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

up and went to the pine sideboard for the breakfast plates.

“Did you manage to let the inspector know about her plans

to leave for New Zealand today?”

“No, and I’m taking a great risk. If I’m wrong about the

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identity of the killer, and it turns out to have been her, then

she will have already gone. The ship leaves from Liverpool

so she would have had to have left last night.”

“If she’s not at the funeral, then we’ll know.” Mrs.

Goodge put the tray of food on the table and yanked the tea

towel off the plate of buns. “But somehow, I don’t think

she’s our murderer.”

“But what if she is,” Betsy asked softly, “and she’s already

gone?” She reached for a bun, popped it on a plate, and and

put it in front of Smythe.

“The ship stops in Cherbourg before it goes to New

Zealand,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “I checked the Shipping Intelligence in the Times yesterday, so if Charlotte Braxton is our killer, the inspector can send a telegram for the French police to detain her. Smythe, as soon as you bring Constable Barnes here, go to Howards’ and get Bow and Arrow at the

ready. Now everyone hurry and eat, we’ve much to do.”

They finished their small breakfast in record time. Wiggins put on his heavy coat and gloves. As he started for the back door, Mrs. Goodge handed him two more buns that

she’d wrapped in brown paper. “Here you go, lad. Put these

in your pocket for later. I’ll not have you goin’ hungry.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Goodge.”

“And mind you and Hatchet be careful at the Braxton

house,” Smythe warned as he pulled on his coat. “Richmond’s not London, and there’s not many places to hide.

But as it’s a funeral reception, there might be enough

comin’ and goin’ so as you’re not noticed.”

“Let the lad go,” Betsy cuffed him on the arm. “He

knows what he’s about.”

“Right, lass.” He grinned at her, dropped a quick kiss on

her lips, and followed the footman out. “I’ll be back soon.”

When the back door closed behind the men, Mrs. Jeffries

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Emily Brightwell

turned to Betsy. “I’ve a task for you as well, I want you to go

to the foundling home in Twickenham. I want you to find

out what happened to Mrs. Merryhill’s baby boy.”

“Is that where she sent him?” Betsy looked surprised by

the request.

“I don’t know, but it’s the logical place. It’s the only establishment of it’s kind close to the Braxton home,” Mrs.

Jeffries replied. “I don’t think she sent the boy off to live

with relatives because in all the information we’ve heard, no

one has ever mentioned the boy.”

“And if he were living with her relations, someone would

have said something about him.” Mrs. Goodge added.

“That makes sense.”

“Do you think they’ll tell me anything?”

“They will if you give them this,” Mrs. Jeffries drew a

five-pound note out of her pocket. “Tell them it’s a donation. I’ll leave it to your discretion to come up with a story that sounds reasonable as to why you’re asking about the

child.”

“That’s a lot of money, Mrs. Jeffries,” Betsy exclaimed.

“It is, but I’ve not given very much to charity this year.

Whether we find out anything useful or not from them, I’m

sure they’ll put the money to good use.”

Betsy grabbed her coat and hat. “I’ll be back as quick as

I can.”

Twenty minutes after she’d gone, Smythe returned with

Constable Barnes. “Good morning, ladies,” he said.

“Smythe has told me you wanted to see me.”

Mrs. Jeffries gestured for him to sit down. “Thank you

for coming, Constable.”

“If you don’t need me anymore, I’ll go get Bow and Arrow,” Smythe said. “Do you want me to bring the rig back

‘ere?”

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213

“Just a minute, Smythe. That will all depend on whether

or not Constable Barnes agrees to help us.”

Barnes raised an eyebrow. “Mrs. Jeffries, how could you

possibly doubt that I’d help? Of course I will. Now, tell me

what it is you need for me to do.”

“I need you to convince the inspector of two things. The

first is that you sent Smythe for the rig, and that you think

he would be wise to use it today instead of a hansom cab. If

I’m right, you may need to move fast.”

“I think I can do that,” he replied. “And the second

thing?”

“That’s a bit more difficult, I’m afraid.” She took a deep

breath. “And what’s more, you’ll have to convince him that

the whole thing is his idea.”

“Whole what thing?” Barnes asked. He nodded his

thanks as Mrs. Goodge put a cup of tea in front of him.

“Oh, dear, this is getting far more complicated than I

thought,” she replied. “You must convince him to have

everybody from the Braxton household show him their arms

and hands. You’ve got to make sure he’s the one that comes

up with the idea, otherwise, it’ll not work very well at all.

You see, Samson knows how to put up a good fight.”

C H A P T E R 1 1

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“I hope you don’t mind me takin’ such a liberty, sir, but I

knew we were going to be pressed for time.” Barnes opened

the door of the inspector’s old-fashioned carriage and waited

while his superior climbed inside before entering himself.

“Actually, it was very good thinking on your part, Constable,” Witherspoon replied. “I ought to have thought of it myself.” He settled back in the red, tufted seat, determined

to remember that he owned this contraption. But as he’d

not been raised to travel in such conveyances, he always felt

a bit odd riding in the big old thing. He didn’t use it much;

hansoms and trains were really so much more convenient

and comfortable.

“You’ve a lot on your mind, sir,” Barnes replied. “I was

thinking about what you said the other day, sir. You’re playing this one very clever, sir. Very clever indeed.”

Witherspoon stared at the constable. “I am? I don’t quite

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215

understand.” He grabbed the handhold as the carriage

bounced over a hole.

Barnes hoped he could do this properly. “Well, sir. Remember what you said about the cat?”

“The cat?”

“About how it was sad that the old thing had come home

on the night his master