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

’ome in the time it took to get down

Oxford Street.”

Fletcher ignored the other cabbie. “I’m thinkin’ you’re

interested in that couple where the wife ended up murdered.” He stared speculatively at Smythe. “And they was the ones that I picked up that night.”

“Get on with you, Fletcher, quit tellin’ such tales,” the

driver sitting at the table said. “Stop pullin’ the poor

feller’s leg.”

“Mind yer own bloomin’ business,” Fletcher retorted

good-naturedly.

“You’re sure you’re not just sayin’ you know somethin’

because I offered to pay for information?” Smythe asked.

He was annoyed at himself for making such a mistake. It

was always better to make sure your informant actually

knew something before you offered to reach into your

pocket. But he’d jumped the gun and stupidly walked into

the hansom stand and announced he needed information and

was willing to cross their palms with silver if they had it.

Fletcher looked offended. “I’m not a liar.”

“He’s not,” the driver sitting at the table added. “He’s a

good Presbyterian.”

Fletcher sighed and put his mug in the white tin bowl on

the table that served as a sink. “Look, I’ll tell you what I

told the copper that come ’round here afterwards, not that

he seemed all that interested in what I was sayin’.”

The cabbie who’d been warming his hands straightened

up, pulled on his gloves, and moved to the open entrance.

“You can trust what Fletcher tells ya,” he said to Smythe.

“I’m off, lads. I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

The second cabbie got to his feet. “I’d best be on my way

as well.” He looked at Smythe. “I like takin’ the piss out of

Fletcher, because he’s such a serious soul, but he tells the

truth. He’s no liar.”

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Emily Brightwell

“I didn’t mean to offend ya,” Smythe said to Fletcher as

soon as the two of them were alone. “But I need to be certain of what you’re sayin’. It’s a right important. Was the copper a uniform or a detective?”

“Both,” Fletcher replied. He pulled his gloves out of his

coat pocket. “I spoke to the police constable first, then a

day or two later a detective come around and asked a few

questions.”

“You remember his name?” Smythe was fairly sure he

knew who it had been.

“Inspector . . . er Nivens, yes, that’s it. Not a very nice

fellow.” He made a face. “Bit of a toff with his nose in the

air, if you know what I mean.”

“I know the type,” Smythe replied.

“He was in and out of ’ere in two seconds flat.”

“What did you tell ’im?”

“I told ’im I’d picked them up that night,” he explained.

“There’s always a line of folks after the concerts at St.

James Hall. That time of night the fares are good, people

want to get home, and like Ricky said, there was no end of

traffic. The man told me to take ’em to West Brompton and

I started off in that direction. But we’d not gone more than

a mile when he stuck his head out and told me to take him

to Barrick Street on the other side of Waterloo Bridge. Corse

that was a bit further than I’d expected to go, but I did what

he wanted and took ’em across. Last I saw of them, they

were walking down the road where I’d let ’em off.”

Smythe wasn’t sure what to ask next. For a brief moment,

he wondered if he’d completely lost the ability to do his own

sleuthing. But then the obvious one popped into his head.

“When they were in the cab, did you hear them talking?”

The cabbie laughed. “Not likely. Between the horses

hooves and rattle of the traffic, it’s too noisy to hear what

your fares are sayin’ to each other.”

“Do you remember how they were actin’?” he asked.

Fletcher frowned. “Ya mean how they acted towards each

other?”

Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict

47

“That, and if you noticed anything unusual about either

of them.”

He thought for a moment. “Not really. They acted like

any other couple that’d been out for an evenin’. He helped

her in and out of the carriage. There wasn’t anything odd

about it exceptin’ Barrick Street was as deserted a place as

I’ve ever seen.”

“So you saw no one about?” Smythe prodded. Blast, he

was hoping the man might have seen someone hanging

about.

“It’s an industrial area,” Fletcher explained. “Nothing

but old warehouses and small factories. Most of those

places don’t even have night watchmen.”

Smythe’s mind had gone blank again. “Er, so you just

let ’em off and that was the last you saw of ’em?” He felt

like an idiot. He was almost repeating what the man had

just told him.

“That’s right.” Fletcher pulled a pair of black gloves out

of his coat pocket. They were old and worn.

“Do you remember anything else about them or about

that night?” Smythe watched as the cabbie put on the gloves.

There were holes in two fingers of one glove and the thumb

of the other was split down the side.

Fletcher picked his hat up off a stool and slapped it on

his head. “Not really. No, I tell a lie: when I picked them

up, they was talking to another couple, standing all together in a group like.”

“Would you recognize this couple if you saw them

again?” he asked.

“No.” He smiled apologetically. “I weren’t paying that

much attention. Look, I’ve got to be off now.”

“Wait,” Smythe said as Fletcher headed for the open entrance. “I’ve not paid for the information.”

The cabbie shook his head and grinned. “Keep yer coin,

mate. What little I know wasn’t worth much now, was it.”

“That’s all a matter of opinion.” Smythe realized he’d offended the man’s pride and was suddenly, deeply ashamed.

48

Emily Brightwell

He’d handled this badly from the beginning, and he was determined to make up for it. Reaching into his coat pocket, he grabbed some coins and handed them to Fletcher.

“You’ve saved me a lot of work.”

The cabbie looked at the coins. “By crickety, this is

three florins!”

“Take it. You earned it. Like I said, you’ve saved me a

lot of trouble.”

“Thanks, mate, this is right good of ya.” Fletcher

walked to the entrance, then stopped and turned. “I did see

that other couple get into the hansom just ahead of mine. I

don’t know if that’ll do ya any good.”

Mrs. Jeffries was the last one to arrive for their afternoon

meeting. “I’m so sorry to be late,” she said as