Free Mrs. Jeffries and the Feast of St. Stephen (A Victorian Mystery) by Emily Brightwell

understood you correctly. Can you describe the sequence of events after the wine had been opened?”
    “I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking.” She frowned. “When the Farringdons arrived, I was still upstairs. I assume they handed the bottle to Stephen and he gave it to Flagg, who opened it in the butler’s pantry and then brought it back into the drawing room to be served.”
    Witherspoon smiled slightly. “What I meant to ask was what happened to the wine after it was opened. My understanding was that dinner wasn’t served until after eight o’clock and that the guests went into the morning room to look at Mr. Whitfield’s Christmas tree. Where was the wine when the guests were moving about?”
    “Oh, now I see what you mean.” Her pale brows furrowed as she thought about the question. “Let me see, I believe the first time I saw the bottle, it was sitting on a silver tray next to the decanter of sherry in the drawing room.” She shook her head. “The next time I recall seeing it was when Stephen asked Flagg to bring it into the dining room.”
    “So the bottle remained in the drawing room the entire time the guests were milling about and looking at the holiday decorations,” Witherspoon pressed. He had a feeling that understanding who may or may not have had access to that wine bottle might be the key to solving this case.
    “I think so,” she replied.
    “Do you recall whether anyone went into the drawing room after you’d all gone into the morning room?” Barnes asked.
    She shook her head, dislodging a tendril of hair that fell across her cheek. “At one time or another, everyone left the morning room. Mr. Langdon went back in at one point, and Henry went in because he wanted to have a look out the window to see if it was snowing. I believe Basil left as well. I was in and out several times myself.”
    “For what reason?” Witherspoon asked. Gracious, when he was a guest in someone’s home, he sat politely in the drawing room. What was wrong with these people? Everyone dashing about from room to room was going to make this very difficult, very difficult indeed. Drat.
    “For any number of reasons,” she snapped. “But if you want a list, I’ll be happy to oblige. I checked with Cook to ensure the roast beef wasn’t overdone, I asked Flagg to bring up another bottle of sherry to the drawing room, and I had Marie take away a linen serviette.”
    “In other words, you were down in the kitchen or in the butler’s pantry when you weren’t in the morning room,” Barnes said. “Did you go into the drawing room?”
    “Of course I did. I’ve just told you, I asked Flagg to bring up another bottle of sherry. I’d gone into the drawing room specifically to see how much sherry was left in the decanter.”
    “When you were in the drawing room, did anyone else come in?” Witherspoon asked softly.
    “No, but I was only there for a moment or two.”
    “After you left the drawing room,” Barnes continued, “where did you go first, the kitchen or the butler’s pantry?”
    Like Witherspoon, he knew it was important to get an idea of where everyone was in that crucial hour before the ill-fated dinner.
    “I went to see Flagg in the pantry first, and then I went into the kitchen,” she replied.
    “About how long were you downstairs?” the inspector asked.
    “I didn’t note the time, Inspector.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “But it was probably no more than ten minutes.”
    “When did you ask the maid to replace the serviette?” the constable inquired. He could tell by her stony expression that she resented this line of questioning.
    “Just before we went into the dining room to sit down for dinner.” She uncrossed her arms and sat up straighter. “I’d gone in to do a final check that the table was properly set, and noticed that one of the serviettes had a tear in the lace edging. I sent Marie down to the linen cupboard to get another one.”
    Witherspoon glanced in