Mrs. Jeffries Demands Justice Read online

  WHAT WOULD SCOTLAND YARD DO WITHOUT DEAR MRS. JEFFRIES?

  The Inspector and Mrs. Jeffries: When a doctor is found dead in his own office, Mrs. Jeffries must scour the premises to find the prescription for murder.

  Mrs. Jeffries Dusts for Clues: One case is solved and another is opened when the inspector finds a missing brooch—pinned to a dead woman’s gown.

  The Ghost and Mrs. Jeffries: When the murder of Mrs. Hodges is foreseen at a spooky séance, Mrs. Jeffries must look into the past for clues.

  Mrs. Jeffries Takes Stock: A businessman has been murdered—and the smart money’s on Mrs. Jeffries to catch the killer.

  Mrs. Jeffries on the Ball: A festive Jubilee celebration turns into a fatal affair—and Mrs. Jeffries must find the guilty party.

  Mrs. Jeffries on the Trail: Mrs. Jeffries must sniff out a flower peddler’s killer.

  Mrs. Jeffries Plays the Cook: Mrs. Jeffries finds herself doing double duty: cooking for the inspector’s household and trying to cook a killer’s goose.

  Mrs. Jeffries and the Missing Alibi: When Inspector Witherspoon is the main suspect in a murder, only Mrs. Jeffries can save him.

  Mrs. Jeffries Stands Corrected: When a local publican is murdered and Inspector Witherspoon botches the investigation, trouble starts to brew for Mrs. Jeffries.

  Mrs. Jeffries Takes the Stage: After a theater critic is murdered, Mrs. Jeffries uncovers the victim’s secret shocking past.

  Mrs. Jeffries Questions the Answer: To find the disagreeable Hannah Cameron’s killer, Mrs. Jeffries must tread lightly—or it could be a matter of life and death.

  Mrs. Jeffries Reveals Her Art: A missing model and a killer have Mrs. Jeffries working double time before someone else becomes the next subject.

  Mrs. Jeffries Takes the Cake: A dead body, two dessert plates, and a gun. Mrs. Jeffries will have to do some serious snooping around to dish up more clues.

  Mrs. Jeffries Rocks the Boat: A murdered woman had recently traveled by boat from Australia. Now Mrs. Jeffries must solve the case—and it’s sink or swim.

  Mrs. Jeffries Weeds the Plot: Three attempts have been made on Annabeth Gentry’s life. Is it because her bloodhound dug up the body of a murdered thief?

  Mrs. Jeffries Pinches the Post: Mrs. Jeffries and her staff must root through the sins of a ruthless man’s past to catch his killer.

  Mrs. Jeffries Pleads Her Case: The inspector is determined to prove a suicide was murder, and with Mrs. Jeffries on his side, he may well succeed.

  Mrs. Jeffries Sweeps the Chimney: A vicar has been found murdered and Inspector Witherspoon’s only prayer is to seek the divinations of Mrs. Jeffries.

  Mrs. Jeffries Stalks the Hunter: When love turns deadly, who better to get to the heart of the matter than Inspector Witherspoon’s indomitable companion, Mrs. Jeffries?

  Mrs. Jeffries and the Silent Knight: The yuletide murder of an elderly man is complicated by several suspects—none of whom were in the Christmas spirit.

  Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict: Mrs. Jeffries and her belowstairs cohorts have their work cut out for them if they want to save an innocent man from the gallows.

  Mrs. Jeffries and the Best Laid Plans: Everyone banker Lawrence Boyd met became his enemy. It will take Mrs. Jeffries’ shrewd eye to find who killed him.

  Mrs. Jeffries and the Feast of St. Stephen: ’Tis the season for sleuthing when a wealthy man is murdered and Mrs. Jeffries must solve the case in time for Christmas.

  Mrs. Jeffries Holds the Trump: A medical magnate is found floating down the river. Now Mrs. Jeffries will have to dive into the mystery.

  Mrs. Jeffries in the Nick of Time: Mrs. Jeffries lends her downstairs common sense to this upstairs murder mystery.

  Mrs. Jeffries and the Yuletide Weddings: Wedding bells will make this season all the more jolly. Until one humbug sings a carol of murder.

  Mrs. Jeffries Speaks Her Mind: Everyone doubts an eccentric old woman who suspects she’s going to be murdered—until the prediction comes true.

  Mrs. Jeffries Forges Ahead: A free-spirited bride is poisoned, and it’s up to Mrs. Jeffries to discover who wanted to make the modern young woman into a postmortem.

  Mrs. Jeffries and the Mistletoe Mix-Up: There’s murder going on under the mistletoe as Mrs. Jeffries and Inspector Witherspoon hurry to solve the case.

  Mrs. Jeffries Defends Her Own: When an unwelcome visitor from her past needs help, Mrs. Jeffries steps into the fray to stop a terrible miscarriage of justice.

  Mrs. Jeffries Turns the Tide: When Mrs. Jeffries doubts a suspect’s guilt, she must turn the tide of the investigation to save an innocent man.

  Mrs. Jeffries and the Merry Gentlemen: When a successful stockbroker is murdered just days before Christmas, Mrs. Jeffries won’t rest until justice is served for the holidays.

  Mrs. Jeffries and the One Who Got Away: When a woman is found strangled clutching an old newspaper clipping, only Mrs. Jeffries can get to the bottom of the story.

  Mrs. Jeffries Wins the Prize: Inspector Witherspoon and Mrs. Jeffries weed out a killer after a body is found in a gentlewoman’s conservatory.

  Mrs. Jeffries Rights a Wrong: Mrs. Jeffries and Inspector Witherspoon must determine who had the motive to put a duplicitous businessman in the red.

  Mrs. Jeffries and the Three Wise Women: As Christmas approaches, Luty, Ruth, and Mrs. Goodge turn up the heat on a murderer to stop the crime from becoming a cold case.

  Mrs. Jeffries Delivers the Goods: When poison fells an arrogant businessman at a ball, Mrs. Jeffries and Inspector Witherspoon must catch the culprit before the misanthrope murders again.

  Mrs. Jeffries and the Alms of the Angel: When a wealthy widow is murdered right before Christmas, Mrs. Jeffries investigates what happens when money can’t buy your life.

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Emily Brightwell

  THE INSPECTOR AND MRS. JEFFRIES

  MRS. JEFFRIES DUSTS FOR CLUES

  THE GHOST AND MRS. JEFFRIES

  MRS. JEFFRIES TAKES STOCK

  MRS. JEFFRIES ON THE BALL

  MRS. JEFFRIES ON THE TRAIL

  MRS. JEFFRIES PLAYS THE COOK

  MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE MISSING ALIBI

  MRS. JEFFRIES STANDS CORRECTED

  MRS. JEFFRIES TAKES THE STAGE

  MRS. JEFFRIES QUESTIONS THE ANSWER

  MRS. JEFFRIES REVEALS HER ART

  MRS. JEFFRIES TAKES THE CAKE

  MRS. JEFFRIES ROCKS THE BOAT

  MRS. JEFFRIES WEEDS THE PLOT

  MRS. JEFFRIES PINCHES THE POST

  MRS. JEFFRIES PLEADS HER CASE

  MRS. JEFFRIES SWEEPS THE CHIMNEY

  MRS. JEFFRIES STALKS THE HUNTER

  MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE SILENT KNIGHT

  MRS. JEFFRIES APPEALS THE VERDICT

  MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE BEST LAID PLANS

  MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE FEAST OF ST. STEPHEN

  MRS. JEFFRIES HOLDS THE TRUMP

  MRS. JEFFRIES IN THE NICK OF TIME

  MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE YULETIDE WEDDINGS

  MRS. JEFFRIES SPEAKS HER MIND

  MRS. JEFFRIES FORGES AHEAD

  MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE MISTLETOE MIX-UP

  MRS. JEFFRIES DEFENDS HER OWN

  MRS. JEFFRIES TURNS THE TIDE

  MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE MERRY GENTLEMEN

  MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE ONE WHO GOT AWAY

  MRS. JEFFRIES WINS THE PRIZE

  MRS. JEFFRIES RIGHTS A WRONG

  MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE THREE
WISE WOMEN

  MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE ALMS OF THE ANGEL

  Anthologies

  MRS. JEFFRIES LEARNS THE TRADE

  MRS. JEFFRIES TAKES A SECOND LOOK

  MRS. JEFFRIES TAKES TEA AT THREE

  MRS. JEFFRIES SALLIES FORTH

  MRS. JEFFRIES PLEADS THE FIFTH

  MRS. JEFFRIES SERVES AT SIX

  BERKLEY PRIME CRIME

  Published by Berkley

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  penguinrandomhouse.com

  Copyright © 2021 by Cheryl A. Arguile

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  BERKLEY and the BERKLEY & B colophon are registered trademarks and BERKLEY PRIME CRIME is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Brightwell, Emily, author.

  Title: Mrs. Jeffries demands justice / Emily Brightwell.

  Description: First edition. | New York: Berkley Prime Crime, 2021. |

  Series: A Victorian mystery; 39

  Identifiers: LCCN 2020037106 (print) | LCCN 2020037107 (ebook) | ISBN 9780593101063 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9780593101070 (ebook)

  Subjects: LCSH: Jeffries, Mrs. (Fictitious character)—Fiction. | Women detectives—England—Fiction. | Housekeepers—England—Fiction. | Murder—Investigation—Fiction. | Police—England—Fiction. | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3552.R46443 M6486 2021 (print) | LCC PS3552.R46443 (ebook) | DDC 813/.54—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020037106

  LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020037107

  First Edition: January 2021

  Cover art by Mark Fredrickson

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  pid_prh_5.6.1_c0_r0

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  What Would Scotland Yard Do Without Dear Mrs. Jeffries?

  Titles by Emily Brightwell

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  About the Author

  CHAPTER 1

  Bert Santorini hoped this wouldn’t take long. He didn’t have all night and despite it being almost springtime, it was still bloomin’ cold. Princess, the old pony, swished her tail and gave a soft whinny. He climbed down from the seat of his ice cart and straightened the bouquet he’d saved to give to a certain lady who was annoyed with him at the moment. He put his hand on Princess’ back, hoping to soothe her. “Don’t fret, my lovey—we’ll be home soon. Just got to take care of this bit of business.”

  He glared down the dark mews and tried to keep a lid on his temper. It was past time for the meeting and he was tired; Mondays were always a tough day. He told himself he should just leave, that he wasn’t going to be dancing to a fancy toff’s tune, but there was too much at stake. This was business, and there was more than a little money to be made, maybe a lot more if he kept his head and held his tongue.

  Wind gusted down the mews, and Princess snorted faintly, as if telling him they should be moving on. “It’s alright, love—it’ll not be much longer.” He glanced at the far end of the mews, squinting in the dim light. He and Princess were only a few feet off the Commercial Road; but the radiance from the streetlamps didn’t reach this far, and the only illumination was from the two kerosene lights on his cart. It was enough to see by, but just barely.

  He glanced up at the four-story brown brick office building on his left before turning and examining the two-story warehouse on the right. Both places were dark and closed for the night. Good— the last thing he needed was prying eyes. Satisfied, he turned toward the Commercial Road. Traffic was heavy at this time of evening, but nothing turned into the mews. Where was the blighter? Money or not, he wasn’t going to wait much longer.

  He whirled around as he heard footsteps coming from the opposite end of the mews. He had a story ready if it was a copper on patrol, but it wasn’t a copper, it was the one he expected. Dragging in a deep breath, he readied himself for what might turn into a nasty row. As he exhaled, he realized there was something funny going on here. His eyes narrowed as the figure came closer. It was him, of course, and he’d not seen him since before the trial, but from the way his overcoat hung, he’d put on a good half stone or more of weight. “Guess ’e can afford to stuff his face anytime he wants,” he muttered. Princess snorted.

  “It’s about time you got ’ere.” Bert tried and failed to hold his tongue. But his visitor said nothing; he simply shoved his right hand into his coat pocket and kept moving.

  “What’s wrong with ya? Cat got yer tongue?”

  Again, the advancing figure said nothing.

  Princess whinnied again and tossed her head, jangling her harness. Bert was suddenly uneasy; something was wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He told himself there was nothing to worry about—he’d taken precautions. What they’d done had been much more dangerous for the toff than for him. He’d made bloomin’ sure the toff knew better than to try to squirm out of their deal. He’d taken a big risk for this one, and he’d made it crystal clear that if anything happened to him, there was a friend who’d point the police his way.

  “Come on, come on, pick up your feet and get your arse over ’ere. It’s cold and you’re late. I want to get Princess home. I’ve got plans for tonight.”

  But instead of moving faster, the blighter stuck his left hand inside his overcoat. Bert’s eyes widened in surprise as he saw a pillow appear.

  “Have you gone mad? Why are you carryin’ around a pillow?”

  But instead of answering, he suddenly increased his speed while shoving his hand into his other coat pocket.

  Alarmed, Bert stumbled backward. He’d survived the crime-ridden streets of the East End by trusting his instincts, and right now they were screaming at him to run.

  But it was too late.

  The figure raced toward Bert, pulling a gun out of his coat pocket as he narrowed the distance between the two of them. Bert turned and ran toward the end of the mews. His only chance was to make it to the Commercial Road. But the cobblestones were damp, and before he could go more than a few feet, he slipped and fell hard onto the ground. He landed next to Princess, scaring her enough so that she danced away from him. He grabbed at her harness, his fingers closing around the soft leather straps as he tried to get up. But the animal tore away from his grasp, confused, and bolted toward the busy road.

  The killer stood above him with the gun pointed straight at his forehead. Bert’s eyes widened as he saw who held the weapon. “You. What in the name of all that’s holy are you doin’ ’ere?”

  “My God, you always did ask stupid questions.” In one quick movement, the murderer shoved the pillow into Bert’s face, rammed the gun against the fabric, and pulled the trigger. The sound of the shot was muffled by the traffic noise.

  Bert slumped to the ground. It took only a moment to make sure he was dead. The assailant saw that the pony,
frightened even more by the unfamiliar noises, had now reached the end of the mews and, with the cart lurching drunkenly behind it, ran out onto the busy street. That was good—part of the plan, actually. At this time of day, the street would be crowded with both pedestrian and road traffic. By now, someone would have spotted the animal and realized where it had come from and, more important, that something might be wrong. No one let a valuable horse and cart go running off on its own, not in this part of the city. Within minutes, someone would be here to see what happened and that was just fine.

  The faster the police arrived, the better.

  The killer carefully placed the gun next to the body, turned around, and walked calmly back the way they’d come.

  * * *

  * * *

  Constable Poole spotted the pony and cart rushing into the heavy traffic of the Commercial Road. He raced toward it, dodging coopers’ vans, hansoms, four-wheelers, and two omnibuses before he managed to grasp the animal’s bridle. He’d been raised in the country, so he knew better than to try to stop the runaway. He ran alongside the pony, gradually slowing it down.

  Poole petted the pony’s head and spoke in a low, soothing voice as they slackened their pace and moved toward the edge of the pavement. Both of them were panting and out of breath as they finally came to a stop. “Not to worry, my pretty one, you’re safe now. But where’s your owner? Where’d you come from?”

  By this time quite a crowd had gathered. “He come out of the end of Felix Mews.” A flat-capped young lad pointed. “He come out like he was bein’ chased by the devil hisself.”

  “Can someone hold on to him?” Poole called. He wanted to have a look in the mews. The owner should be close by; perhaps he’d been making deliveries or had stopped to give the beast a rest. But if that was the case, where was he? Whatever the reason, Poole needed to find out what was happening.

  “I’ll hold him,” a middle-aged man volunteered.

  Poole nodded and hurried to the mews. He stepped inside and realized how little light came from the street. For a brief moment, he wished he had his hand lantern, but he’d been on fixed-point duty and all he had was a truncheon and a whistle. He moved farther inside the mews and then came to a full stop. Even in the darkness, there was enough light for him to see a body splayed out on the cobblestones. Poole hurried over to where the man lay, knelt down, and shoved his fingers against the man’s neck, feeling for a pulse. He prayed he was doing it right. But after several minutes of Poole prodding the poor fellow’s neck and wrist, he was fairly certain the man was dead. The bullet hole in his forehead was a clue, but he’d been on the force long enough to know that people could survive all sorts of wounds, including bullets to their head. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves and leaned back on his heels. That was when he spotted the gun lying next to the body.