Mrs. Jeffries & the Silent Knight Read online

 
  “Emily Brightwell continues to brighten the well-being of

  her fans with entertaining mysteries.”

  — Midwest Book Review

  “It’s murder most English all the way!”

  — The Literary Times

  INSPECTOR WITHERSPOON ALWAYS TRIUMPHS . . .

  HOW DOES HE DO IT?

  Even the Inspector himself doesn’t know—because his secret weapon is as ladylike as she is clever. She’s Mrs.

  Jeffries—the determined, delightful detective who stars in

  this unique Victorian mystery series. Be sure to read them

  all . . .

  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

  Visit Emily Brightwell’s website at

  www.emilybrightwell.com.

  Also available from Prime Crime:

  the first three Mrs. Jeffries mysteries in one volume

  Mrs. Jeffries Learns the Trade

  MRS. JEFFRIES

  and the

  SILENT KNIGHT

  �

  EMILY BRIGHTWELL

  c

  BERKLEY PRIME CRIME, NEW YORK

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  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. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE SILENT KNIGHT

  A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 2005 by Cheryl Arguile.

  Interior text design by Stacy Irwin.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN: 1-4362-7249-1

  BERKLEY ® PRIME CRIME

  Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  The name BERKLEY PRIME CRIME and the BERKLEY PRIME CRIME design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  In loving memory of Robert Eugene Lanham

  C H A P T E R 1

  �� ��

  �� ��

  “It’s not my fault the cat has gone missing,” Nina Braxton

  said to her sisters. “I don’t know why Father always assumes

  that everything that goes amiss in this house is my responsibility. I’ve nothing to do with the wretched animal.” She put the copy of the Financial Times she’d been reading down

  on the table and stood up. Nina was a woman of medium

  height and frame. Her eyes were blue, her complexion pale,

  her features ordinary, and there were a few strands of gray in

  her light brown hair. She glanced around the small drawing

  room, staring at her two sisters as they finished their morning coffee.

  Lucinda Braxton, the oldest of Sir George Braxton’s three

  daughters, shrugged her shoulders. “None of us have anything to do with the beast,” she said. “And personally, I don’t care if the stupid creature ever turns up. But I suspect

  it’s in all our interests to make sure he does.” She glanced at

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  Emily Brightwell

  the third woman in the room. Charlotte Braxton, the middle sister, was reading a novel and appeared to be taking no notice of the conversation. “Father will want to know if

  you’ve seen Samson,” Lucinda said, raising her voice to get

  Charlotte’s attention.

  Charlotte sighed and put down her book. She had more

  than a few strands of gray in her dark auburn hair, and there

  were fine lines around her brown eyes. She was a bit shorter

  and heavier than her younger sister, but not as short or

  heavy as Lucinda. “This is becoming tiresome. I’ve already

  told you, I haven’t seen hide nor hair of the stupid cat. Have

  you asked Mrs. Merryhill or either of our houseguests?”

  “Of course I’ve asked Mrs. Merryhill,” Lucinda snapped.

  “She hasn’t seen him, and neither have any of the other servants. Father had them out searching this morning at the crack of dawn. I don’t care if you find this tiresome or not,

  I’ll not have Raleigh disturbed over this matter because you

  don’t want to get your nose out of a book long enough to

  discuss it properly.”

  “Have you spoken to cousin Fiona?” Nina interjected.

  “Perhaps she’s seen Samson.”

  Lucinda glared at her sister. The question sounded quite

  reasonable, but she knew Nina was being malicious in

  bringing Fiona into the conversation. “You know very well I

  haven’t spoken to Fiona. I’ve no idea why she’s even here. I

  certainly didn’t invite her to spend Christmas with us.”

  “Father did,” Charlotte snickered, “and you really ought

  to be nicer to her. You’ve barely spoken to her since she got

  here.”

  “If I’d had my way, she’d not be here at all,” Lucinda

  cried. “I don’t know
why Father insisted on inviting her this

  year. It’s not as if he’s overly fond of her.”

  “Father isn’t overly fond of anyone,” Charlotte said softly.

  Mrs. Jeffries and the Silent Knight

  3

  “Not even us.” She picked her novel up and commenced

  reading again.

  “Put down that book,” Lucinda ordered. “We’ve got to

  think of how to find Samson.”

  Charlotte ignored her and kept on reading.

  “You’re being quite silly about this matter,” Nina said

  calmly.

  “If we don’t find that wretched cat, everyone’s Christmas

  will be ruined,” Lucinda snapped. “So whether you think

  I’m being silly or not, I would suggest you get up and help

  me locate Samson. As Charlotte is too busy reading to care

  about the matter, it’s going to be up to the two of us to keep

  Father from ruining our holidays over that stupid cat.”

  “I wasn’t referring to the cat,” Nina continued. She

  smiled slyly. “I was referring to our houseguests.”

  Lucinda felt a flush creep up her cheeks. She took a deep

  breath, trying to calm herself and keep her face from turning that mottled crimson color that was so unbecoming to a woman of her age. She cringed as she thought of her age.

  Forty-three wasn’t really old, but then again, Fiona was only

  thirty-five.

  “Don’t be absurd. I’m simply being a good hostess. Of

  course I don’t want Raleigh’s Christmas ruined over a stupid

  cat and you know what Father’s like. If Samson isn’t found,

  we’ll probably have to go without Christmas dinner.”

  “I’m glad to hear that your concern extends to Fiona as

  well,” Nina said. She was only thirty-eight, but unlike her

  sister, she had no prospects for marriage on the horizon. Nor

  did she want one, either. Being under her father’s authority

  was bad enough. Why on earth any woman would deliberately put herself under a husband’s authority was beyond her.

  “I don’t care if Fiona falls into a well,” Lucinda shouted.

  “I do care if I’m humiliated in front of my fiancé.”

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  Emily Brightwell

  “Oh, you’re engaged?” Nina asked archly. “When did

  that happen? I certainly saw no evidence of it at breakfast

  this morning. Odd that Raleigh didn’t mention it when

  Fiona asked him to accompany her to the Waifs and Strays

  Society subscription dinner.”

  Lucinda’s face turned beet-red, and she glared at her sister. “You’re impossible,” she cried as she stomped her foot.

  She charged for the door. “I don’t know why I even bother

  speaking to either of you.” She slammed the door hard as

  she left.

  “That was rather mean,” Charlotte said. “But very

  funny.”

  “Yes, wasn’t it?” Nina grinned. “And even better, it’ll

  keep her away from both of us for the rest of the day. I don’t

  know about you, but I’m busy. I’ve a number of things to

  see to today.”

  “As do I,” Charlotte murmured.

  “I do wish people would stop slamming doors.” Sir

  George Braxton stepped into the room and gave both his

  daughters a disapproving frown. “What’s wrong with Lucinda? Has she lost what little good sense she ever had and gone completely mad?” He was a short, stocky man with a

  heavy mustache, ruddy complexion, and watery blue eyes.

  He was also going bald. “Charlotte, I thought I told you to

  clear out all that junk in the attic. It can be sorted and sold.

  There’s no use letting perfectly good items sit up there doing nothing.”

  Charlotte looked up from her book. “That’s Mrs. Merry-

  hill’s job,” she said. “And most of the things in the attic are

  broken or useless.”

  “Mrs. Merryhill has enough to do around here,” he

  snapped. “And I’ll thank you not to talk back to me. Not if

  you want your quarterly allowance.”

  Mrs. Jeffries and the Silent Knight

  5

  Charlotte who’d opened her mouth to reply to him,

  thought better of it and clamped her lips shut. Finally, she

  said, “I’ll see to it this afternoon.”

  “See that you do.” Sir George turned his attention to his

  youngest daughter. “I want you to come into my study this

  afternoon at four. The builder’s coming to give me an estimate on the cost of tearing down the conservatory. You’re best at dealing with tradespeople. So make sure you’re not

  late.”

  “Yes, Father,” Nina replied. “I take it you’ve told

  Clarence you’re selling it. He’ll need to make arrangements

  for all his plants.”

  “His plants!” Sir George snorted. “Seems to me they’re

  my plants. I bought and paid for every single one of them.

  Don’t you worry about what I’ve told Clarence. You just be

  there at four and don’t make any plans for tomorrow morning, either. My broker is coming in at half past ten, and I’ll need you there to decipher what the fellow’s talking about.

  You can never get a straight answer out of those chaps.” He

  stomped toward the door, then turned. “Have either of you

  seen Samson? I can’t think where he’s got to.”

  “I haven’t seen him, Father,” Charlotte said.

  “Nor have I,” said Nina. “Why is your broker coming? Is

  something wrong?”

  “I’ve no idea what the fellow wants. He said he needed to

  see me, that’s all.”

  “He probably has a good investment idea for you,” Nina

  said cheerfully. “Oftentimes one has to act quickly to take

  full advantage of a good situation.”

  “Humph, we’ll see.” Sir George’s broad face creased in a

  worried frown. “It’s odd Samson going off like this, it’s

  been miserable outside, and you know how he hates bad

  weather. He’s been gone for two days now, and that’s simply

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  Emily Brightwell

  not like him. Can you two have a look about the place for

  him? I’ve had the servants and Clarence out looking, but

  they’re useless.”

  “Of course, Father,” Charlotte said softly. “I’m sure he’ll

  turn up.”

  “He’d better,” Sir George muttered. “The paper predicts

  snow for tonight.”

  “It’s going to snow tonight,” Mrs. Goodge, the cook for Inspector Gerald Witherspoon said to the housekeeper, Mrs.

  Jeffries. “I can always tell.”

  “Can you really?” Mrs. Jeffries said. She looked up from

  the list of provisions she’d been writing. “How?”

  “My bones start to ache,” the cook replied. “Not the kind

  of twingy ache you get when it rains, but a different sort,

  deeper and kind of dull-like, if you know what I mean.”

  Mrs. Goodge was a stout, elderly woman who’d cooked in

  some of the finest houses of all England. But this, her last

  and final position, was by far the best she’d ever had. “And

  it’s not like when my rheumatism acts up,” she continued.

  “It’s a different sort of feeling altogether.”

  Mrs. Jeffries nodded. “Perhaps it’s just as well we’ve

  nothing to investigate, then. Slogging about in the snow

/>   wouldn’t be very amusing.”

  “I’d not mind,” the cook grinned. “I do all my investigatin’ from right here, where it’s always cozy and warm. It’s been far too long since our last case. It’s boring.”

  “True,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “But it’s Christmas. It’s

  dreadful to think there’s murder about at what should be

  the season of forgiveness.” The moment she said the words

  she realized she was being ridiculously sentimental. She was

  the widow of a Yorkshire policeman and the leader of the

  inspector’s household. She knew that the season of forgive

  Mrs. Jeffries and the Silent Knight

  7

  ness had no meaning for some individuals. She’d been involved with enough homicides to know that murder knew no season. It happened all the time. As a matter of fact,

  she’d noticed that murder tended to happen more often

  when family and friends spent substantial amounts of time

  with one another.

  Betsy, the slender, blue-eyed, blonde-haired maid

  brought her cup of tea to the table and sat down in her usual

  place. “I’d not mind slogging about in the wet if it meant

  we were on the hunt, so to speak. It does keep life interesting, doesn’t it? Besides, a bit of snow never hurt anyone.”

  The maid was engaged to the coachman Smythe, and

  their wedding was set for June. Because of Smythe’s economic circumstances, she knew that once they were married, her days investigating homicides might be numbered.

  She wanted to get in as many cases as she could before it all

  came to an end.

  “That’s true, but it’s not very pleasant to be out in the

  wet,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. She was a plump woman of late

  middle age with auburn hair and brown eyes. She’d been

  housekeeper to Inspector Gerald Witherspoon for several

  years now, and she, along with the rest of the household,

  was very involved in helping to solve their inspector’s murder cases. Of course, he’d no idea he was getting their assistance, and they were determined to keep it that way. But Mrs. Jeffries secretly took a great deal of pride in knowing

  that their small band of dedicated sleuths had sent him

  from the Records Room to being the most famous homicide

  investigator in all the country. “I wonder where Wiggins

  and Smythe have got to? They promised they’d be back for

  tea this afternoon.”

  “Smythe’s gone to Howards’ to make sure his darlings are

  warm and snug in their stalls,” Betsy grinned. Her beloved