Free Mrs. Jeffries Speaks Her Mind by Emily Brightwell Page B

everything I’ve found out from the inspector and Constable Barnes.”
    “I found out a few bits myself,” Luty, grinning mischievously, added, “and I can tell by the way Hatchet’s been preenin’ this mornin’ that he’s stumbled onto something, too.”
    “I do not preen and I certainly didn’t ‘stumble’ onto information.” He gave her a sour look.
    “Does that mean you ain’t found out anything?”
    “The point of my comment was to deny that I stumble onto useful items.” He stuck his nose in the air. “I have a number of excellent sources which I cultivate in an intelligent and logical manner. Stumble, indeed.”
    “If we’ve all got something to share, we’d better be quick about it. It’s already a quarter past eight and Phyllis might take it into her head to come even earlier than usual,” Betsy said.
    “She’ll not be here this early.” Mrs. Jeffries gave her a reproachful look and then turned her attention back to the others. She told them everything she’d learned from Witherspoon and Constable Barnes.
    “Cor blimey, sounds like there’s lots of people that won’t be cryin’ at Miss Kettering’s funeral,” Wiggins observed when she’d finished. “Fancy accusin’ her servants of stealin’, especially when she’d a houseful of those people from that Society of the Humble Shepherd.”
    “Servant,” Mrs. Goodge corrected. “It’s the Society of the Humble Servant.”
    “Just because people claim to have religion,” he continued with a nod toward the cook, “that don’t mean they’re not above stickin’ a pretty trinket in their pocket.”
    “Apparently that is precisely what Miss Kettering’s housekeeper pointed out to her mistress,” Mrs. Jeffries remarked. “Yet it didn’t seem to have a great deal of influence on Miss Kettering’s attitude toward her staff.”
    “Yes, but she didn’t sack them, did she?” Mrs. Goodge snorted. “And believe me, if she’d really thought her servants were to blame for the thefts, she’d have given them the boot faster than Samson can gulp down a dish of cream. Olive Kettering didn’t want to believe her friends would steal, when it’s so much easier to blame some poor servant. Stupid woman, she’s lucky the whole lot of them didn’t up and leave.” She’d worked in houses where the staff had taken the blame for the misdeeds of family or friends. She understood and hated the unfairness of it all.
    Mrs. Jeffries glanced at the clock. Despite her admonition to Betsy, they had better move along or Phyllis might come walking in the back door. “Who’d like to go next?”
    “I will,” Ruth said eagerly. “I went to a dinner party at Lord Cahill’s town house last night and the only topic of conversation was the murder. What’s more, Isabella March mentioned that the inspector and I were friends, so everyone at the table talked to me about the crime. It was amazing. I didn’t even have to ask any questions. No one mentioned anything about the murder per se, but I heard all sorts of gossip about Olive Kettering and the Kettering family. She was very rich and the money came from the Kettering Brewery.”
    “Does she still own it?” Hatchet asked. “My sources thought the family might have sold out years ago.”
    “They did.” Ruth nodded her thanks as Mrs. Goodge handed her a cup of tea. “Her parents sold the brewery twenty-five years ago for a huge amount of money. Olive was their only child and when they died, she got it all. What’s more, she took control of her finances and apparently she’s quite a good businesswoman. Everyone seemed to think she doubled the wealth she inherited, which wasn’t insubstantial to begin with.”
    “Now that she’s dead, who gets the goods?” Wiggins asked cheerfully.
    Ruth laughed. “Everyone at the dinner party seemed to think she’d leave it to her family, except for Lady Cahill. She claimed she’d heard that Miss Kettering was estranged from her relations and that