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

surprised

by this latest turn of events?”

“Cor blimey, it’s the last thing I expected to come walkin’

in on a rainy day,” Wiggins admitted. “But on the other

’and, it’s a bit flatterin’ to know that there’s people out

there that know what we’ve been up to and think we’re

doin’ a right good job.”

“Yes, well, that’s true,” the housekeeper replied. “But we

mustn’t let it go to our heads.” In truth, though, she was as

pleased by the knowledge as the footman. Modesty might

be a virtue, but recognition was very gratifying indeed.

“But it is nice,” Betsy grinned. “I mean, I know we don’t

want all and sundry knowing our business, but a bit of

recognition is exciting.”

Mrs. Goodge nodded vigorously in agreement, whether

she was agreeing with Betsy or Mrs. Jeffries wasn’t apparent. “But what are we goin’ to do about this problem?” she asked plaintively. “It doesn’t seem right not to do something, especially if the fellow is innocent.”

“We don’t know that for a fact,” Smythe muttered. He

still wasn’t sure how much the rest of them might have

gleaned from Blimpey’s arrival today.

“How well do you know this Blimpey Groggins?” Mrs.

Jeffries asked.

Smythe shrugged, trying to look casual. This was the

one question he’d been dreading. He didn’t fancy lying

Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict

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about his relationship with Blimpey, but on the other hand,

his pride wouldn’t stand for him admitting that he’d gotten

most of his information on their last dozen cases directly

from Blimpey. “I know ’im well enough. Truth of the matter is, I’ve used him a time or two when we were really stuck on a case. His information is always good.”

“Yes, but does that mean the pickpocket is innocent of

murder?” Mrs. Goodge exclaimed. “That’s what we’ve got

to know.”

“Even if ’e’s innocent,” Wiggins said slowly, “ ’e’s still

a criminal. Seems to me that ought to be taken into consideration before we make a decision.”

“Wiggins, I’m surprised at you.” The cook stared at him

in disbelief. “Surely you’re not saying a man ought to be

hung over stealing a pocket watch.”

Wiggins blushed and looked down at the tabletop.

“Course not, but well, it’s not like ’e’s a workin’ bloke that

was pulled in off the streets for a crime ’e didn’t commit.

Oh, I don’t know what I’m sayin’. Course we ought to ’elp

this feller if ’e’s innocent. Especially now, bein’ as we’ve

got a bit of a reputation for upholdin’ justice.”

“I’m not sure we can,” Mrs. Jeffries murmured. “The

crime was weeks ago, the trail is cold, and frankly, even if

we found out who the real killer might be, we’d need irrefutable proof of guilt before we could get an execution stopped.”

“We’ve got to try,” Mrs. Goodge said stoutly. “If we turn

our backs on even one innocent person, then all the good

we’ve done will be undone. Take my word for it, I’m old

and I know these things.”

“Don’t look now, sir, but Inspector Nivens just came in.”

Constable Barnes struggled to keep the contempt out of his

tone as he stared across the crowded canteen. Barnes was a

tall, gray-haired policeman who’d been on the force more

years than he cared to recall, and he was now working

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Emily Brightwell

almost exclusively with Inspector Gerald Witherspoon. He

considered it part of his job to shield his inspector from the

likes of people like Nivens.

Witherspoon glanced up from his lunch of boiled cabbage, carrots, and stringy beef. He looked at Barnes out of a pair of deep-set blue eyes obscured by a pair of spectacles. His thinning hair was dark brown and graying a bit at the temples, his complexion pale, and his nose a shade on

the long side. All in all, he didn’t look like a man who’d become famous for solving murders. He looked like a person who ought to be in charge of the records room, which is

precisely what he’d done before Mrs. Jeffries had come to

be his housekeeper. “Inspector Nivens is here in the police

canteen?”

Barnes grinned. “Surprising, isn’t it. He usually eats

lunch with one of his fancy political friends at a private

club. I expect he’s come to gloat. They sentenced that pickpocket for the Muran murder yesterday.”

“Sad business, wasn’t it.” Witherspoon agreed with a

shake of his head.

Barnes nodded. “Murder usually is, but at least this one’s

got Nivens what he’s wanted. Let’s just hope he doesn’t let

solving one murder go to his head.”

Witherspoon took a quick bite of cabbage. “Be fair,

Constable, he did solve the case.”

“The killer fell into his lap. That case wouldn’t even

have been assigned to him if he’d not stumbled across the

victim’s watch in that pawnshop. From the pawnshop to

the killer was so easy even a child could ’ave done it.”

Barnes snorted in derision. He loathed Nivens. The man

was a boot-licking bully who’d used his political friends at

Whitehall to muscle his way up the Metropolitan Police

ladder. The rank and file police constables hated the fellow; Nivens blamed others for his mistakes, took credit for others work, bullied subordinates, and was suspected

of skirting the edge of decency in getting confessions out

Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict

13

of suspects. “Now that Odell’s been convicted, he’ll try and

use that as a way of getting assigned more murders.”

“He’s in division K,” Witherspoon murmured. “If there’s

a murder in that district, it’ll probably come to him.”

Barnes shook his head. Sometimes the inspector was so

innocent. “Most of the murders they give you aren’t in your

division,” he pointed out. “But you get them because you’re

good at what you do, sir. Oh blast, he’s seen us and he’s

coming over.”

Witherspoon took another quick bite of his food. By the

time he’d swallowed, Nivens was at their table. He nodded

curtly at the two men. “Witherspoon, Barnes.”

Nivens was a middle-aged man with dark blond hair and

cold gray eyes. Clean shaven, he was of medium height

with a slight portliness that couldn’t be disguised by the

expensive black greatcoat he wore. A black bowler hat dangled from his fingers, and there was a copy of the Policemen’s Gazette tucked under his arm.

Witherspoon smiled politely and Barnes contented himself with a grunt.

But Nivens appeared not to notice the tepid reception.

“You’d best be on your toes, Witherspoon.” He whipped

out the newspaper and waved it at the two policemen.

“You’re not the only