Free Mrs. Jeffries and the Mistletoe Mix-Up by Emily Brightwell Page A

doesn’t wish us to come into his home, he’s more than welcome to accompany us to the station.”
    Behind him, one of the workmen snickered.
    The housemaid’s eyes widened with fright. “I’m only doin’ what he told me to do,” she explained. “I’ll leave this open and go tell Mr. Brunel what you’ve said.”
    She disappeared, and they could hear the murmur of voices from the interior of the house. A few moments later, she reappeared and ushered them inside. She led them across a tiny foyer, past the staircase, and into a drawing room. “He’s in here,” she murmured softly before hurrying back to the hall.
    They stepped farther inside, both of them blinking as their eyes adjusted to the gloom. But there was enough light to see that the walls were papered in an ugly gray green pattern, the curtains were closed, the carpet was frayed, and the furniture was one step away from being decrepit.
    From out of the shadows, a man stood up. “I’m sorry to sound rude, but I suffer from terrible headaches. That’s why I had the maid say I wasn’t receiving. Please come in and sit down.”
    “I’m Inspector Gerald Witherspoon, and this is Constable Barnes.” The inspector squinted as he moved deeper into the room. “We’re sorry to barge in like this, but it’s important we speak with you. Are you Arthur Brunel?”
    “I am.” He waved them toward two chairs by the empty fireplace then sat back down on a love seat opposite. He had red hair, a snub nose, and a face full of freckles. “And I do know why you’re here. But I assure you, sir, I had nothing to do with Daniel McCourt’s murder.”
    The inspector sat down and then winced as something hard punched directly into his backside. “You were at the McCourt house yesterday for tea, is that correct?” He heard Barnes groan as he sank into the other chair. He glanced over and saw the constable grimacing in pain.
    “Yes, I was invited to the house. But I didn’t stay long. No one did. There was a fire in the servants’ hall, and the place stank to high heaven. We didn’t even get to finish our tea, which was very annoying, as I’d told the maid not to bother to make me any supper.”
    “Can you please tell us what happened yesterday at the McCourt home?” Barnes asked.
    Brunel thought for a moment. “Let me see, I think I arrived right on time, which would have been half past four. I don’t know why the tea wasn’t set for the proper time of five o’clock, but it wasn’t. We were kept waiting for some time in the morning room, of all places, and then the butler escorted everyone to the drawing room.”
    “Do you know exactly when you went into the drawing room?” The inspector shifted his weight. Ye gods, what on earth was in these chair cushions?
    “This is just a guess, but I’d say we went in about four forty,” he replied. “I can’t say for certain, as I don’t have a timepiece and didn’t look at the house clocks. But we were only in the drawing room for a couple of minutes before we heard the commotion and found out there was a fire. Daniel McCourt assured us that everything was under control and we should have tea, but within moments it was obvious that would be impossible. The house stank something awful. We sat there trying to pretend we didn’t notice the smell when all of a sudden Leon exclaimed that it looked as if his wife was going to faint.”
    “Mrs. Brunel had taken ill?” Barnes clarified.
    Arthur smirked. “That’s what Leon said, but Glenda looked perfectly healthy to me. As a matter of fact, I happened to look at her just when he made the comment, and I must say, she looked surprised. But obviously, Elena McCourt couldn’t have guests keeling over from the fumes, so she asked us all to leave.”
    “It was Mrs. McCourt who asked you to go?” Witherspoon said.
    “Oh yes,” he replied eagerly. “Daniel didn’t say a word about the smell. He just sat there smiling and pretending that nothing was wrong. But