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

as she came closer. It took

Betsy a moment to place her, but as her features became

clear, she realized it was Mrs. Briggs, Tommy’s mum.

She’d seen her dozens of times behind the counter at the

butcher shop.

Betsy hurried across the road, meeting her quarry

squarely on the opposite corner. “Hello, aren’t you Mrs.

Briggs?”

Mrs. Briggs gaped at her. “Well, yes I am. Do I know you?”

“We’ve never been introduced,” Betsy replied, “but I’ve

seen you many times. I work for Inspector Witherspoon.”

“On Upper Edmonton Gardens.” Her face broadened

into a smile. “Of course, of course. The inspector’s a good

customer. Fancy meeting you in this neighborhood. Are

you visiting someone?”

“No, I’ve just come from seeing a friend off at the station

and I thought I was taking a short cut to a Lyons Tea Shop.”

Betsy laughed. “But I think I’m a bit lost. I am surprised to

see you here. I thought your family lived near your shop.”

“We do.” Mrs. Briggs sighed heavily. “But my sister lives

just over there and I’m here helping her out.”

“Oh dear, is she ill?” Betsy asked sympathetically.

“Well . . .” Mrs. Briggs glanced at the closed door of

number 18 and then back at Betsy. “She’s not really ill,

she’s just had a terrible shock is all.”

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“How dreadful for her,” Betsy said quickly. “I do hope

she’s getting over it.” She was careful not to say anything

else. In her experience, you didn’t need to ask a lot of specific questions to get people to talk. Being a willing listener was often enough to get even the quietest person to tell you

their troubles. Judging by the eager look on Mrs. Briggs’

face, she was dying for a sympathetic listener.

“If you ask me, she’s letting it affect her much more

than it needs to, but she’s my sister, and well, I’ve got to

come if she needs me, don’t I.”

“Of course you do. I’m sure you’ve been a great comfort to her,” Betsy agreed. “I don’t suppose you know where that tea shop is, do you?”

“I don’t know of any Lyons around here, but there’s a

nice café just around the corner.” She pointed back the way

she’d just come.

“I’ll try that way then,” Betsy said. “You look like you

could do with a cup yourself. Would you care to join me?”

Mrs. Briggs looked doubtful and Betsy was sure she’d lost

the woman, but then she said, “That sounds heavenly.

There’s no reason to rush back; Helen’s probably still asleep.

Come along, then, the café’s just this way. It’ll be nice to

have a good natter. You can catch me up on all the neighborhood gossip.” She took Betsy’s arm and tugged her across the road. They went around the corner, down another street, and

onto a road lined with shops. As far as Betsy could tell, Mrs.

Briggs didn’t stop talking long enough to even draw a breath.

“The inspector is one of our best customers. He always

pays his bill and never sends anything back.” She pulled

open the door of the café. “But then again, we use only the

best meat.”

“You go and have a seat,” Betsy interjected quickly. “I’ll

get us tea.”

“Thank you, dear. It’ll be nice to be waited on for once.

I’ve run myself ragged these past few weeks,” Mrs. Briggs

muttered, her voice fading as she maneuvered her plump

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Emily Brightwell

frame between the closely spaced tables. She settled at a

spot by the far wall.

Betsy ordered their tea and went to the table. “It was very

kind of you to accompany me, Mrs. Briggs. I was dying for

something to drink, but I don’t really like coming to a café

on my own. I don’t mind a Lyons Tea Shop because there’s

always lots of ladies in those places. Sometimes cafes can

be a bit frightening.”

“I know what you mean, dear.” Mrs. Briggs picked up

her cup and took a sip. “It’s always much better for us

ladies to have company, isn’t it. Actually, I’m beginning to

think that’s why Helen, that’s my sister, is clinging onto me

for so long. If you ask me, she’s simply lonely. Well, she’s

used to being in a house full of people, isn’t she, and now

she’s rattling around all alone in her own place, day after

day. Her husband’s a salesman and most of his customers

are up in the midlands so he’s gone for weeks at a time. My

husband is getting rather put out. Luckily, though, we’ve a

relation that was in need of a position, so he’s filling in at

the shop for me, but my Harry is getting lonely as well, not

to mention what that scamp Tom’s been up to. Tom’s my

lad. Oh, but then you know that, don’t you? He delivers to

the inspector. He quite likes your Mrs. Goodge, says she’s

always giving him treats and tea. I don’t want to be unkind,

but I’ve got to get home.”

“You’ve been a saint to your sister,” Betsy interrupted.

She had to do something drastic. Mrs. Briggs could talk the

paint off a post if given the chance. “Most people would

count themselves lucky to have family as devoted as you.

Is your sister getting any better at all?”

“I think she’s on the mend,” Mrs. Briggs replied. “But

honestly, like I said, it’s more loneliness than anything else.

She used to have a day housekeeper position over in West

Brompton, but her employer . . .” she stopped for a brief

second, “actually, her employer was murdered and that’s

what has got her so upset that she quit her position and took

to her bed.”

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71

“Murdered?” Betsy repeated. Finally, they were getting

somewhere. “That’s dreadful.”

“Oh yes, it’s quite affected poor Helen, but then again, I

expect you know about such things, working for Inspector

Witherspoon. Mind you, they caught the man who did it,

but that’s not helped Helen at all.”

“How sad that she gave up her position,” Betsy said.

“She must have been very fond of her employer.”

“Oh, she was. Mrs. Muran was a saint. It’s awful that

someone like her should be murdered like that, especially

as there are so many nasty people still walking about as

free as a lark. Not that I think people ought to be murdered

just because they’re nasty, but it does cause one to wonder,

doesn’t it.”

“How did it happen?” Betsy asked, realizing that it