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

up early so they could have some time

together. The others in the household tried their best not to

constantly intrude upon the couple, but between their work

and the inspector’s cases, it was almost impossible to have

any privacy. So they’d hit upon this idea, and so far, it had

worked well.

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“We do have a wedding to plan.” Betsy poured the tea

and handed him his mug. “That takes time. There are a lot

of decisions that have to be made. Speaking of which, we

do need to pick the day.”

“Pick the one you like. Any day will do me.” He took a

quick sip of the hot liquid.

“You can’t just pick any old day.” Betsy stared at him irritably. Sometimes men were such dolts. “We’ve got to see what else people have planned for the month.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” Smythe had noticed that

when it came to wedding plans, he frequently said the

wrong thing.

“It’s got everything to do with it,” she sighed. “I want

people to come, not send their regrets because we picked

the wrong day and they had other plans. That’s why we’ve

got to think it through carefully. We don’t want to pick a

day there’s an important social event. Isn’t Ascot in June?

I’ll want Lady Cannonberry there and Luty and Hatchet.

But they’ve got social obligations, too, and we’ve got to

take that into account.”

“Rubbish,” he said, putting his mug down. Sometimes

Betsy didn’t realize her own worth. Sometimes the insecure, frightened girl who’d collapsed on the inspector’s doorstep took over and made her say silly things. “You’re

more important than a flower show or a race meeting. It’s

our wedding! Other people can make their plans around

us. Do you think Luty or Hatchet or Ruth would go to a

bloomin’ race meeting rather than come to our wedding?”

“Well, no, but there’s no need to make things awkward

for anyone.” She looked down at her lap, embarrassed that

she’d made a fuss. Of course their friends would put them

first. “I just want everything to be perfect.”

“It will be.” He lifted her chin, forcing her eyes to meet

his. “It’s going to be the best day of your life, Betsy. I promise you. You can have anything you want. You know that.

We can have a reception at the Palace Hotel or we can take

a grand tour of the Continent, go to America, or do anything

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you like. You just tell me what you want and I’ll give it to

you.”

Smythe had made a fortune in Australia and invested it

wisely and well. He’d been good friends with the inspector’s late aunt, Euphemia Witherspoon. When he’d come back from Australia, he stopped in to see his old friend.

He’d found her in very poor health and surrounded by a

pack of servants that were taking terrible liberties. They’d

been robbing her blind and practically imprisoning her

in her own home. Smythe had run all of them off except

for the youngest, Wiggins. When Euphemia had realized

she was dying, she’d made him promise to stay on for a

bit and watch out for her nephew, Gerald Witherspoon.

He’d agreed and he’d stayed. Inspector Witherspoon had

moved in and hired Mrs. Jeffries and Mrs. Goodge. Betsy

had come, and before you could say bobs-your-uncle, they

were investigating murders and looking out for one another. They’d become family.

Unfortunately, Smythe hadn’t told them he was rich.

He’d then been stuck with the problem that as he’d not said

anything about having so much money, the others in the

household might not take kindly to thinking he’d deceived

them all these years. When he and Betsy had fallen in love,

he’d finally told her. Mrs. Jeffries had guessed the truth,

but the others still thought he was just a coachman.

“All I want is you,” she said softly. “But a nice wedding

wouldn’t hurt, either. You know we can’t make too big a

fuss, don’t you?”

He sighed. “I know, but we don’t have to skimp, either.

We’ll have us a proper wedding and do it right.”

“You said you might have a way for us to keep on with

our investigations,” she said hopefully.

They’d known that once they were married, things at

Upper Edmonton Gardens would change. Smythe would

want to give her a home of their own and he’d not want her

working as a maid, not even for someone as good as Inspector Witherspoon.

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“There might be.” He hesitated. He’d still not thought

the whole thing through, and it might not work out. Like

Betsy, he knew that once they wed, things would change.

He liked investigating murders as well, and he was determined that he’d find a way for them to continue their work, even if they no longer lived in the inspector’s household.

“I’ve got an idea.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“Gracious, you two are up early.” Mrs. Jeffries swept

into the kitchen. “Oh dear, am I intruding?” She’d given

them as much privacy as she possibly could, but if her theory about the murder was correct, they had much to do and she had to get started.

“That’s all right, Mrs. J.” Smythe grinned broadly. He’d

not been ready to share his thoughts on how they could

continue their investigations with his beloved quite yet.

“You’re up early yourself.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” She looked hopefully at the teapot.

“Is there enough in there for me?”

“There’s plenty.” Betsy was already up and moving to

the sideboard for another cup. “Why couldn’t you sleep? Is

your stomach bothering you again?”

“It wasn’t indigestion.” Mrs. Jeffries sat down. “It was

this case. Something is going to happen today, and we’ve

got to prepare as best we can.”

“Bloomin’ ada, you know who did it!” Smythe exclaimed.

“Thank goodness. I was terrified we weren’t going to

solve this one.” Betsy smiled happily and handed Mrs. Jeffries her mug.

“Well, I don’t precisely know who did it,” Mrs. Jeffries

explained. “But I’ve narrowed the field a bit.”

“What does that mean?” Mrs. Goodge asked. She was

standing in the doorway, holding a smug-looking Samson

in her arms. Her tone had been just a tad irritated.

“Excellent, you’re up,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “We must get

Wiggins up as well. I’m going to need all of you.”

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“What’s going on?” The cook put the cat down and

came on into the kitchen. She stared suspiciously at the

teapot. “Have you been meetin’ without