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

then everyone at the table would

soon figure out that he’d been using Blimpey as a source

for all their cases. On the other hand, if Blimpey didn’t tell

them enough, they’d have a hard time taking his concern

seriously.

“All kinds,” Blimpey grinned proudly. “I can honestly

say that my customers come from all levels of our fine society. Just last week I had an insurance company hire me to find out if a warehouse had been deliberately set afire.”

Wiggins leaned forward eagerly. “And ’ad it?”

“Nah. Much to the insurance company’s annoyance, the

fire was an accident. The warehouse owner had just taken

in partners and didn’t need to burn down the building.

Mind you, it did work out for the fellow—now he gets a

brand new building—but that’s neither here nor there. The

point is, in the course of my work, I’m often privy to information that works both sides of the road, so to speak.”

“What does that mean?” Mrs. Goodge demanded. She

eyed their visitor suspiciously.

Mrs. Jeffries was fairly certain she knew exactly what it

meant, but she said nothing.

Blimpey shrugged and took a quick sip of his tea.

“There’s no delicate way to say this except to just come out

and say it. Sometimes I get information about the less respectable members of our society, and recently I’ve come across something that leads me to believe a great miscarriage of justice is about to take place, namely that poor Tommy Odell is goin’ to swing for a murder he didn’t

commit.”

“And how do you know Mr. Odell isn’t guilty of this

crime?” Mrs. Jeffries asked.

“Cause I know Tommy—he’s a pickpocket, not a killer.”

Blimpey shook his head in disgust. “I know that sounds odd

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Emily Brightwell

to you lot, but Tommy’s a good lad. He’d no more take a life

than he would cut off his own hand. But they caught him

with the goods so they laid the blame on him. He didn’t do

it. I need you lot to prove it before they hang him.”

“When is he due to be executed?” Mrs. Jeffries took a

sip of her own tea.

“April ninth.” Blimpey shook his head sadly. “He’s a

nice bloke, is Tommy. Wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“That’s not much time,” Mrs. Goodge mused.

Mrs. Jeffries gave her a quick, surprised look. The cook

was the one person she thought might balk at helping

someone like Blimpey, or even believing him in the first

place. “Why do you think we can be of service?” she asked

softly. “Shouldn’t you take your concerns to the police?”

Blimpey stared at her for a long moment and then said,

“I’ve just told ya, Mrs. Jeffries. My business is information. Did you really think you and the others in this house could help Inspector Witherspoon solve over twenty murders without some of us catchin’ on? Don’t be daft. There’s plenty that know what you’ve been up to, but as you’ve also

got a reputation for gettin’ it right and keepin’ innocent

people off the gallows, most of us keep what we know to

ourselves.”

“And you think we can help Mr. Odell?” she replied.

Her voice and manner were very calm, but inside her spirits soared. She wasn’t certain she liked people knowing what they’d been up to, but in all honesty it was rather exciting to know there were people who recognized and approved of what they’d done.

“If you can’t, the lad’s a goner,” Blimpey said bluntly.

“I’d ’ave been here sooner but the missus and I was out of

the country.” He smiled self-consciously. “We had us a bit

of a holiday. We went to the South of France to get away

from the miserable weather, and when I got back yesterday

I found out poor Tommy Odell was in the nick and facing

the grim one. So I come along here and waited for Smythe,

hoping you’d be able to help.”

Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict

9

“You and Smythe are old friends?” Betsy asked.

“We go back a bit. Blimpey grinned. “Smythe used to

work for one of my old customers, Euphemia Witherspoon, your inspector’s late aunt. She was a character, she was. Nice woman, too. Sad to see the likes of her go.”

“Could you give us a bit more of the circumstances of

Mr. Odell’s troubles?” Mrs. Goodge asked. “I’ve not heard

of any murders done recently.”

“It was in the papers.” Betsy pointed to the newspaper

lying at the far end of the table. “He was sentenced last

week.”

“That’s right, but the murder itself were a couple of

months back,” Blimpey said easily. “Just after that baronet

out in Richmond was killed. A woman named Caroline

Muran was shot during a robbery. She died. Her husband

was coshed on the head, but he lived. Mrs. Muran’s bracelet

was stolen as well as the husband’s watch. That’s how they

nicked Tommy: he’d sold the watch to a pawnbroker and it

was spotted by a copper.”

“How did Tommy get the watch?” Smythe asked.

Blimpey shrugged. “He’s a pickpocket. He claimed he

lifted it hours before the killing. Look, I know it don’t

seem right, my wantin’ you to help a thief, but thieving

isn’t murder.”

“You’re convinced he’s telling you the truth?” Mrs. Jeffries pressed.

“Of that, I’m sure.” Blimpey nodded emphatically.

“Tommy takes care of his mum. His biggest worry about

facin’ the hangman is who is goin’ to take care of her when

he’s dead. Can you help or not?”

“Would you mind giving us a few moments to discuss

it?” Mrs. Jeffries asked. She had no idea what they ought to

do. They’d had people come to them for help before, but

those had all been murders that were unsolved. How one

went about trying to prove someone was innocent when

they’d already been convicted was quite a different kettle

of fish.

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Emily Brightwell

Blimpey pulled his pocket watch out of his pocket. “I’ve

an appointment nearby at eleven o’clock. If it’s all the

same to you, I’ll be back around noon.”

“That will be fine.” Mrs. Jeffries nodded.

They waited until Smythe had seen their guest to the

back door before they started talking. “Sorry I wasn’t able

to give you any warnin’,” he said as he slipped back into

his seat, “but he waylaid me at the back garden gate.”

“That’s quite all right,” Mrs. Jeffries said. She surveyed

the faces around the table. Everyone looked as bemused as

she felt. “Am I right in assuming we’re all a bit