Mrs. Jeffries Pinches the Post by Emily Brightwell Read Free Book Online Page A

together, then,” Smythe said. He looked at Mrs. Jeffries. “Will you be here this afternoon?”
    Mrs. Jeffries thought about it for a moment. She glanced at Mrs. Goodge. The cook’s eyes were sparkling with excitement, and there was a half-formed smile on her lips. Mrs. Jeffries was greatly relieved. This murder really had perked up the cook. “I’m going to do the shopping. I’m sure we’re in need of a few things.”
    “Good. That’ll help,” Mrs. Goodge said. “I know we’re a few days early and we could have made do with what we’ve got, but if I’m going to feed my sources, I’m going to need provisions right away. I’ll give you a list of what I want—oh yes, and could you stop at the greengrocer’s and get some apples? Those turnovers Lady Cannonberry gave me the recipe for are very popular. People chat their heads off when I’ve a plate of those on the table.”
    That was precisely why Mrs. Jeffries had decided to do the shopping. She knew that Mrs. Goodge had been battling a bit of melancholia lately. This murder had come along at just the right time. She didn’t want anything interfering with the cook’s enthusiasm for pursuing justice. “Of course. I had a quick look in the dry larder this morning. We seem to be low on a number of things. We can’t have that. Your sources expect to be fed.”  

CHAPTER 3

    “Looks as if Mr. Nye was doin’ all right for himself,” Constable Barnes muttered. He and the Inspector stood on the doorstep of a huge town house on Upper Belgrave Street, right off Belgravia Square. The neighborhood was rich, and so was the victim’s house. The door was freshly painted, and the brass post lamps and knocker were polished to a high shine. “On the other hand, as I’ve learned from you, sir, appearances can be very deceiving.”
    Witherspoon nodded. “Indeed they can, Constable. I say, this is the worst part of the job, isn’t it?”
    Barnes nodded and reached for the knocker. “Telling the family is always hard, sir.” He banged it once and stepped back.
    After a few moments, the door opened, and a butler appeared. His eyes widened slightly as his gaze took in Constable Barne’s uniform. “Oh dear, you are quick. We only just sent for you.”
    “Sent for us?” Witherspoon repeated.
    “Indeed,” the butler said. He opened the door wider and waved them inside. “The footman isn’t even back yet.”
    “Is that the police?” A woman’s voice came from above them.
    They stepped inside and stared up the curving staircase from where the voice had come.
    “Yes, madam, it is.” The butler looked very confused. “But I don’t quite understand. We’ve only just sent for them, and Angus isn’t even back yet.”
    “That doesn’t matter,” she said. “They’re here.”
    Witherspoon glanced at Barnes as a tall, rather lovely auburn-haired young woman flew down the stairway.
    “Have you found my husband?” she asked. Her eyes were frantic with worry. “Is he all right? Is he ill?”
    Witherspoon sighed inwardly as he realized what had happened. They’d sent for the police this morning when they’d realized that Mr. Nye hadn’t come home last night. Drat. “Are you Mrs. Harrison Nye?” he asked gently.
    “Yes,” she nodded. “I’m Eliza Nye. Where’s my husband?”
    “Mrs. Nye,” the inspector said softly. “Is there anyone here with you?”
    “Just the servants.” Her brows drew together in confusion. “Oh good Lord, what’s wrong? Where’s my husband?”
    Constable Barnes looked at the butler. “Do you have a housekeeper?” At the man’s nod, he continued, “Then get her, quickly. We’re going to take Mrs. Nye into the drawing room. Have her join us there and ask the maid to bring some tea.”
    Uncertain about taking orders from a stranger, the butler hesitated for a brief second, then realized something was terribly wrong and that these two policemen weren’t here to give them good news. He gulped audibly and hurried