Mrs. Jeffries & the Silent Knight Emily Brightwell (easy books to read in english .txt) 📖

another candidate who was equally rich waiting in the wings?”

“Unless, of course, he wanted entry into aristocratic circles,” Hatchet suggested. “In which case, murdering Sir George made perfect sense as it meant he could then marry

Lucinda Braxton. Even if Lucinda Braxton inherited the title in her own right, he’d still be the husband of a baroness, and that, my friends, could well be motive enough for him.”

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Mrs. Jeffries nodded thoughtfully and then looked at

Ruth. “Do you know if Brent’s from a socially ambitious

family?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know anything about his background.

The first I ever heard of him was when he escorted both

Fiona Burleigh and Lucinda Braxton to the Waifs and Strays

luncheon at Lambeth Palace. I remember the incident because the lady sitting beside me pointed at Lucinda Braxton and commented that the woman had nerve showing her

face, that she’d not given so much as a shilling to the charity, nor had she helped raise any money for it.”

“How long ago was this?” Smythe asked.

“It was last November,” Ruth replied.

“Maybe Fiona Burleigh isn’t as rich as the Braxtons,”

Mrs. Goodge suggested. She rather liked the idea of Raleigh

Brent as the killer. She didn’t have much respect for men

who married for money, nor women, either.

“She’s richer,” Hatchet said. “Her family owns Burleigh

Ironworks as well as a substantial amount of London property. My source wasn’t certain how rich the family actually is, but he knew they had plenty. Of course,” he smiled

slightly, “Miss Burleigh does have a bit of a reputation as a

shrew, but then again, so does Lucinda Braxton.”

“Maybe ‘e’s in love with Miss Braxton,” Wiggins suggested. “I know it sounds daft, but maybe it’s true.”

“The lad’s right.” Smythe helped himself to another slice

of cake. “The ‘earts a powerful thing. Maybe Lucinda Braxton is the one he wants to be with, and ‘e figured out a way to ‘ave both ‘er and a nice income.”

“We can speculate like this for hours,” Mrs. Jeffries said.

“And it is actually quite useful. But I think that as we’re a

bit pressed for time, we’d better get on with our meeting

and report on what we’ve learned today.” She gave Ruth a

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quick smile. “You don’t mind sitting through more details,

do you?”

“Not at all, you know I’m always delighted if I can actually help, and I think in this case, I might be able to contribute something worthwhile. I do have some rather good connections.”

“Excellent,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “I, for one, had a rather

good day. Luckily for us, the domestic agency in Richmond

had no qualms about discussing the murder case and the entire Braxton clan.”

“Not exactly discreet, eh,” Smythe chuckled.

“No discretion whatsoever,” she agreed. “I heard the

usual that we’ve all heard about the family, about what a

mean, miserly bunch they are, but eventually, I got a tidbit

we’d not heard before. It was about Clarence Clark. The gossip is that he’s Sir George’s illegitimate half brother, not his cousin.”

“I heard that as well,” Betsy added. “The dressmaker

wasn’t very discreet, either.”

“I wonder if he’s going to inherit any part of Sir George’s

estate?” Hatchet mused.

“I wasn’t able to find out anything along those lines,”

Mrs. Jeffries admitted, “but I did find it interesting that no

one in the Braxton household had thought to tell the inspector about Clark’s true relationship to the deceased.”

“Maybe they don’t know,” Mrs. Goodge suggested.

“Sometimes the family is completely in the dark about that

sort of thing.”

“I wonder if the daughters are fond of him?” Ruth asked.

“I don’t think they’re particularly fond of anyone,” Mrs.

Jeffries replied. “At least we’ve seen no evidence of kindness

from any of them. We’ve heard nothing but negative accounts of their characters.”

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“Seems to me the only way that Clarence Clark would

want Sir George dead is if ‘e was standin’ to inherit some-

thin’ from ‘im,” Wiggins said. “From what we’ve learned of

the daughters, they’d be just as like to toss the fellow out

into the street as to let him stay on in the ‘ousehold.”

“Perhaps we ought to determine if Mr. Clark is an heir,”

Hatchet said. “Otherwise, as Wiggins has pointed out, Sir

George’s daughters don’t appear to be the kind of women to

let him stay on at the house out of the goodness of their

hearts.”

“That’s not going to be easy.” Mrs. Jeffries pulled the

teapot closer and poured herself another cup.

“Perhaps you’d best put a flea in the inspector’s ear,” Mrs.

Goodge suggested. “None of us have the resources to find

out the contents of Sir George’s will before it’s made public.”

Wiggins wondered if Luty’s note to her solicitor might

have had something to do with learning the contents of Sir

George’s will. He bit his lip and looked down at his plate.

Blast, he couldn’t say anything about it. Keeping secrets

was blooming hard.

“I’ll make sure I mention it to him this evening, though

I know he was already planning to interview Sir George’s solicitors.” She looked around the table. “Who would like to go next?”

“I’ve not got anything to report,” Smythe sighed. “I didn’t

find out a bloomin’ thing except that the Braxtons can’t hire

from their local livery. Apparently, they damaged a carriage

a few years back and wouldn’t pay to put it right. But that’s

‘ardly news. None of the tradespeople wanted to do business

with that bunch.”

“And that includes the local dressmaker,” Betsy said

cheerfully. She patted his arm. “Don’t worry, Smythe, you’ll

do better tomorrow. Besides, I’ve found out enough for both

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161

of us.” She told them everything she’d heard from Sophia.

“So now we know that Charlotte Braxton didn’t just like to

travel, she liked to gamble, too.”

Mrs. Goodge clucked her tongue. “Can you believe it?

Gambling! How shameful! That woman had every advantage in life. How could she do something like that. Apparently it wasn’t enough that she hire herself out as a paid companion. How on earth did Sir George stand the shame

of it?”

“Maybe he didn’t,” Smythe said softly. “And maybe that’s

why he’s dead.”

“You think she killed him that night?” Hatchet asked

sharply.

The coachman shrugged. “It’s possible. We know he

opened the door to someone he knew. Maybe he waited till

he heard her come home and then confronted