Read Online Mrs. Jeffries Wins the Prize by Emily Brightwell - Free Book Online Page B

them ended up marrying well,” Mrs. Goodge agreed. “Can’t say that I blame them. If my choice was working in a textile mill in Leeds or Bradford and I had a chance to better myself by going to India, I’d have done it, and I hate the heat.” She broke off as they heard the back door open. Fred, the household’s mongrel dog, leapt up from his spot by the cooker and trotted out to the hall.
    Wiggins, with a tail-wagging Fred on his heels, entered the kitchen first. Smythe followed at a more leisurely pace.
    â€œWe didn’t find out a lot.” Wiggins yanked his hat off as he went to the coat tree.
    â€œBut we did find out a few bits.” Smythe sat down. “Not as much as I’d like, but at least we found out his name. Our victim was a man named Hiram Filmore.”
    â€œâ€™E’s a buyer and seller of rare plants and herbs.” Wiggins took his spot next to the cook. “He runs a small shop in Hammersmith.”
    â€œDoes he live there as well?” Mrs. Jeffries asked.
    â€œWe didn’t find that out as yet,” the footman admitted. He reached down and stroked Fred’s head.
    â€œDid you find out how he was murdered?” Mrs. Jeffries noticed that the cook was staring down at the tabletop, seemingly uninterested in the conversation.
    â€œNot really. There are two different versions of how the man died,” Smythe explained. “We couldn’t ’ang about the murder house because there was too many constables about the place that know the two of us by sight.” He jerked his head slightly to include Wiggins. “So we went ’round the corner to the pub.”
    â€œBut the news had already spread,” Wiggins added. “And the people I was chatting with seemed sure Filmore’s throat had been slit.”
    â€œWhile the lot I was talking to was certain he’d been stabbed in the heart,” Smythe said.

CHAPTER 3
    Mrs. Jeffries was waiting at the front door when Inspector Witherspoon arrived home. “Gracious, sir, you look very tired.” She took his hat and hung it on the coat tree.
    â€œIt’s been a rather exhausting day, Mrs. Jeffries, and if it’s not going to inconvenience the household, I’d love a glass of sherry.”
    Mrs. Jeffries wasn’t surprised by his thoughtfulness regarding the kitchen staff. The inspector hadn’t been born to wealth or servants, but had, instead, inherited his house and a large fortune from a relative. Consequently, as he’d been raised in very modest circumstances not far above those who now served him, he treated them as human beings and not instruments put on this earth to cater to his needs. He wouldn’t put either the cook or the maid to any unnecessary work.
    â€œBut of course, sir. Mrs. Goodge said the steak andkidney pie isn’t quite ready as yet and the pudding needs some time to cool before it’s served.” She turned and led the way to the study off the drawing room.
    They frequently had a glass of sherry together before he took his evening meal, most often when he had a murder. Witherspoon liked talking to her about his cases and she, for her part, encouraged that behavior. As they walked down the corridor, she kept up a steady stream of comments about mundane household matters. She wanted him relaxed when they chatted, and more to the point, the focus on the daily domestic routine would keep her from accidentally letting on that they knew about the murder.
    Opening the double doors to the study, she crossed to the drinks cabinet while he settled into his favorite chair. The room was a comfortable place of bookshelves filled with books and magazines, dark wine-colored wallpaper, a desk in one corner, and a faded maroon and gold carpet that the inspector had inherited from his mother.
    Mrs. Jeffries handed him a glass of his favorite sherry, Harveys Bristol Cream. “Now, sir, I’ve talked your ear off about the new