Read Online Mrs. Jeffries & the Yuletide Weddings by Emily Brightwell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Emily Brightwell
Ads: Link
said.
“Lucky for us that Constable Barnes always stops in when they’re on a case,” Mrs. Goodge murmured. “And all we have to do is give the man a quick cup of tea.”
“We are indeed fortunate,” Mrs. Jeffries agreed. Constable Barnes had figured out that the inspector’s household helped him. But instead of taking offense that “amateurs” were interfering, he tried to aid them and was of great assistance in getting information they’d learned to the inspector. She gave them a quick, concise report on the additional facts she’d found out from Witherspoon.
“Agatha Moran must have been goin’ to see the Evans family,” Mrs. Goodge said. “It’s too much of a coincidence to think she just happened to be passin’ by just as a killer wieldin’ a knife was larkin’ about waitin’ for a victim.”
“And I don’t like the way they shut them curtains.” Wiggins nodded vigorously. “Even upper- class people are curious.”
“But coincidences do happen.” Betsy glanced at Smythe. “We were almost torn apart by one, remember?”
He nodded in agreement, his expression sober. He knew exactly what she meant. Only a few days before their original wedding, an old friend had shown up on their doorstep and he’d had to leave for Australia. “That’s true. But this doesn’t sound like a coincidence to me. There’s somethin’ right odd about this murder. The poor woman was killed right in the middle of a public street just after dark. The killer must ’ave been desperate—even lunatics like that Ripper feller waited until it was late before he did his mur derin’. Sounds to me like someone didn’t want her goin’ into that house.”
“You may be right,” Mrs. Jeffries said quickly. “But as yet, we don’t have enough information to form any useful conclusions.”
Until they had as many facts as possible, she didn’t want any of them forming opinions. On one of their previous cases, they’d come up with ideas and theories early in the investigation and it had almost ended in disaster. Furthermore, she’d observed that once people felt they knew the answer, they stopped looking for possible alternatives and interpreted the facts to fit their own theories. “Now, let me tell you what Constable Barnes said. They found out Agatha Moran’s address. She lived on Thornley Road in Barnsbury, at number seven. That’s over by Islington, I think. The constable says she owned a small residential hotel. Unfortunately, that’s the only other bit of information I was able to obtain.”
For the next fifteen minutes, they discussed the few facts they had about the murder. Finally, Luty said, “I think I’m goin’ to set my sights on findin’ out what I can about the Evanses’ financial situation. Nells bells, we’ve got to start somewhere and they’re as good a place as any.”
“But what if they’ve nothing to do with the murder?” Hatchet asked. “What if Agatha Moran being stabbed in front of their home really is one of those awful coincidences that happen?”
“Then I’ll have wasted my time,” she replied. “But somehow, I don’t think that’s goin’ to be the way of it. Besides, if they own one of them big houses on the edge of Bayswater, they’ve got to be rich, and we all know that money and murder often walk hand in hand.”
“I agree,” Mrs. Jeffries said.
“I’ll ’ave a go at the hansom cab drivers,” Smythe offered. “If she came all the way from Islington, she might ’ave taken a cab. It was rainin’.”
“Right then.” Mrs. Goodge got up. “We’ve a couple of names to start with, the Evans family and Sir Madison Lowery. I’ve got half a dozen sources comin’ through the kitchen this mornin’. Maybe one of them will have heard some gossip that’ll prove useful. Mind you, I’ve only got a bit of seed cake and some treacle tarts left to feed them, but I’ll get some more bakin’ done. Too bad the inspector didn’t bring the list of guests home
“Lucky for us that Constable Barnes always stops in when they’re on a case,” Mrs. Goodge murmured. “And all we have to do is give the man a quick cup of tea.”
“We are indeed fortunate,” Mrs. Jeffries agreed. Constable Barnes had figured out that the inspector’s household helped him. But instead of taking offense that “amateurs” were interfering, he tried to aid them and was of great assistance in getting information they’d learned to the inspector. She gave them a quick, concise report on the additional facts she’d found out from Witherspoon.
“Agatha Moran must have been goin’ to see the Evans family,” Mrs. Goodge said. “It’s too much of a coincidence to think she just happened to be passin’ by just as a killer wieldin’ a knife was larkin’ about waitin’ for a victim.”
“And I don’t like the way they shut them curtains.” Wiggins nodded vigorously. “Even upper- class people are curious.”
“But coincidences do happen.” Betsy glanced at Smythe. “We were almost torn apart by one, remember?”
He nodded in agreement, his expression sober. He knew exactly what she meant. Only a few days before their original wedding, an old friend had shown up on their doorstep and he’d had to leave for Australia. “That’s true. But this doesn’t sound like a coincidence to me. There’s somethin’ right odd about this murder. The poor woman was killed right in the middle of a public street just after dark. The killer must ’ave been desperate—even lunatics like that Ripper feller waited until it was late before he did his mur derin’. Sounds to me like someone didn’t want her goin’ into that house.”
“You may be right,” Mrs. Jeffries said quickly. “But as yet, we don’t have enough information to form any useful conclusions.”
Until they had as many facts as possible, she didn’t want any of them forming opinions. On one of their previous cases, they’d come up with ideas and theories early in the investigation and it had almost ended in disaster. Furthermore, she’d observed that once people felt they knew the answer, they stopped looking for possible alternatives and interpreted the facts to fit their own theories. “Now, let me tell you what Constable Barnes said. They found out Agatha Moran’s address. She lived on Thornley Road in Barnsbury, at number seven. That’s over by Islington, I think. The constable says she owned a small residential hotel. Unfortunately, that’s the only other bit of information I was able to obtain.”
For the next fifteen minutes, they discussed the few facts they had about the murder. Finally, Luty said, “I think I’m goin’ to set my sights on findin’ out what I can about the Evanses’ financial situation. Nells bells, we’ve got to start somewhere and they’re as good a place as any.”
“But what if they’ve nothing to do with the murder?” Hatchet asked. “What if Agatha Moran being stabbed in front of their home really is one of those awful coincidences that happen?”
“Then I’ll have wasted my time,” she replied. “But somehow, I don’t think that’s goin’ to be the way of it. Besides, if they own one of them big houses on the edge of Bayswater, they’ve got to be rich, and we all know that money and murder often walk hand in hand.”
“I agree,” Mrs. Jeffries said.
“I’ll ’ave a go at the hansom cab drivers,” Smythe offered. “If she came all the way from Islington, she might ’ave taken a cab. It was rainin’.”
“Right then.” Mrs. Goodge got up. “We’ve a couple of names to start with, the Evans family and Sir Madison Lowery. I’ve got half a dozen sources comin’ through the kitchen this mornin’. Maybe one of them will have heard some gossip that’ll prove useful. Mind you, I’ve only got a bit of seed cake and some treacle tarts left to feed them, but I’ll get some more bakin’ done. Too bad the inspector didn’t bring the list of guests home
Similar Books
