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

gently in the direction of her room. “Really, madam, I don’t

think dashing up and down the back stairs is an appropriate

way to get some exercise.”

One of the maids came rushing down the hall. “There

you are, ma’am, we’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Nells bells, Julie, I only went for a bit of a walk, I’m

fine. Stop fussin’, now, both of you.” She shook Hatchet’s

arm off her shoulder, straightened her spine, and marched

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toward her room. She was madder than a wet hen but determined not to show it. The last thing she wanted was Hatchet watching her when they had them a murder.

“Are you sure you’re all right, ma’am?” Julie asked, her

round face creased in worry. “You gave me such a fright, I

just popped out for a moment to get you that book, and

when I came back, you were gone!”

Luty hurried into her room and headed for her bed. “I’m

fine, Julie, just fine.” She smiled at them. “You and

Hatchet go on about your business. I’m going to take a little rest now.”

Hatchet stared at his employer suspiciously. He watched

her carefully as the maid helped her into the four-poster bed

and pulled the covers up to her chin. Surely she couldn’t

have overheard his conversation with Mrs. Jeffries. Surely

she couldn’t possibly know there was a murder afoot. But

Luty was a wily old fox, and he wasn’t going to underestimate her abilities. “Why did you go down the back stairs?”

Luty was ready for that one. “I was going to the kitchen

to get me a cup of tea.”

“I’d have brought you some tea, ma’am,” Julie said defensively. She was quite devoted to Luty.

“Nells bells, will you two quit your fussin’,” Luty sighed

loudly. “I wanted a bit of movin’ about, that’s all. My joints

are achin’ from layin’ here, and so I took a quick stroll down

toward the kitchen.” She didn’t mention that the footman,

Jon, had told her that Mrs. Jeffries was downstairs. When

Hatchet hadn’t brought her friend upstairs for a visit, she’d

known something was going on and had decided to do a bit

of snooping on her own. “Now get out of here so I can get

me some sleep.”

Julie sighed melodramatically and flounced toward the

door. Hatchet gave Luty one last suspicious glance and then

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followed the maid. As soon as the door to Luty’s bedroom

was firmly shut, he turned to Julie and said, “I don’t trust

her. Keep a close eye on her and make sure she doesn’t get

out of that bed.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll do my best. But you know what she’s like,

once she’s made up her mind, there’s no stopping her.”

“I understand you wished to speak to me,” Raleigh Brent

said as he stepped into the room.

Witherspoon stared at the fellow and tried to think why

Lucinda Braxton and Fiona Burleigh were both so keen on

the man. Brent was short and skinny with thin lips, a weak

chin, and a disapproving, rather sour expression. “Yes, actually, I would have liked to have spoken to you yesterday, but you left before we could take your statement.”

Brent was taken aback. “I beg your pardon? I didn’t realize I needed permission from the police to come and go.”

“A murder was committed, Mr. Brent,” the inspector explained, “and it’s important that we interview everyone as soon as possible. Please, sit down.” He was generally very

polite to people, but he had the sense that this man had deliberately avoided speaking to them, and he wanted to know why.

“I’ve no idea what you think I can tell you,” Brent said as

he sat down. “I know absolutely nothing about Sir George’s

murder.”

“You were in the house on the night it happened,

weren’t you?”

“Yes, but I was sound asleep.”

Witherspoon wondered if there was an epidemic of sound

sleeping that night. “Did you hear anything, anything at all

during the night?”

Brent shook his head. “No, nothing.”

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“Did you hear or see anything odd or unusual before

you retired for the night?” Witherspoon pressed. He was

struck by the fact that both guests claimed they’d heard

nothing, when he knew very well that Charlotte Braxton

had had hysterics and the entire household had been

tramping about the back garden in the wee hours of the

night.

“Not really,” Brent said. “We had dinner, it wasn’t particularly festive, but it was decent enough. The conversation was rather muted. Sir George was complaining his cat was

still missing, Clarence was talking about his orchids, and

Lucinda was trying to get her father to put more logs on the

fire. It had gone dreadfully cold.”

“What happened then?” Witherspoon asked. He hoped

that Barnes was having better luck than he was.

“Nothing.” Brent seemed surprised by the question. “We

finished dinner and went into the drawing room. Mrs. Merryhill served coffee, and then Sir George retired. Fiona and I played a game of whist.”

“Were the other members of the household present?”

Witherspoon asked.

“Oh, yes, everyone was present. Charlotte was reading a

travel book, Nina was reading the financial news, and Lucinda was helping me play my hand.”

“What about Clarence Clark?” the inspector probed.

“Was he present?”

“Only for a little while.” Brent frowned. “He disappeared

right after dinner. I think he and Sir George might have had

words.”

“Why?”

“Well.” Brent looked around the room, as though he expected someone to be hiding behind a chair. “I overheard Mrs. Jeffries and the Silent Knight

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Clarence and Sir George having what sounded like an argument just before dinner.”

“Did you hear what they were arguing about?” Witherspoon pressed. He began to think he might be getting somewhere. Sir George had argued with both his daughter

and his cousin on the evening he died.

Brent shook his head. “Not really, they were trying to

keep their voices down. But later, Lucinda told me that

Clarence was upset because Sir George was selling the conservatory.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” the inspector said. “Isn’t

it attached to the house?”

“Apparently, it can be taken off,” Brent replied. “And

Clarence spends all this time there, he grows the most wonderful orchids. They really are spectacular. He’s won lots of prizes and is considered an expert in the field. But then

again, it could be that Sir George was haranguing the poor

fellow