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

Almost immediately, the animal realized its paws were enveloped in wet, cold snow. Samson leapt upon his master’s back and

crouched into a sit.

“Thanks for your help,” a voice whispered as the gloved

hand reached over and stroked the cat’s back. “I couldn’t

have done it without you.”

14

Emily Brightwell

Samson twisted, clawing at the stroking hand as he

hissed his displeasure.

At dawn the next morning, there was a heavy knocking at

the front door. Mrs. Jeffries, who was already up and

dressed, wasn’t surprised to find Constable Barnes on the

door stoop, blowing air on his hands in a vain attempt to

keep them warm. “Sorry to disturb you so early,” he said.

“But I’ve got to see the inspector.”

Mrs. Jeffries kept her expression neutral, but inside she

was overjoyed. There was only one reason Constable Barnes

would be here at this time of the day—there was a murder

to be solved.

“Go straight down to the kitchen, Constable,” she ordered. “You look half-frozen, and I’ve just made a pot of tea.

Help yourself. I’ll pop upstairs and let the inspector know

you’re here.”

She’d also awaken Smythe. It might be necessary for him

to get out and about to see what was what.

“Ta,” Barnes grinned and started down the hall toward

the back staircase. “I’m sure you’ve already sussed out that

we’ve got a murder on our hands,” he said softly. “The victim’s a baronet so that means there’s going to be all sorts of political pressure.”

Mrs. Jeffries paused and nodded. Constable Barnes’ message was quite clear. He’d have to watch the inspector’s back. When it came to bureaucratic politics, Witherspoon

was an innocent. Barnes wasn’t. The tall, gray-haired constable had been on the force long enough to know how to protect himself and his inspector.

Barnes continued on to the kitchen as Mrs. Jeffries

dashed up the staircase. She knocked lightly on the inspec

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15

tor’s door, stuck her head inside, and said, “Excuse me, sir,

but you’d best get up. Constable Barnes is here to see you.”

“What? What? Yes, yes, of course, I’ll be right down,” he

replied groggily.

She closed his door quickly and hurried up to the top

floor. Knocking once, she opened the door slightly and said.

“May I come in?”

“I’m decent,” Smythe said in a loud whisper.

She stepped inside and saw that the coachman was

dressed in his trousers and shirt. “Sorry to wake you so

early,” she said softly. “But Constable Barnes is here, and I

may need you to be out and about in a hurry.”

“I thought I ‘eard voices from downstairs.” He pulled on

a gray wool sock. “Do we ‘ave us a murder?”

She nodded. “Yes, and from what little I know, it’s going

to be a sticky one. It’s a baronet. Do you know if Wiggins is

up yet?”

The two menservants used to share a room, but the previous month, Inspector Witherspoon had converted the small attic into another bedroom and insisted that each man

have his own quarters.

“The lad’s probably dead to the world,” Smythe grinned.

“He stays up late at night reading. Why? Do you think

we’ll need him?”

She thought for a moment. “Wake him. We might need

everyone. Come downstairs when you’re ready. I’ll go see

what I can get out of Constable Barnes before the inspector

gets downstairs.”

But Mrs. Jeffries wasn’t able to get anything out of Constable Barnes. The inspector, who’d managed to dress very quickly, was right on her heels as she went down the back

stairs to the kitchen.

16

Emily Brightwell

Constable Barnes was sitting at the kitchen table. Mrs.

Goodge was coming out the back hall holding a brown bowl

covered with a clean white tea towel in her arms. “Morning,

sir, Mrs. Jeffries,” the cook said. “I thought I’d get the constable one of my Cornish pasties for his breakfast. We’ve a few left over from yesterday’s lunch.”

“That’s most kind of you, Mrs. Goodge,” the inspector

replied. “I’ll have one as well. I’ve a feeling we won’t have

time for one of your delightful cooked breakfasts.” He hurried over the table. “Morning, Constable. You’re here early.

I presume something awful has happened.”

“There’s been a murder, sir,” Barnes replied. “Sir George

Braxton was found dead early this morning.”

“Where was he found?” Witherspoon asked. He sat down

and then nodded his thanks as Mrs. Jeffries handed him a

mug of hot tea.

“At his home in Richmond, sir,” Barnes replied. “Thank

you, Mrs. Goodge,” he said as the cook put his pastie in

front of him.

“Richmond?” Witherspoon shook his head. “That’s out

of our jurisdiction.”

“It is, sir. But the Home Secretary happened to be visiting at the house next to the Braxton place and when he saw the constables, he went over to see what had happened. As

soon as he saw the body, he took control and sent along to

the Yard for you to be called into the case.”

Witherspoon frowned slightly and took another gulp of

his tea. “I expect that didn’t go down well with the local

lads, did it?”

“They’ll do as they’re told,” Barnes replied. He stuffed a

huge bite of pastie into his mouth. It would probably be

hours before he got another chance to eat, and he’d been

rousted out of his bed in the middle of the night.

Mrs. Jeffries and the Silent Knight

17

“I don’t like to be the cause of any resentment,” the inspector murmured.

“Not to worry, sir,” Barnes said. “Most of the local lads

don’t want to have to deal with a murder like Sir George’s.”

“Why’s that?” Mrs. Goodge asked. “Oh, sorry, sir. I

didn’t mean to be so bold . . .” The cook was of the generation of servants that had been trained not to speak unless spoken to when in the presence of their betters. Not that the

inspector ran his household in such a fashion, but old habits

die hard.

“Nonsense, Mrs. Goodge.” The inspector smiled at the

cook. “You’ve every right to be curious.” He was a bit curious himself. He couldn’t think why the local police wouldn’t resent him greatly for taking over their case, especially at the request of the Home Secretary.

Barnes finished off the last of his food. “If they fail, Mrs.

Goodge, they’ll ruin their chances for promotion. Most detectives aren’t like our inspector,” he nodded at Witherspoon. “Detectives come from the ranks and it’s a good way for working-class