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

told herself as she pushed away from the door. We’ve

still time.

From the landing outside, she heard Betsy say, “Thank

goodness I’ve not missed my chance.”

“What do you mean, lass?” Smythe’s voice was a harsh

whisper through the heavy door.

“Lucy Turner is a beautiful woman, but if she was Mu-

ran’s mistress, she missed her chance to have a husband

and children by wasting her whole life pining after a man

she couldn’t have.”

“We’ve neither of us missed our chance.” Smythe’s

voice faded.

Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict

183

Mrs. Jeffries got undressed, doused the lights, and then

went to sit in her chair by the window. She stared at the gas

lamp across the road and tried to make her mind go blank,

but nothing happened. She simply couldn’t stop herself

from thinking.

She decided it was no use, and she might as well go to

bed. She got up and slipped beneath her covers. Closing her

eyes, she tried her best to sleep, but she lay there wide

awake. She was annoyed with herself for being unable to

put herself in that state that usually helped her see the true

nature of the crime. Instead, she was laying here in the dark

staring at the ceiling while unrelated bits and pieces popped

willy-nilly in and out of her head. John Addison hadn’t

been bothered at all by the police turning up and questioning him. Perhaps that meant he was one of those people who considered themselves so much cleverer than the rest

of the human race. People like that never thought they’d be

caught. Then again, now that Russell Merriman was back,

perhaps that had put a damper on Addison’s plans. Perhaps

Merriman’s return changed a lot of plans.

She rolled over onto her side and stared at the window.

And Addison had been in town on the night of the murder.

It was really too bad they didn’t know for certain if he’d

left the hotel that night. She closed her eyes and sighed.

She might as well let her mind do what it wanted. Obviously, she wasn’t going to be able to control her thoughts in any sort of coherent, logical fashion.

Muran might have had an accomplice. That certainly

could have worked if he’d really wanted to rid himself of

his wife, but then again, there also seemed to be ample evidence that he genuinely loved Caroline. Yet appearances could be deceiving, and the fact was, the man had been

widowed twice before the age of fifty. She rolled onto her

back and stared up at the ceiling again. Perhaps he didn’t

have an accomplice. She thought of Mrs. Goodge’s explanation. It was a tad far-fetched, but it was certainly possible. And what’s more, by coshing himself over the head, 184

Emily Brightwell

Muran instantly took himself off the suspect list. Even the

inspector hadn’t seen any reason to doubt the man’s story.

She made a mental note to be sure to mention to Constable

Barnes that they ought to search the empty buildings near

the murder scene.

She felt her eyelids grow heavy and she began to drift

toward sleep. Wiggins was right, she thought. What we’ve

got to do is find out who wanted Mrs. Muran dead and Mr.

Muran alive. But that’s the trouble, she told herself sleepily. All of our suspects benefit with Mrs. Muran dead and Mr. Muran alive. John Addison will be able to buy the business, Mr. Muran will have lots of money, Roderick Sutter would have revenge for being fired, and the Turner women

might get to be ladies of the manor and not poor relations.

She drifted off to sleep. In her dreams, she walked in a

heavy fog and she was frightened. She knew she was near

the river. The fog would drift about, sometimes heavy,

sometimes so wispy she could see the embankment. She

knew she had to find the way home, that she had something

important to do, something that was a matter of life and

death.

From all around her, came the sound of voices. “I lost

my position over twenty quid,” a man’s hard tone rang out.

She whirled about, but all she could see was heavy mist.

“I stepped out to get my shawl,” a woman replied. Even in

her sleep she knew dreams didn’t need to make sense.

“She threw the salt cellar at the day girl.” That voice

sounded a bit like Wiggins. “We’re no closer to finding who

murdered Caroline Muran,” Mrs. Goodge declared. “He

must ’ave had an accomplice,” Smythe added.

Mrs. Jeffries sighed in her sleep. She wanted to tell them

she was sorry, that she’d tried her best to solve the case, but

it was simply too difficult. But naturally, as she was asleep,

she couldn’t get her voice to work properly.

Betsy suddenly appeared at her side. “Do you think I’ll

miss my chance?”

Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict

185

Mrs. Jeffries awoke with a start and sat up. Her pulse

pounded and her mind raced as Betsy’s words repeated

themselves in her head. Facts, theories, and ideas all came

together in that lightning bolt fashion that made things

make perfect sense. “Good gracious, that’s it. He changed

everything.”

She looked toward the window and saw that it was still

dark outside, but she knew she couldn’t go back to sleep.

She got up, lighted the lamp on her desk, and then sat

down. She had to think. She had to be sure. Yet even if she

was sure, how on earth was she going to prove it?

Betsy was sitting at the kitchen table when Smythe came

downstairs. A teapot, two cups, and a plate of buns were in

front of her. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten,” she

said softly.

“Course I didn’t forget. I just had to be extra careful

coming downstairs so I don’t wake that silly dog. Even

with a door between us, Fred’s got sharp ears.” He leaned

over and dropped a quick kiss on her lips. “I thought I saw

a crack of light comin’ from Mrs. Jeffries’ rooms as well.”

He slipped into the chair next to her. “I think she might be

up and about.”

“Do you think she knows?” Betsy looked toward the back

staircase.

Smythe shrugged. “Even if she did, she wouldn’t care.

We deserve a bit of time to ourselves, and the only way we

can be alone together is early of a mornin’ when everyone

else is asleep. She’d understand.”

Since their engagement, they had gotten in the habit of

occasionally getting