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

left,” she said. “After that, I went up to my room to take care of some correspondence. I didn’t come down until dinner.” She rose from the couch and started for the door. “If you’d like to confirm

the time, you might have a word with Clarence, he was hovering about in the hall when the builders left. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a number of things to take care of before the

funeral.”

“Miss Braxton,” Witherspoon called. “Have you any idea

why your father’s brokers were coming to see him?”

She stopped and turned to look at them. “Inspector, I believe you’ve already asked me this question. I’ve no idea why Father wished to see them. You’ll have to ask them.”

“May we have their names?” Barnes asked quietly.

“Hopkins and Flannerty,” she replied. “They’re in

Fenchurch Street.”

“I understand you sent them a message telling them not

to come,” Witherspoon said.

“I’ve already told you I did. As soon as I knew that Father

was dead, I canceled the appointment and sent for his solicitors instead.”

“His solicitors.” The inspector nodded encouragingly,

hoping she’d continue.

“For the funeral arrangements, Inspector,” she sighed. “I

told you all this yesterday afternoon.”

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143

“All you mentioned yesterday was that the solicitors were

coming about the funeral arrangements,” Barnes said softly.

“But you never told us why they couldn’t have just sent a

clerk over with that information. That’s what most firms

would have done.” He wasn’t in the least sure this was true.

“They didn’t send a clerk, Constable, because my father

was a baronet,” she replied, her tone caustic. “He was rich

and important. Father had very specific requirements about

his funeral arrangements. He had them with his solicitors,

so I sent for them so we could make the arrangements according to his wishes.”

“Thank you, Miss Braxton,” Witherspoon said. He made

a mental note to find out if there were any Judges’ Rules

that precluded the Braxton solicitors from confirming her

story.

She turned and walked out of the drawing room. Witherspoon sighed heavily. “Honestly, Constable, getting information out of these people is very difficult.”

“I think you’re doing quite well, sir,” Barnes replied as

he flipped through his notebook. “We might have a hard

time getting anything useful out of the solicitors, they never

like to talk unless they have to, but Braxton’s brokers and

bankers aren’t bound by Judges’ Rules or client privilege.”

“Let’s go and see them as soon as possible,” Witherspoon said.

“Yes, sir.” Barnes continued, “The servants confirm most

of what has Miss Braxton has told us, but none of them

mention Mr. Clark being in the vicinity of the study or even

in the house that afternoon.”

“Yes, well, he does live here, so I don’t think it makes a

great deal of difference.” He shook his head. “It’s getting

quite late, Constable, let’s interview the other sisters again

and then see if we’ve time to get to the Yard.”

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Emily Brightwell

“Is the chief inspector pressing you, sir?” Barnes asked.

“We’re doin’ the best we can.”

“I’m sure he’s well aware of our efforts, but he’s probably

being pressed himself about the matter.” Witherspoon

cocked his head to one side. “I don’t know why, either. It’s

not as if this family is particularly well thought of in aristocratic circles. From what we’ve learned, the entire family is universally disliked. They don’t pay their bills, they’re not

sociable, they’re nasty to all and sundry, and they’ve never

been involved in any sort of government or community service. Honestly, I don’t understand why Whitehall is putting pressure on the chief.”

Barnes stared at Witherspoon sympathetically. The poor

man just didn’t understand how society really worked. “Sir

George was a distant cousin to the queen,” he reminded the

inspector. “And having his murderer walk around free is an

embarrassment to the crown and therefore, to the government. It doesn’t matter what sort of character the man had, all that matters is how it looks, sir.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right, not that I was saying it

wasn’t important that we catch the killer, it most assuredly

is important. But I am at a loss to see why we have to get it

done so quickly. I don’t want to rush this investigation and

arrest the wrong person, Constable.”

“You won’t, sir.” He knew the inspector had a horror of

sending an innocent person to the gallows. “Now, sir, I’ll go

and see if I can find Miss Charlotte Braxton.”

“There’s no need of that. I’m right here.” Charlotte Braxton flung open the door and stalked into the room. The heavy door barely missed the constable.

Barnes leapt back, stumbling slightly as he tried to get

out of the way.

“Are you all right, Constable?” Witherspoon asked, his

Mrs. Jeffries and the Silent Knight

145

expression concerned. “That door could have done you great

harm.”

“I’m fine, sir.” He straightened and pulled out his notebook.

“Really, Miss Braxton,” Witherspoon chided. “You really

should be more careful.”

“Why? It’s my house, Inspector, and I wasn’t to know the

constable would be lurking about the door, was I?” She sat

down on the settee.

The inspector contented himself with a disapproving

look and then said, “Can you please tell us what you were

doing the day your father was killed?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” she asked.

“Miss Braxton, please, it’s a simple enough question,”

Barnes snapped. He’d just about had enough of the Braxton

sisters.

“Unless, of course, there’s a reason you don’t want us to

know what you were doing that day,” Witherspoon pressed.

He was still annoyed at the woman’s horrid behavior toward

the constable.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Charlotte’s eyes narrowed. “Of

course there’s no reason you shouldn’t know what I was doing. I was sorting through the attic. Father wanted me to have a look at all the things stored up there and sort out

what was to be worth selling.”

“What time did you go up to the attic?” Witherspoon

asked. He was fairly sure this line of inquiry was useless,

but as he’d started along this road, he couldn’t very well

turn back.

She leaned back against the back of the settee. “I went up

straight after lunch and spent most of the afternoon sorting

through it all. After that I went for a walk to clear my

head.”

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Emily Brightwell

“What time did you go outside?” Barnes asked. He

didn’t look up from his notebook.

“I’m not certain.”

“How long were you gone?” he shot back.

“Quite a while, my head