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

dusty attic.”

“Were you back in time for tea?” Witherspoon asked.

“No, but I do recall the wind was howling horribly by

the time I got back, and it had started to snow.” She got up

from the settee, smoothing the skirt of her dark gray dress

as she rose. “Now, if there’s nothing else, I’m very busy.”

“But there is something else,” the inspector said quickly.

He was afraid she’d run off again. “We’ve had a report that

you were seen coming in the side door of the house approximately an hour before the alarm was raised on the night your father died. Is this true?”

Seemingly unsurprised by the question, she shrugged

her shoulders. “Yes, it’s true. I’d been out that night.”

“Where were you?” Barnes asked.

“I had a social engagement.”

“An engagement,” the inspector repeated. “We will need

to speak with your friends to confirm your movements, Miss

Braxton. You do realize that you were outside very near the

time your father was being murdered.”

“Of course I realize that, Inspector, that’s one of the reasons I didn’t mention this earlier.” She smiled nastily. “And the people I was with weren’t my friends. They’re acquaintances that I occasionally meet with for a friendly card game.”

“You were playing cards?” Witherspoon looked surprised.

“Was it just a friendly game?” Barnes studied her carefully.

“No, it wasn’t friendly at all,” she sighed heavily. “As a

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matter of fact, I owe some of them a great deal of money.

But now that father’s dead, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Which of my sisters gave you this little

tidbit, Inspector? I’ll bet it was Nina, she always did love to

tell tales.”

“Miss Braxton, when you came in that night, did you see

or hear anything unusual?” Witherspoon asked. “I know

this isn’t the first time I’ve ask you this question, but that

was before I knew you were outside the house and near the

murder scene close to the time it actually happened.”

She shook her head. “I saw and heard nothing. That’s

God’s truth. When I came home that night, I was so worried about how I was going to pay my gambling debts that I didn’t notice anything. Honestly, I’m telling the truth.

The driver let me off at the end of the drive at half past two.

I came around and went in the side door because I had the

key. But I heard nothing and saw nothing.”

“Where did you play cards?” Barnes asked.

“At a house in Teddington. Number fifteen Barnaby

Way. They’ll vouch for my story.” She smiled bitterly.

“They’re not going to thank me for sending the police along

to see them, but they don’t want any trouble. Now, if there’s

nothing else, I must go.”

“Thank you, Miss Braxton,” Witherspoon replied

wearily. “That’ll be all for the moment.”

As soon as she’d left, the door on the far side of the room

flew open, and Lucinda Braxton flounced into the room.

“Honestly, Inspector, you don’t really believe that nonsense

she was spouting, do you?”

“I beg your pardon,” Witherspoon replied. His head was

beginning to ache.

“Oh, she spent the afternoon in the attic all right, because Father made her do it. But you should have asked her 148

Emily Brightwell

what else she was doing up there.” Lucinda smiled maliciously. “Go ahead, call her back and ask her if she found something valuable up there, something for her to sell. Ask

her where she went on her walk and where she got the

money to play her precious cards. Go ahead, fetch her back

and ask her.”

“Miss Braxton, I’m not sure I understand,” Witherspoon

said softly. “Perhaps you could sit down and explain—”

“Oh, don’t be so dense, man,” Lucinda snapped. “She

steals. She found something up in the attic that she could sell,

and that’s where she went that afternoon. Father had finally

figured it out. He was going to do something about it as well.

I know because he told me he was going to put a stop to it.”

“A stop to what?” Witherspoon asked.

“To Charlotte’s thieving!” Lucinda cried. “She sells

things to pay her gambling debts.”

“We know about her gambling,” Barnes said softly.

“But you didn’t know about her thieving, did you?” she

cried. “Charlotte was furious when Father told her to clean

out the attic, until she found something she could sell, then

she was out of here like a shot. Honestly, Inspector, that’s

probably why she killed Father. She knew he was going to

toss her out of the house for her constant thieving.”

Smythe was tired, but not too tired to give up and go home.

So far, he’d had no luck at all today. Blimpey hadn’t sent

him word that he had anything for him, he’d talked to every

cabbie he could find, and he’d visited half a dozen pubs in

the neighborhood, but he’d found out nothing he didn’t already know.

He stood in front of a stable and knew he was grasping at

straws. It wasn’t likely he’d find out anything here, but he

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149

felt he had to try. The stable was located half a mile off

Derby Hill Road in Richmond, the closest one to the Braxton household, and Smythe had reasoned that if the family ever hired coaches, they’d probably do it from one in the

neighborhood.

He opened a tall wooden gate and stepped into a cobblestone courtyard. A burly bearded fellow was leading a black horse out the double doors of the stable proper. “Good day,

sir. Can I be of service to ya?”

“That depends, sir. Are you the owner of this establishment?” The answer he got would determine how he handled himself.

“No, sir, that’d be Mr. Carpenter. He’s not ‘ere at the moment. He’s showin’ ‘orses to a customer.”

“You buy and sell horses here?”

“A few, sir.” The man and the horse had reached him and

had stopped a few feet away.

“This one’s a beauty, is he for sale?” Smythe moved closer

and stroked the horses nose.

“No, sir, she belongs to Mr. Craig, and he’s right fond

of her.”

“Pity.”

“I’m John Blackston,” the man said. “Er, uh, what can I

do for you?”

Smythe fingered the roll of bills he’d stuffed in his

pocket. He hesitated before taking the money out and flashing it about. Not everyone was the sort of bloke that sold