Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict by Emily Brightwell (lightest ebook reader txt) 📕

time?” Mrs. Jeffries asked. “It

Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict

55

might take hours for you to find out the name of the sacked

manager and track him down.”

“And you’ll ’ave to find out if he’s got a gun,” Wiggins

added. “That’ll not be easy, either.”

Smythe realized he also had to go see Blimpey, but he

wasn’t going to share that information with the rest of

them. “We’ve got a bit of time,” he replied. “I’ll put goin’

to the murder scene at the bottom of the list and if I can’t

get to it tomorrow, I’ll go the day after.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” Mrs. Jeffries said. She put

her mug down. “If everyone agrees, I’d like to have a quick

word with Constable Barnes tomorrow. He might be able to

get us a copy of the original police report.”

“That would be very useful,” the cook said. “But we’d not

want to put the constable in any sort of awkward position.”

“He’s a clever man,” Betsy said. “He’d be very able to

help us out a little without putting his own position as a police officer in any sort of . . .” she couldn’t think what the proper word might be.

“We won’t let him compromise himself,” Mrs. Jeffries

said quickly. “I’ll be very discreet. As I’ve mentioned before, there are times when I think the good constable is very aware of what we’re doing.” Actually, she knew for a

fact that Constable Barnes knew exactly what they did, but

she couldn’t recall if she’d told the others that fact. Sometimes she wished her memory was a little better than it was, or perhaps it was a sign she was getting older.

“You have a chat with him, Mrs. Jeffries. Right now we

need his help,” Mrs. Goodge said.

“Let’s just ’ope he can get his hands on that report,”

Smythe said earnestly.

Wiggins got to Drayton Gardens just in time to see two well-

dressed women come out the front door. He hesitated for a

moment and then decided to follow them. He might as well

find out what he could; it wasn’t as if he could see anyone

else about the area.

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Emily Brightwell

The women turned in the direction of the Fulham Road.

The older one was dressed in black, the somber color relieved only by a touch of gray lace peeking out from the neck of her jacket. The younger one wore black as well, but

there was gold braid along her cuffs, a white lace collar

was visible over her the top of her wool jacket, and she carried a gold fur muff. When she’d turned, he’d seen a flash of silver earrings dangling from her ears. Wiggins, who’d

only caught a glimpse of the young one’s face, thought her

one of the prettiest women he’d ever seen.

He fell into step behind the women, taking care not to

get close enough to rouse their suspicion. The area was

dead quiet, the only sound being the click of their shoes

against the pavement. Wiggins lightened his footsteps and

moved a bit closer. The older lady had turned her head and

was speaking to the younger one.

“Do you have money for a hansom? I don’t fancy walking all the way home.”

He could hear her clearly, as she had a loud, nasally

voice.

The younger one didn’t reply. Wiggins frowned. Maybe

she spoke so softly he’d not heard her. He eased just a little

closer.

“Don’t be absurd,” the older one said. “Why would I

have any money? Didn’t Keith give you any? Surely we’re

not expected to walk all the way. For God’s sake, we’re doing this for him.”

This time, he heard the younger one speak, but as he’d

feared, her voice was so soft he couldn’t hear what she

said. He thought the older lady might be a bit deaf. His

grandfather was losing his hearing. When he’d visited

the family, he’d noticed his granddad spoke very loudly.

Maybe that’s why this lady’s voice was loud enough to

wake the dead. Truth was he could have heard her even if

he’d been standing on the other side of the street.

“Walking all the way home is out of the question. It’s

too far and I’m an old woman.”

Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict

57

The younger woman murmured something, which, of

course, Wiggins couldn’t hear.

“Then I want to stop and have tea at Lyons,” she replied

tartly. “I want one of those little lemon cakes. They do them

so much better than cook. Speaking of which, when are you

going to take care of Mrs. Black? Her puddings are dreadful, and she’s impertinent as well. She actually asked me to leave the kitchen yesterday afternoon! Can you credit it?”

Instead of answering, the young woman looked over her

shoulder straight at Wiggins. He smiled slightly and looked

away, trying to act as though he just happened to be walking behind them.

She turned her attention forward again and he breathed a

sigh of relief. Wiggins was now very interested in these two

women. The nearest Lyons Tea Shop was on the Fulham

Road. He increased his pace, crossed the street, and turned

the opposite way on the next corner. He was bound and determined to find out what, if anything, they had to say.

Wiggins made it to the tea shop a few moments before

the two women rounded the corner onto the Fulham Road.

He ducked into the newsagent’s across the street from

Lyons, bought a paper, and then hurried back to the tea shop.

He’d taken his cap off and tucked it under the paper, assuming that without the cap, the younger woman would be less likely to recognize him as the one who’d been walking behind them.

The women had taken seats at a table near the front window and were giving their order to the waiter. The room was very crowded. Wiggins went to the counter, ordered a cup

of tea, and then made his way to an empty chair at a table

behind his quarry. Two other people were already sitting

there. One was an middle-aged man reading an Illustrated

London News and the other was an elderly woman drinking

a cup of tea. Wiggins nodded at the empty seat, and when

neither of them objected he eased himself onto the chair.

He whipped open his own paper and held it in front of his

face.

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Emily Brightwell

The tables were very close together, but