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

a few that complain,

but part of the job is making sure you do things right. Take

tonight for instance. We had a lady complaining that she’d

not gotten her messages delivered to her room.”

“How did you handle that?” Smythe took another sip of

beer.

“I assured her that she’d not had any messages, which

she hadn’t,” he broke off, frowning. “Mind you, that actually seemed to make her angrier. I think she was expecting something that didn’t come.”

“That’s not your fault,” Smythe said quickly. “Women

aren’t easy to understand at the best of times, are they? I

expect you’re better at handling men—you know, business

travelers. As a matter fact, I thought I recognized my old

gov comin’ out your door. That’s one of the reasons I almost

ran you down. I thought I saw Mr. Addison and I wanted to

catch him.”

“You worked for Mr. Addison?” Tully asked. “Mr. John

Addison from Birmingham?”

“That’s right. I worked there for two years,” Smythe

said. “Was that him then?”

Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict

113

“It was,” Tully frowned. “You’ve not got a Birmingham

accent.”

Witherspoon was very late getting home. But Mrs. Jeffries

was waiting for him when he came through the front

door. “Good evening, sir,” she said as she reached for his

bowler. She noticed he had a thick brown file under

his arm.

“Good evening, Mrs. Jeffries. I do hope my tardiness

hasn’t ruined one of Mrs. Goodge’s delectable suppers.”

He shrugged out of one sleeve of his coat and transferred

the file to his other hand while he slipped out of other one.

“It’s herbed chicken sir, Mrs. Goodge has it in the warming oven. I can serve it whenever you’re ready.” She tried to read the name on the file as she reached for his garment,

but the printing was too small.

“Actually, I’d like a sherry before I have my meal. I’ve

had the most extraordinary day.” He tucked the file back

under his arm and started down hall.

“Certainly, sir.” She tossed the coat on the coat tree and

hurried after him.

When they reached his study, she went to the cabinet

and pulled out a bottle of Harvey’s Bristol Cream, his favorite sherry.

“Pour yourself one as well,” he instructed. “I need to

talk to you.”

Her hand stilled on the cork as a dozen different possibilities, all of them awful, leapt into her mind. She told herself not to be silly—he frequently asked her to join him

in a small drink before dinner, especially after he’d had a

terrible day. “Thank you, sir. I’d enjoy a glass. Is something troubling you, sir?”

“I’m afraid there is, and I really must speak with you

about it. I quite simply don’t know what to do. It’s very

troubling, when one stumbles onto something like this and

then to have one’s suspicions confirmed . . .” He broke off

and shook his head.

114

Emily Brightwell

Mrs. Jeffries’ heart sank to her toes. They’d been found

out. Somehow, someone had gotten to the inspector and told

him of their involvement in his cases. Blast. She’d known

that one day they might face this situation, but she’d not really believed it would happen so quickly and with so little warning. “Well, sir, before you jump to any conclusions,

perhaps you ought to have a nice long think about it and

make sure you’ve all the facts.”

She handed him his drink, sat down on the settee, and

knocked her own back with all the grace of a convict on his

first day out.

“That’s precisely what I told Constable Barnes.” Witherspoon gaped at her. Gracious, she was putting that drink down like a sailor. “Mrs. Jeffries, is there something

wrong?”

“Wrong, sir?” She smiled sadly. “That all depends. Why

don’t you tell me what it is you’ve found out and we’ll have

a good talk about it.” Maybe if she offered to resign, he’d

let the others stay on in the house. No, of course he’d let

them stay, but she was determined to be the one to take the

blame.

“Well, er, that’s exactly what I wanted to do. I mean, unless something is bothering you . . . Oh, Mrs. Jeffries, I do hope everything is all right with you and the rest of the staff.

It’s selfish of me, I know, but right now I genuinely need

your good advice. Chief Inspector Barrows called me in today and now I’ve got a case that’s already been solved.”

It dawned on Mrs. Jeffries that perhaps her portents of

doom had been a bit premature. “There’s nothing wrong

here, sir,” she said quickly. “I simply was making a comment about the world at large. Do tell me what happened, sir. Which case did you get?”

“Are you sure everything is all right here?” He stared at

her, his expression anxious.

“Everything is fine, sir,” she assured him. “Now, sir, what

on earth happened?”

Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict

115

Witherspoon nodded at the file he’d laid on the table

next to his chair. “That’s the case file for the Muran murder,” he said, taking another sip of his drink. “Chief Inspector Barrows wants me to have a look at it tonight.”

“But that case has been solved.” She sent up a silent,

heartfelt prayer of thanks. “Why does he want you to look

at it? Is it being reopened?”

“Oh, it’s a long story, and the truth is, even without him

calling me into his office I was going to have a look at the

case.”

“Really, sir, why is that?”

“Several reasons, actually.” He told her about his and

Barnes encounter with Inspector Nivens in the records

room and his suspicion that something was wrong.

For a moment, she was silent, then she said, “If you

were going to have a good snoop on your own, sir, then

why are you so downhearted because the chief inspector

has officially given you the case?”

“But don’t you see? Now that’s it’s official, now that the

chief has his doubts as well, it puts a great deal of pressure

on me.”

“What made Chief Inspector Barrows get involved in

the matter?” she asked curiously.

Witherspoon told her about the meeting with Russell

Merriman. As she listened to his recitation of the day’s

events, her mind raced with possibilities.

“Now I’m to find the killer, providing, of course, it isn’t

actually the man who’s going to hang for the crime.”

“You’re sure Tommy Odell isn’t guilty,” she pressed.

“No one can be absolutely sure,” he admitted. “But ever

since he was convicted