Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict by Emily Brightwell (lightest ebook reader txt) 📕

quit your position?” Barnes asked softly.

“Oh, I couldn’t go back to that house, not after she was

gone. I just couldn’t.” Helen’s pale face had gone even

whiter.

“Tell them why,” Mrs. Briggs prompted. “Tell them

why you didn’t want to go back. Don’t leave anything out,

Helen. Tell them everything.”

“Do you really think I ought to?” Helen looked down at

her hands. “It doesn’t seem right, and it makes him look

such a beast and he isn’t really. He’s a good man, and he

was very devoted to her.”

“Of course you must,” Mrs. Briggs said firmly. “For

goodness’ sakes, Helen, tell them what happened the day

that Mrs. Muran was murdered. You’ll not have any peace

until you do, and frankly, I can’t stay here forever. I’ve got

a family to see to and a business to run.”

Helen stared at her sister for a long moment and then

took a deep breath. “I’m not sure where to begin.”

“Why don’t you start from the time you arrived at the

Muran house that morning,” Witherspoon suggested.

“It was terrible right from the start,” Helen said softly.

“As soon as I walked into the house, I knew that it was going to be a dreadful day. They were having a row, you see.

Mr. Muran was shouting at her, and what was more frightening, she was yelling right back at him.”

Witherspoon nodded in encouragement. “You weren’t

used to their quarrels?”

“They never had a cross word with one another,” Helen

replied. “But this time they were shouting loud enough to

wake the dead.”

“What were they arguing about?” Barnes asked.

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“I didn’t hear it from the beginning, so I’ve no idea

what started the row.” She fingered the material of her gray

skirt nervously. “But I did hear him tell her she was a fool

to refuse the offer. She yelled back that it was her company

and she could do what she liked, that she’d thank him not

to interfere. Then it would go quiet for a moment before

there’d be another outburst. He yelled that he was tired of

spending so much time on his own and she screamed that

from what she’d been hearing, he had plenty of company.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Please don’t think ill of either

of them. This wasn’t how they usually behaved. They loved

each other, and it was terrible to hear them tearing into

each other like that.”

“Yes, I’m sure it was very upsetting for you. Please go

on,” Witherspoon said.

“All of a sudden it went quiet again and Mr. Muran came

tearing down the stairs. He marched right past me without

so much as a word. He grabbed his coat and hat and stormed

out of the house.” She paused briefly. “Mrs. Muran stayed

upstairs and I went on into the kitchen. Harriet, that’s the

scullery maid, and Charlotte, she’s a housemaid, were cowering in the corner, and even cook looked worried.”

Helen pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed

at her eyes. “You’ve got to understand, Inspector, none of us

were used to this kind of behavior. Mr. Muran was always

the most considerate of men and Mrs. Muran was kindness

itself. Everyone seemed frozen in shock, but I knew that

wouldn’t do. The Turners were coming for luncheon, so I

told the girls to get the breakfast things cleared up and asked

cook what she planned on serving.” Helen smiled at her sister. “Believe it or not, I can take charge when I’ve a mind to.”

“Of course you can, dear,” Mrs. Briggs replied. “Go on

and tell them the rest.”

“Mrs. Muran stayed in her room for the rest of the morning. She didn’t come down until right before Mrs. Turner and her daughter arrived for luncheon.”

“Didn’t she usually go to the factory?” Barnes asked.

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161

“Yes, but she hadn’t planned on going that day. That’s

why her cousins were invited to lunch,” Helen explained.

“They’d complained they never got a chance to see her.

She waited for them in the drawing room, and when they

arrived Mr. Muran came in with them. I was afraid there

was going to be another argument. Mr. Muran barely spoke

to Mrs. Muran. It was that way all through the meal—Mrs.

Muran would make some remark and he’d ignore her and

speak to Miss Turner.”

“Were you in the dining room?” Witherspoon asked.

“I served,” Helen said. “The day girl hadn’t shown up

and Charlotte was helping cook. It was very awkward. I’ve

never seen Mr. Muran behave like that. I was glad when that

dreadful meal ended and they retired to the drawing room.

I let Charlotte bring up their coffee. I was that desperate to

escape, I was.”

“Did the guests appear to notice that something was

wrong?” Barnes asked.

Helen thought for a moment. “I’m not sure. They kept

the conversation going nicely, of course. But even if they

had noticed the tension in the room, they’d have done their

best to keep up appearances and pretend that nothing was

amiss. That’s just the way everyone behaves.”

“What happened then?” Witherspoon couldn’t see anything too frightening about the narrative. He’d never been married, of course, but even the most devoted of couples

must occasionally have a spectacularly loud row.

“Mr. Muran excused himself and went into his study

and the ladies had coffee in the drawing room.” She looked

at the inspector. “You’re wondering why I was so frightened, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes. From what I understand, all married couples

sometimes have an argument.”

“It wasn’t the argument that upset me, sir; it was the

gun.”

“Gun?” Witherspoon repeated. “What gun?”

“The one that Mr. Muran took away from Mrs. Turner.”

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Helen shook her head in disapproval. “She was trying to get

it into her muff, but it was a big thing and it wouldn’t fit.”

“I can understand why seeing a gun could be quite disconcerting,” Witherspoon said sympathetically.

“It wasn’t seeing the weapon that bothered me, sir. I’ve

seen guns before. Mr. Muran has one that he keeps in his

study. No, sir, it was what Mrs. Turner kept saying that

upset me so much.” Helen closed her eyes. “Ye gods, the

poor woman is out of her mind half the time and doesn’t even

know it. I was standing on the landing—neither Mr. Muran

nor Mrs. Turner knew I was there. Mrs. Muran and Miss

Turner were still in the drawing room, so at least Mrs. Muran

was spared hearing that woman’s vile filth.”

“What was she