Free Mrs. Jeffries Rocks the Boat by Emily Brightwell

inspector?”
    “We’ll tell him that Smythe took the horses for a good, long run and that he took Wiggins with him.” Mrs. Jeffries was fairly sure Inspector Witherspoon wouldn’t notice his footman and coachman were gone. Not when he was in the middle of murder investigation. “Now, I think we’d better put our heads together and decide how we can tell him who the victim was.”
    “I know what we should do,” Luty stated. She picked up her teacup and took a dainty sip. “And I must say, I think it’s right imaginative.”
    “Are you goin’ to tell us, then?” Mrs. Goodge demanded. She was a bit put out that the victim was such a nobody, and a foreign nobody at that. She’d be hard put to contribute much to this investigation.
    “Course I’m goin’ to tell ya. We’re in this together, ain’t we?” She took another sip of tea. “I know exactly how we’ll tell the inspector.”
    “How?” Betsy demanded. She was in a bit of testy mood herself.
    “We’ll send him a telegram.”
    “A telegram?” Mrs. Jeffries said with a puzzled frown. “I’m afraid I don’t see how that would be all that different than sending him an anonymous note.”
    “Sure it would,” Luty stated flatly. “Cause this won’t be anonymous. We’ll sign it. We just won’t use our own names.”

    “I must say, the house is very quiet this evening,” Witherspoon said as he picked up the glass of sherry his housekeeper had so thoughtfully had poured and waiting for him when he arrived home.
    “That it is, sir. There’s only you, me and Mrs. Goodge here. We weren’t sure what your schedule might be, sir,” she said. She gave an embarrassed shrug. “I’m afraid that Smythe and Wiggins had planned on taking the horses out for a long run and, well, they weren’t sure whether or not you’d need them, so they went ahead with their plans. I do hope you don’t mind, sir. I don’t expect them back until late tonight.”
    “They didn’t take Fred, did they?” Witherspoon asked quickly. He did look forward to his nightly walk with the dog. Especially as he and Lady Cannonberry generally used that time to have a few moments alone together.
    “Of course not, sir.” Mrs. Jeffries smiled. “Fred would bevery put out if he missed his evening walkies, sir. You know how devoted the animal is to you.”
    “Oh, Fred likes everyone.” He frowned suddenly. “Uh, where is Betsy? She didn’t go with them, did she? I know that she and Smythe seem to have some sort of an understanding, but I don’t think we ought to…uh…you know…uh…”
    “Betsy has accompanied Luty Belle home in a hansom cab. She’ll be back shortly, sir.”
    Witherspoon blushed. “Er, I didn’t mean to imply anything untoward about Betsy and Smythe. It’s just that I feel responsible for the girl…not that Smythe would ever do anything dishonorable…oh dear, I’m not very good at this sort of thing, am I?”
    Mrs. Jeffries knew precisely what he meant. “On the contrary, sir. You’re excellent at it, sir.”
    “You’re most kind, Mrs. Jeffries,” he sighed. “I must admit, I do wish that Smythe would get on with it. I think we could all sleep a good deal better if he’d just make his intentions clear to us all. I’m sure he wants to marry Betsy.”
    “I’m sure he will marry her,” she replied. “Eventually. But I don’t think that either of them is in any hurry.” She really didn’t want to discuss Smythe and Betsy’s courtship. She wanted to talk about the murder. “How did your investigation go today, sir? Was it dreadful?”
    “Oh, not as awful as it could have been.” He made a face and took another quick sip of sherry. “The poor woman had been stabbed in the back. But it wasn’t as messy as some I’ve seen.”
    “Do you have any idea of why she was killed?”
    “None at all.”
    “Were there any witnesses, sir?”
    “Not really,” he sighed again. “Though we do have two people who heard some unusual activity last