Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict by Emily Brightwell (black authors fiction .TXT) 📗

the lower left side of the property.

Wiggins peered through the black wrought-iron fence that

separated a tiny wedge of grass from the pavement to the

lower ground floor of the house, but he couldn’t see anything except that the stairs were neatly painted and the servants’ door was in neat repair. The rest of the house was well kept and tidy, but it wasn’t as grand as he’d expected.

He saw the curtains twitch in the second floor of the

house next door so he moved along. He’d only just arrived

in the neighborhood, so he didn’t think anyone would notice him, but it never did to hang about too long in front of one spot.

He pulled his jacket tighter. Even though a weak spring

sun shone through the hazy mist, it was cold. Wiggins

didn’t like that. If it was too chilly, people avoided going

outside, which meant that he’d not be able to find anyone

who’d talk to him. But he wasn’t going to give up yet.

Still keeping his eye on the Muran house, he moved on

down the street. Just as he reached the corner, a figure came

up the servants’ steps. He stopped, knelt down, and pretended he was searching the pavement for something he’d lost. A young woman with a wicker basket over her arm

stepped onto the pavement and walked briskly up the road.

She wore a short black jacket over a blue broadcloth dress

and a gray wool cap. From the cut of her skirt and color, he

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was sure she was a housemaid. Cor blimey, he thought, today was his lucky day. He’d only been here for a little while.

By the time she was close to him, he pretended he’d

found what he was looking for and leapt to his feet.

Surprised by his sudden movement, she stopped.

“Oh, sorry, miss, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He smiled

in apology.

“That’s all right.” She ducked her head and stepped to

one side to go around him.

“I didn’t see you,” he continued. “If I had, I’d not have

jumped up the way I did. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“You weren’t rude,” she mumbled as she quickened her

pace.

“Excuse me,” he said as he fell into step behind her, “I

don’t mean to be forward, but I was hoping you might be

able to help me.”

“I’m in a hurry.” She cast him a swift, suspicious glance

and moved even faster.

“If I could just speak to you for a moment,” he said,

doffing his cap respectfully. He was moving fast just to

keep up with her.

“Leave me be,” she mumbled. She gave him a quick,

terrified look and increased her pace.

Wiggins suddenly realized he was frightening the poor

girl, so he stopped. “I’m sorry, miss,” he called. She was

now almost running. “I’ve just lost my dog, that’s all. I was

wondering if you’d seen it.”

She didn’t bother to even look back at him. She simply

dashed across the road and disappeared around the corner.

Wiggins stared after her, wondering what could possibly

make someone so frightened they wouldn’t even stop on a

public street in broad daylight.

Mrs. Jeffries peeked into the kitchen and saw that Mrs.

Goodge was chatting with the butcher’s delivery boy.

Checking that Samson wasn’t about to try and escape, she

opened the back door and went outside. The small terrace

Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict

33

was still damp from the morning mist, so Mrs. Jeffries kept

to the paths as she crossed the communal gardens. There

was no point in arriving at Lady Cannonberry’s with wet

shoes.

She had thought long and hard about the wisdom of her

present course of action and had concluded that they really

had no choice in the matter. Last night, the inspector’s

words had made it very clear that he’d no desire to go poking about in a murder that to his mind was already solved.

Furthermore, she had the impression he wanted to avoid

confrontations with Nigel Nivens.

She pursed her lips and took a deep breath. It was bad

luck that the case had been handled by Nivens. She knew

that he’d fight tooth and nail to make sure it was never reopened. Nivens didn’t care a whit about justice, and she thought him quite capable of letting an innocent man hang

if it would serve his career.

She stepped off the path and onto the grass leading to

her destination. A moment later, she went down a short

flight of stairs leading to a small white stone terrace and

boldly knocked on the back door.

A young scullery maid answered. “Hello, Mrs. Jeffries.”

The maid bobbed a quick, respectful curtsey.

“Hello, Molly.” Mrs. Jeffries smiled kindly. “Is your mistress at home?” She had no doubt she’d be welcomed here.

“She is, ma’am. Please come inside.” Molly held open

the door. “The mistress is in the kitchen, ma’am, having a

word with cook.”

Mrs. Jeffries followed the girl down a hallway and into a

large well-kept kitchen, which was laid out almost identically to the one she’d just left. The homes on this garden had been built at the same time and were very much of the

same design. But this kitchen floor was tiled in black and

white squares and the walls were painted a pale gray-green,

not the cheerful yellow of the inspector’s kitchen.

Lady Ruth Cannonberry was sitting at the kitchen table

with another woman who was wearing a cook’s apron and

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Emily Brightwell

hat. A large brown recipe book was laying open in front of

the two of them.

“Why, Hepzibah, this is a lovely surprise.” Ruth smiled

in delight at her visitor. “Do say you’ll stay for some tea.”

“That would be lovely,” Mrs. Jeffries replied.

“We’ll continue this later, Mrs. Folger.”

“Very well, ma’am,” the cook replied.

Ruth got to her feet and hurried to her guest. Taking

Mrs. Jeffries’ arm, she said to the maid, “Molly, bring tea

to the morning room, please.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Molly replied.

A few minutes later, they were taking their seats in a cozy

sitting room that faced east. Unfortunately, there wasn’t

much morning sunlight. But the walls were papered in a

lovely pale yellow-and-white-flowered pattern, the curtains

were delicate white lace, and there were beautiful pastoral

oil paintings on the walls.

“I’m so delighted you came over,” Ruth said excitedly.

“Sometimes I feel quite guilty with the way I’m always

dropping by to see all of you.”

Ruth Cannonberry was an attractive middle-aged widow

with blonde hair, blue eyes, and