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

woke me up, and I got up and looked out the window. My

room faces the front of the house, Inspector, and I saw Charlotte coming down the drive. She went around to the side of the house. I expect she came in this door.” She pointed in the

direction he’d just come. “Which means she might have been

outside near the time father was being murdered. I think you

ought to ask her what she was doing out there, don’t you?”

“Are you absolutely certain of this?” he pressed. He hoped

she wasn’t making up tales to inconvenience her sister.

“Of course I am.” Lucinda sounded offended. “I’m not in

the habit of lying.”

“No, ma’am, I’m sure you’re not. Why didn’t you tell me

this earlier?” Witherspoon asked. “You claimed you slept

soundly that night.”

“I did, Inspector,” she snapped. “And I went right back

to bed. Seeing Charlotte slip into the house wasn’t anything

unusual. She did it all the time.” With that, she stuck her

nose in the air and flounced off down the hall. Witherspoon

was so surprised by her departure that he simply stood there

with his mouth agape. After a moment, he shook his head

and went off in search of Constable Barnes. He’d reached the

top of the back stairs, when he heard a distinct hissing

sound. Suddenly, a large orange-colored cat leapt out of the

shadows and landed on top of a walnut table. The cat

pinned back its ears and hissed at the inspector.

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“Oh, dear, you don’t look as if you’re in a very cheerful

state,” he muttered. The cat glared at him.

“Samson, get down from there.” Charlotte Braxton appeared in the hallway.

“He doesn’t seem in a very good mood,” the inspector

said. Perhaps this might be a good time to ask this Miss

Braxton a few questions, he then thought.

“He’s never in a good mood,” Charlotte replied. She continued past the inspector to the staircase. “I expect he’s hungry. I doubt anyone’s fed the beast since Father died.”

“Gracious, that’s awful.” The inspector hurried after her.

“The poor thing is probably half-starved. No wonder he’s in

a terrible temper. Er, Miss Braxton, I’d like to ask you a few

questions.”

“It’ll have to wait, Inspector, I’ve an appointment, and I

can’t be late.” She’d reached the bottom of the staircase,

turned to her right, and disappeared.

“I must insist, Miss Braxton. I’ve just heard something

that is very important, and I must speak with you. Also, we

need to find out about when your solicitors were called to

the house, and what the bankers wanted with your father.”

Witherspoon charged down the stairs after her, but by the

time he got to the bottom, she’d gone.

Wiggins walked slowly across the railway station. His day

seemed to be going from bad to worse. He’d gone along to

Luty’s this morning, hoping to see her and keep his promise

to tell her about the murder. But once there, he’d had to

hide behind a letter box as Mrs. Jeffries had shown up right

on his heels. He didn’t dare try and see Luty then. He’d just

have to go there again this evening and try to sneak in and

have a word with her.

He glanced over and saw the clerk watching him. Blast a

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Spaniard, this was getting dangerous. He’d been here for an

hour now pretending to be meeting someone off the train.

Lurking about was easy if it was one of the big London terminals like Liverpool Street or Victoria, but in a small station like this, he was making a spectacle of himself. He heard a train pull in, so he went to the archway and looked

out, scanning the few passengers that got off.

A tall well-dressed woman with a cane got out of one of

the first-class carriages, but she obviously wasn’t a servant,

so talking to her would be useless. Then he flicked his gaze

to a middle-aged man wearing a black overcoat walking toward the end of the platform, but Wiggins didn’t think he looked like a likely prospect, either. Finally, a young woman

wearing a gray jacket, a brown wool bonnet, and with a bandage wrapped around her hand got out of the third-class carriage at the end of the train and hurried toward the exit.

Wiggins made up his mind: the pickings were slim, but if

he was going to speak to someone, it would have to be her.

Knowing that the ticket clerk was still watching him,

he made a point of sighing and shaking his head as he left

the station, trying to convey the impression that whoever

he’d been waiting for hadn’t shown up. He hoped his charade worked; with a murder in the neighborhood, he didn’t want the clerk running off to the police and giving out his

description.

Wiggins stepped out of the station and saw the girl from

the train standing in front of the café, staring in the window. He went toward her, taking off his hat respectfully as he spoke. “Excuse me, miss, but may I speak to you?” He

had a good story at the ready.

She turned and looked at him, her expression surprised.

She was a short, chubby girl with thick black eyebrows,

blue eyes, a rosebud mouth, and slightly protruding front

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teeth. Her features were such that she ought to have been

homely, but oddly enough, she was quite attractive. “Why

do you want to speak to me?” She smiled brightly.

“Please don’t be offended, miss, but I was wonderin’ if

there was any positions at the place you work?”

Her smile faded. “Do I look like I’m in service?”

“Not really, miss,” he said quickly, “but I noticed the

color of your skirt peekin’ out beneath your jacket, and it’s

the same color as the one my sister wore when she was in

service.” He made a quick bow and stuck his cap back onto

his head. “No offense was meant, miss, it’s just my sister

and I ‘ave been out of work for a long time, and I’m desperate enough to try anything to get a position. You’ve got a lovely, kindhearted face, and I didn’t think you’d mind me

askin’.” He turned and started to walk away.

“Wait,” she cried. “Don’t go. I might be able to help.”

Wiggins felt like a