Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict Emily Brightwell (great books for teens TXT) 📖

on the head and knocked unconscious.”

“Gracious, that’s unusual, isn’t it?” Mrs. Jeffries exclaimed. “One would think it would have been the other way around.”

“That’s what Constable Barnes said today when we saw

Inspector Nivens,” Witherspoon said, his expression mildly

surprised. “I must say, Nivens didn’t like the constable’s

comments, but apparently several of the rank-and-file lads

thought there was something . . .” he paused, searching for

the right words, “not quite right about the case.”

“What do you think, sir?” She watched him carefully,

hoping to see a glimmer of interest about the case in his expression. If they found themselves with enough evidence to cast doubt on Odell’s guilt, but not enough to absolutely

prove him innocent, they’d need the inspector’s help. It

wouldn’t hurt to try and coax him on board, so to speak, at

this point.

“I think that the facts of the case were presented before

a judge and jury. Tommy Odell was found guilty. I’ve great

faith in our system of justice, Mrs. Jeffries.” He drained the

last of his sherry, rose to his feet, and took a deep breath.

“I’m sure that whatever questions were raised about the

case were adequately explained at Odell’s trial. Something

smells wonderful. I’m famished.”

Betsy stood on the corner of Drayton Gardens and the Fulham Road. She surveyed the area carefully. On the far side of the street were a greengrocer, a butcher, a chemist, a

draper, and a dressmaker. On the other was a large grocery

shop, an estate agent, an ironmonger, and the local branch

of the London and Southwest Bank. Betsy crossed the road

and started down the pavement. She stared into the windows as she passed the shops, looking for the one that had the least number of customers. She was also looking for

one that had young male clerks behind the counters. She’d

had great success in the past in getting information out of

young men. They loved to talk, especially if they thought

Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict

29

they could impress her with their knowledge. At the greengrocers, she saw a sour-faced old man pouring potatoes from a burlap sack into a bin so she walked on past. She

paused at the butcher shop. The place was full—there was

a woman at the counter and three more lined up behind her

waiting their turn to be served. She went on to the chemist’s

shop and peeked in the window, then she pulled open the

door and stepped inside.

“May I help you, miss?” The young man behind the

counter smiled eagerly.

Betsy gave him her most dazzling smile in return. Momentarily, she had a twinge of guilt, but she ruthlessly fought it back. She wasn’t being untrue to Smythe; she was

trying to make sure an innocent man didn’t hang. “Have

you any lavender water?” she asked.

He turned to one of the shelves behind him and took

down a small glass container. “We’ve this kind. Will it do

you?”

“That’ll be fine,” she replied.

“Anything else, miss?” he asked.

Betsy pretended to think, hoping that he’d fill the silence by speaking. She’d noticed that if she said nothing, people often would start to talk. It was as though the silence made them uncomfortable. She also had noticed that people tended to say more if they were the ones starting the

conversation.

“We’ve some nice hand cream that’s just come in from

France,” he said. “Some of our local ladies seem to like it

very much.”

“Why, how very clever of you,” she cried. “You must be

able to read minds. That’s exactly what I need.”

He looked enormously pleased with himself. “It’s just

over here,” he gestured toward a display case on the end of

the counter. “It’s very popular. Excellent quality for the

price.”

“Do the posh ladies like it?” Betsy turned and looked

where he pointed.

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Emily Brightwell

“Oh, yes. Mrs. Morecombe—her husband’s an MP—

uses it, as does Lady Eldon and Mrs. Muran—”

“Mrs. Muran?” Betsy interrupted. “Wasn’t she the lady

that got murdered?” She couldn’t believe her luck. “Oh dear,

I don’t mean to be indelicate, but I do recall reading about a

lady by that name who was killed. Was it the same one?”

“It was during a robbery,” he replied. “It was a terrible

tragedy. Mrs. Muran was the nicest person. She shopped

here regularly and was always as pleasant as can be. She

always paid her bill in full each month. She could have sent

one of the maids to pick up her medicines, but she always

came herself.”

“She sounds a very nice person indeed,” Betsy said

softly. “And I’m sure she’ll be missed.”

“The whole neighborhood misses her,” he said. “She was

very active in the local area, always supported the various

charity drives and fund-raising activities. Of course, it’s most

likely her employees at the factory that will miss her the

most.”

“She was a businesswoman?” Betsy picked up the white

bottle of hand cream and placed it next to the lavender water. She didn’t really need it, but as the fellow was being so talkative, she thought she might as well buy from him.

“The papers didn’t say anything about that.”

“She owned Merriman’s Metal Works. My sister-inlaw’s nephew works there and he was really upset at her death. All of the employees were. She was one of the best

employers in the whole country. She was getting ready to

renovate a lot of their housing—” He broke off as the bell

over the door rang and a matronly woman wearing a long

blue cloak and carrying a basket stepped into the shop. He

smiled at her nervously. “Good day, Mrs. Morecombe. Mr.

Callow is in the back. Shall I get him for you?”

“I don’t need medicine, so you can serve me, Albert.

But you must be quick about it; I’ve a long list of items and

several more stops to make this afternoon,” she replied, her

Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict

31

glance moving quickly over Betsy, assessing her simple

coat before dismissing her as no one of importance.

Albert smiled apologetically at Betsy. “Will there be

anything else, miss?”

Betsy shook her head. She wasn’t going to get any more

out of him. “No, thank you, this is quite enough.”

Wiggins walked slowly up the pavement in front of the

Muran town house. The ground floor was made of cream

stone with the upper four stories done in light brown brick.

A black door with a highly polished brass knocker and two

brass side lamps was on