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

worm. His speech had been calculated to play on her conscience, and apparently it had worked. “You can?”

“There’s nothing goin’ where I’m at now, but there

might be a position soon.” She frowned slightly. “But you

must have references. Do you?”

“We’ve both got references,” he said quickly. “Please,

miss, let me buy you a cup of tea, and you can tell me all

about the place.”

She hesitated, and he quickly added. “Please, miss, this is

very important. We need jobs.”

“It’s not that,” she replied with a smile. “It’s just that it

don’t seem right for you to spend what little money you

have on buyin’ me a cup of tea. I’ve got some coins, I’ll only

go in if you let me pay for it.”

Now he really felt like a worm. But he could think of no

good reason to argue with her. If he insisted on doing the

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gentlemanly thing and not letting her pay, she might suspect he was lying. “All right, miss, but if we get a position, you must promise to let me pay you back out of my first

quarter’s wages.”

She laughed and took his arm. “You can make sure I will.

My name is Alicia, what’s yours?”

“Jon,” he lied. “My name is Jon Upton, and my sister’s

name is Betsy.” He pulled open the door and the two of

them stepped inside the small café.

“What did you do to your hand?” he asked, jerking his

chin toward the bandage.

“I got scratched by a cat. It’s a dreadful old beast of a

thing, too. But when the master died, no one thought to

feed the animal. Well, even if it’s a nasty creature, you still

don’t want to see it starve to death, do you?”

“It scratched you when you were feeding it?” he asked.

Cor blimey, he thought, she really is a nice girl.

“No, it scratched me afterward, I got too close to its food

dish,” she laughed. “As I said, the household where I work

is a bit strange.”

They went to the counter, and Alicia ordered two cups of

tea. Wiggins felt miserable when she drew a tattered blue

coin purse out of her pocket and handed the counter boy a

sixpence. He vowed he’d find a way to get the money back

to her. It was only a few pence, but to someone in her position, that was a lot. She was so poor she wasn’t even wearing gloves, yet she was willing to pay for his tea. He decided

he’d not only pay her back, but he’d secretly send her a new

coin purse. He had plenty of money himself. He didn’t understand it, but every time he went to the old Cadbury’s tin where he kept his supply of coins, there seemed to be more

than he remembered. He’d mentioned it to Mrs. Jeffries,

but she simply shrugged and said he must have forgotten

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how much he’d put in the tin in the first place. But he

didn’t, he was sure of it. It was almost as if someone was filling the ruddy thing for him. Not that he was complaining, but it was a mystery.

The counter boy handed them their cups, and they made

their way to a table by the window. Wiggins had a good

view of the train station.

“Thanks, very much,” he said as they sat down. “What

did you mean when you said there might be some positions

soon?”

She took a quick sip and then grinned at him. “You don’t

scare easy, do you?”

“I don’t think so.” He contrived to look puzzled, though

he was fairly sure he knew what she was going to say.

“Why? Is there a ghost walkin’ the back stairs?”

She looked amused. “Not yet.”

That did surprise him. “What?”

“I mean, I don’t know if he’ll be comin’ back to haunt the

place or not. In any case, if he did, it wouldn’t be the back

stairs he’d be haunting, it’d be the little pond out in the

back garden. That’s where he was murdered.”

“Murdered!” Wiggins yelped. “You mean you’ve had a

murder where you work?”

She nodded eagerly. “Oh, yes, someone coshed the master

on the head and then stuck him in the fountain. That’s why

we’re goin’ to have some positions available. The upstairs

maid has already given notice, and I’m fairly sure the gardener is goin’ to leave. Mind you, they’ll probably not hire anyone for his position. The master was goin’ to sell the conservatory, so Mr. Clark will probably take on doin’ the grounds.”

Wiggins wasn’t sure which bit to inquire about first.

“Goodness, sounds like there’s dozens of things happening

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all at once.” He took a drink of his tea to give himself a moment to think. He wanted to get her to slow down. She was giving him a lot of information, and he’d no idea if it was or

wasn’t important. They’d all learned that lesson in their

other investigations.

“How come the upstairs maid is leavin’?” Wiggins asked.

He decided to ask the questions in the same order as she’d

spoke. “Is she afraid?”

“Not really, it’s just that now that the master’s gone we

don’t know which of the daughters will be running the

house, and Maisie is afraid it’ll be Miss Nina. She’s even

stingier than the old master was. Besides, Maisie’s fellow is

comin’ home from Canada, and they’ll probably be getting

married soon. She’s goin’ back home to Earl Shilton to

spend time with her family before he takes her off to

Canada.”

“That’s good, I mean, it’d be strange to work someplace

where people was scared of bein’ murdered in their beds,” he

replied.

“No one’s really scared,” she added. “We’re pretty sure

whoever did it was out the get the master, not one of us.”

“Then ‘ow come the gardener’s leavin’?” he asked, delighted with the way her comments were leading right into his questions.

She shrugged. “He’s not a proper gardener at all.”

“ ‘E’s not a gardener?”

“Maisie said she overheard Mrs. Merryhill talkin’ to the

master when Grantham, that’s the gardener’s name, first

come there,” she explained. “Mrs. Merryhill told the master

that having someone like Grantham on the property was

askin’ for trouble.”

“ ‘Ow could ‘e be trouble?” Wiggins muttered. “Even if

‘e weren’t a proper gardener, maybe ‘e’s just a workin’ man.

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That’s what I am. There’s plenty