Mrs. Jeffries Rocks the Boat by Emily Brightwell Read Free Book Online

asked.
    Smythe wasn’t stupid enough to whip out his roll of bills in front of all and sundry. Nor was he going to part with cash until he had some information. “First you tell me which one is ’airy and then we’ll talk about how much.”
    The cabbie eyed him suspiciously. “How do I know you’ll pay?”
    “You don’t,” Smythe sighed impatiently. He didn’t want to stand here all day. “Look, you take me to this ’arry feller and I’ll make it worth yer while. Does that sound fair?”
    The man thought about it for all of two seconds. “Fair enough.” He turned on his heel and started off down the road, away from the cab stand. “Come on, then. Get a move on. Harry’s not goin’ to be there long.”
    Smythe nodded his thanks to the other cabbie and hurried after the tall redhead.

    Wiggins tucked his small parcel neatly under his arm as he stood on the cobblestone road and gazed onto Sheridan Square. Opposite him was the garden where the poor lady had met her untimely death…to Wiggins any death not taken in a nice soft bed at the age of ninety was untimely. Wiggins bobbled to one side. He could see see the helmet of a constable on the far side of the garden. Probably a police constable guarding the entrance, he thought. He tucked the parcel of food under his arm, straightened his spine and strolled toward the action. After all, if anyone stopped him, he had a reason for being there.
    He rounded the corner of the garden and saw that the gate was open. The constable on guard was a lad not much older than himself. Wiggins stood on tiptoe, trying to see through the thick bushes into the interior of the square. But all he could see were passing police helmets or the flash of a dark uniform as the lads searched the grounds.
    He moved his gaze from the garden to the square itself. The houses were huge, well kept and reeking of money. Wiggins chuckled lightly. Most of the residents were too well-bred to show any interest in the police presence right under their noses, but they’d sent their servants out to pick up what gossip they could. In front of number six a tweeny energetically swept the doorstoop. Across from Wiggins, windows were being washed at another house and at a third, a footman was outside polishing the brass carriage lamps. None of them were paying more than passing attention to their tasks; they were all watching the garden.
    Wiggins took a deep breath and started in the direction of the tweeny. A lad had to start somewhere and she was as good as any.
    The girl didn’t even hear him approaching. She was staring hard at the garden. Wiggins, thinking she might have a better view from this end of the square, stopped a few feet away from her and took a gander himself. He could see nothing butbushes and hedges. He glanced back at the girl. Her attention was still fixed on the square, the broom in her hands moving rhythmically back and forth as she brushed the same spot over and over. He headed towards her, taking care to walk heavily so that his footsteps sounded along the pavement. The girl started and whirled about.
    “Sorry, miss,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
    “You didn’t scare me,” she said defensively, “you startled me, that’s all.”
    She was really very pretty, he thought. Beneath her conical maid’s cap, her hair was a deep brown color. Her eyes were hazel and her skin was perfect. “I didn’t mean to,” he said. “You was staring at that garden so hard you musta not ’eard me coming till I was right behind you. What’s happened?” He jerked his head at the square.
    “Someone’s got murdered,” she replied. She turned her back on him and went back to sweeping.
    Wiggins didn’t think this was a particularly good sign. But the fact that he’d have to talk to her back didn’t stop him. “Murdered? Really? How?”
    “I don’t know,” she muttered.
    He knew that was a lie. By now, he knew that every servant in the square knew how the