Mrs. Jeffries and the Best Laid Plans by Emily Brightwell Read Free Book Online Page A

below stairs, so to speak, and the footman’s feelings were a bit raw on the subject. But he didn’t begrudge the inspector; no, he wasn’t the sort to act like a jealous old tabby. He cast a quick glare at Samson, who was curled up on a little stool near the cook’s chair. Samson twitched his tail and glared right back.
    Mrs. Jeffries was already on her feet and moving to the back stairs, not quite as fast as Fred, but hurrying none the less.
    Fred bounced wildly up and down as the front door opened and the inspector stepped inside. “Gracious, old fellow, don’t make such a fuss,” the inspector said, but he was beaming broadly as he spoke. Fred’s tail wagged madly and he tried, unsuccessfully, to lick the inspector’s face.
    “Good evening, Inspector,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “Fred, get down now so the inspector can take off his hat and coat.”
    The dog settled immediately, and Witherspoon took the opportunity to slip off his coat. “It’s nice to be so warmly greeted, especially after the day I’ve had.”
    “Tiring was it, sir?” she held her breath, hoping that she wasn’t wrong; then she immediately felt guilty. If there was a murder, it meant some poor soul had died. Really, she mustn’t allow herself to be so hopeful about such wickedness.
    “Exhausting.” He handed her his bowler hat. “I got called out for a murder at a house in Bayswater. I don’t suppose we’ve received any word from Lady Cannonberry?”
    Ruth Cannonberry was their neighbor and a special friend of the inspector’s. But their relationship was having a difficult time making any progress as Ruth kept getting called out of town to play nursemaid to her late husband’s relations, most of whom seemed afflicted with one ailment after the other, both real and imaginary. This time she’d had to go all the way to Northumberland to stay with her sister-in-law.
    “Nothing yet, sir, but she only left yesterday morning. You’ll probably get a letter tomorrow.” She took his hat and hung it up next to his coat. “I’m sorry your day was so awful, sir. No wonder you’re home so late.” She was thoroughly ashamed of herself for the feeling of elation that swept through her. “Who was murdered?”
    “Fellow by the name of Lawrence Boyd. He’s a banker.” Witherspoon sighed. “I don’t wish to inconvenience the household, but do you think Mrs. Goodge would be put out if I had a sherry before dinner.”
    “Not to worry, sir.” Mrs. Jeffries started down the hall toward the drawing room. “The household won’t mind in the least. Mrs. Goodge has laid on a nice beef stew. It’s in the oven and I’ll serve it whenever you’re ready.”
    She was so very grateful that the inspector hadn’t been raised with servants. He’d never learned to treat them as objects for his own convenience.
    She swept into the drawing room and headed for the sideboard. Opening the lower cupboard, she pulled out a bottle of Harvey’s and then reached for the glasses. The inspector, now minus Fred, who’d wandered back downstairs, sank into his favorite chair.
    “I’ve so looked forward to this,” he admitted as she handed him a glass of sherry. “It’s been a very busy day. Do pour one for yourself.”
    “Thank you, sir,” she replied. She took her drink and sat down in the chair opposite him. “What happened, sir?”
    “Well, I was working away at Ladbroke Grove station, and we were getting ready to go have lunch when the duty officer came in and said they’d had reports of a murder at number 14 Laurel Road in Bayswater. As it was in my district, I was up for it, of course.”
    Mrs. Jeffries had no doubt that even if he hadn’t been the detective on duty, they’d have sent for him anyway, but she said nothing.
    “Constable Barnes and I took a hansom, and we were there very quickly. It’s amazing how fast one can travel about London these days, isn’t it.” He took a quick gulp of his drink. “Apparently, Mr. Boyd, the victim,