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Authors: Emily Brightwell
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with him.”
“Yes, I was disappointed about that as well,” Mrs. Jeffries mused. “But I’m sure Constable Barnes will keep us informed if it appears that any of the guests had a connection to the dead woman.”
Wiggins grinned broadly. “Maybe I’ll see if I ’ave more luck than the constables ’ad on findin’ us a witness. Even if it was dark and miserable last evenin’, it weren’t that late that the poor lady got murdered. Someone must ’ave seen somethin’. There’s bound to be servants and such millin’ about.”
“As soon as I get my sister and Leo settled in their rooms,” Betsy said, “I’ll do the shops in the Evanses’ neighborhood.”
“Betsy, there’s no need for that,” Mrs. Jeffries protested. “It’s been years since you’ve seen your family. You must spend time with them. We’ve plenty of help.”
“I’ll try speaking to the shopkeepers,” Ruth volunteered. “I’m sure I won’t be as clever as you are.” She smiled at Betsy. “But I’ll do my best.”
Betsy wasn’t sure what to say. On the one hand, she did want time with her family, but on the other, she didn’t want to be left out. Despite Smythe’s assurances to the contrary, once the two of them married, their lives were going to be different. The people around this table were her family as well, and this might be their very last case together while they all lived in the same house. “Alright, I’ll spend the day with Norah and Leo. But if they’re tired from the journey and I have a chance to nip out, I’ll see what I can find out as well. After all, we’ve a lot of territory to cover.” She reached across and patted Ruth’s arm. “You’ll do fine getting those shopkeepers to talk. Just smile a lot and act as if every word they say is pure gold.”
Constable Barnes paid the driver and turned to see Witherspoon frowning at the home of the late Agatha Moran. It was a tall, four-story structure of brown brick with a painted white façade on the ground floor. The tiny front garden was enclosed by a wrought iron fence, and just inside the gate, a set of steps led down to the lower ground floor. “Is anything wrong, sir?”
Witherspoon shook his head. “Not really, I’m just surprised. The house is so large. From what little we know of Miss Moran, she wasn’t a wealthy woman. She was a former governess.”
“So you’re wondering how she could have bought a place like this on a governess’s salary.” Barnes started up the short walkway. “Perhaps she inherited it, sir.” He raised his hand and banged the brass knocker against the brightly painted green door. “However she got the place, she’s done a decent job keeping it up. The door lamps are polished, the walkway is properly paved, and the fence has been newly painted.”
The door flew open and a middle- aged woman wearing a cook’s cap and an apron appeared. Her eyes widened in fear and her lips started to tremble. Then she slumped against the doorframe. “Oh, dear God in heaven, something’s happened to her, hasn’t it? That’s why she didn’t come home last night.” Slowly, she began to sink toward the ground.
The two policemen moved simultaneously, leaping forward and grabbing the woman before she collapsed. Witherspoon grabbed her from one side, getting his arm under her elbow and around her middle, as Barnes did the same on her other side. As gently as possible, they hauled her backward into the house.
The small foyer contained an entry table and a formal armchair. Moving together, they eased her onto the seat. “Are you alright, madam?” Witherspoon asked. She’d gone very pale. “Should I fetch the doctor? You don’t look well.”
She raised her hand palm up, shook her head, and took a deep gulp of air. “No, just give me a moment and I’ll be fine.”
“Can I get you something?” Barnes glanced toward the drawing room opposite them. “A brandy or a whisky?”
“No, I’m alright. Just give me a few
“Yes, I was disappointed about that as well,” Mrs. Jeffries mused. “But I’m sure Constable Barnes will keep us informed if it appears that any of the guests had a connection to the dead woman.”
Wiggins grinned broadly. “Maybe I’ll see if I ’ave more luck than the constables ’ad on findin’ us a witness. Even if it was dark and miserable last evenin’, it weren’t that late that the poor lady got murdered. Someone must ’ave seen somethin’. There’s bound to be servants and such millin’ about.”
“As soon as I get my sister and Leo settled in their rooms,” Betsy said, “I’ll do the shops in the Evanses’ neighborhood.”
“Betsy, there’s no need for that,” Mrs. Jeffries protested. “It’s been years since you’ve seen your family. You must spend time with them. We’ve plenty of help.”
“I’ll try speaking to the shopkeepers,” Ruth volunteered. “I’m sure I won’t be as clever as you are.” She smiled at Betsy. “But I’ll do my best.”
Betsy wasn’t sure what to say. On the one hand, she did want time with her family, but on the other, she didn’t want to be left out. Despite Smythe’s assurances to the contrary, once the two of them married, their lives were going to be different. The people around this table were her family as well, and this might be their very last case together while they all lived in the same house. “Alright, I’ll spend the day with Norah and Leo. But if they’re tired from the journey and I have a chance to nip out, I’ll see what I can find out as well. After all, we’ve a lot of territory to cover.” She reached across and patted Ruth’s arm. “You’ll do fine getting those shopkeepers to talk. Just smile a lot and act as if every word they say is pure gold.”
Constable Barnes paid the driver and turned to see Witherspoon frowning at the home of the late Agatha Moran. It was a tall, four-story structure of brown brick with a painted white façade on the ground floor. The tiny front garden was enclosed by a wrought iron fence, and just inside the gate, a set of steps led down to the lower ground floor. “Is anything wrong, sir?”
Witherspoon shook his head. “Not really, I’m just surprised. The house is so large. From what little we know of Miss Moran, she wasn’t a wealthy woman. She was a former governess.”
“So you’re wondering how she could have bought a place like this on a governess’s salary.” Barnes started up the short walkway. “Perhaps she inherited it, sir.” He raised his hand and banged the brass knocker against the brightly painted green door. “However she got the place, she’s done a decent job keeping it up. The door lamps are polished, the walkway is properly paved, and the fence has been newly painted.”
The door flew open and a middle- aged woman wearing a cook’s cap and an apron appeared. Her eyes widened in fear and her lips started to tremble. Then she slumped against the doorframe. “Oh, dear God in heaven, something’s happened to her, hasn’t it? That’s why she didn’t come home last night.” Slowly, she began to sink toward the ground.
The two policemen moved simultaneously, leaping forward and grabbing the woman before she collapsed. Witherspoon grabbed her from one side, getting his arm under her elbow and around her middle, as Barnes did the same on her other side. As gently as possible, they hauled her backward into the house.
The small foyer contained an entry table and a formal armchair. Moving together, they eased her onto the seat. “Are you alright, madam?” Witherspoon asked. She’d gone very pale. “Should I fetch the doctor? You don’t look well.”
She raised her hand palm up, shook her head, and took a deep gulp of air. “No, just give me a moment and I’ll be fine.”
“Can I get you something?” Barnes glanced toward the drawing room opposite them. “A brandy or a whisky?”
“No, I’m alright. Just give me a few
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