re on a case,” Betsy

warned. “We don’t want to risk her health.”

“True, but as Mrs. Goodge says, it’s not right to keep ‘em

out of it,” Smythe argued. “Besides, I’m thinkin’ we’re goin’

to need Hatchet on this case as soon as possible.”

“Maybe we ought to wait another day or two before we

tell ‘im,” Wiggins suggested. “We don’t want Luty gettin’

upset.”

“We can’t wait. The victim’s an aristocrat,” the coachman

explained. “We need someone on the case who has access to

the rich and powerful. Lady Cannonberry’s out of town until next week, so we can’t ask her to ‘elp.”

Lady Ruth Cannonberry was their neighbor and their

friend. The inspector was trying to court the woman, but

she kept getting called out of town to take care of one or the

other of her late husband’s sick relatives.

“She’d be useful in this case,” the cook agreed. “Let’s

hope she comes home early.”

“She’ll definitely be back by Christmas,” Mrs. Jeffries

said. “She’s coming for Christmas dinner with the inspector.

Speaking of which, have you ordered the turkey yet?” Mrs.

Jeffries had been meaning to ask the cook that very question

for two days now, but she’d kept forgetting.

“The butcher’s got a nice plump one all picked out for

us,” Mrs. Goodge replied, “and he’s sending along a nice

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Emily Brightwell

cut of beef for Boxing Day as well. I’ve ordered an extra-

large bird as Luty and Hatchet are having Christmas dinner

with us, providin’, of course, that Luty’s well enough by

Christmas.”

“Are we goin’ to have them crackers as well,” Wiggins

asked eagerly. “The ones that pop when you pull out the paper? You know, we ‘ad them last year, and they were ever so nice.”

“Christmas crackers,” Mrs. Jeffries laughed. “Of course

we are . . . Oh dear, I’m afraid we’re getting off the subject.

Sorry, Smythe, do go on with what you were saying.”

“Hatchet’s got some inroads into society,” Smythe continued. “And Mrs. Goodge can call on ‘er old friends for information, but I’ve a feelin’ this murder is goin’ to be a bit

‘arder than the others, and I don’t think we can risk leavin’

Hatchet out of it. Truth be told, we could use Luty’s connections as well.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Betsy replied. “But it’s important that Luty gets well first.”

“I agree,” Mrs. Jeffries said softly. “I also think that it’s

important that we all understand that having a murder case

this close to Christmas might be quite distracting.”

“Just a tad.” Smythe grinned. “But I don’t mind a bit of

interruption now and then.”

“Thank you, Smythe,” Mrs. Jeffries laughed. “Let’s all remember that the season is the season, and murder or not, it is important to celebrate the birth of the Lord.”

“Of course it is,” Mrs. Goodge agreed. “Now that that’s

settled, let’s decide what to do about Luty and Hatchet.”

She glanced at the clock on the pine sideboard. “It’s gettin’

late, and I’ve got a few things to do before the inspector gets

home and wants his supper.”

They discussed the matter for a few more minutes and

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65

decided that Mrs. Jeffries would nip over the next morning

and have a quiet word with Hatchet.

Wiggins said nothing as he was too busy wrestling with

his conscience to pay much attention to the conversation.

But by the time the meeting ended, he knew what he had to

do. After all, a promise was a promise.

It was almost half past seven before the inspector’s footsteps sounded on the front steps. Mrs. Jeffries met him at the front door. “You look absolutely exhausted, sir,” she commented as she took his bowler and hung it on the coat tree.

“It’s been a rather difficult day,” he replied. He shrugged

out of his heavy overcoat. “I do believe I could use a sherry.

That won’t inconvenience Mrs. Goodge, will it?” The inspector didn’t want his servants waiting up half the night to dance attendance on him. They worked hard and needed

their rest. On the other hand, he’d so looked forward to having a nice glass of Harvey’s and discussing this case with his housekeeper. She was such a good listener. Of course, their

neighbor, Ruth Cannonberry, was an excellent listener as

well, but for some odd reason, Mrs. Jeffries was just a bit

better at asking the sort of questions that got him thinking.

Besides, Ruth wasn’t due back yet. He sighed. He did miss

Ruth very much when she was gone.

“No sir, Mrs. Goodge has made a nice, hot pot for supper

and an apple tart for dessert. I’ll bring it up anytime you’re

ready.” She took his coat and hung it up next to the bowler.

“Let’s go into the drawing room, sir. I’ve already poured you

a sherry.”

C H A P T E R 4

�� ��

“This has been a very long day,” Witherspoon said as he

sank into his favorite chair. “What’s more, this case is already showing signs that it’s going to be very strange.”

“In what way, sir?” Mrs. Jeffries picked up the glasses of

sherry she’d poured earlier and handed one to him.

“Thank you,” he said as he reached for his drink. “You

know how, generally, when one deals with a certain class of

people, one has trouble getting much information out of

them.”

“You mean the upper classes don’t feel they’re under any

obligation to speak to a police officer,” she replied. It was

true, the