Free Mrs. Jeffries Stands Corrected by Emily Brightwell Page B

furiously, suddenly jumped up and dashed out of the kitchen. There was a loud pounding on the back door and, a moment later, footsteps in the hall.
    “Good morning,” Hatchet, Luty Belle Crookshank’s dignified butler, called out. “Is anyone here?”
    “Good Lord, Hatchet,” Luty cried. “You should have waited till someone come to the door to let us in. We can’tgo bargin’ in on folks at this time of the mornin’.”
    “We’re not barging in, madam,” Hatchet replied as he came into the kitchen. “They sent us a telegram.” He stopped and smiled broadly, sure of his welcome. He was a tall, distinguished, white-haired gentleman wearing an immaculate black suit and carrying a walking stick in one hand while holding on to his old-fashioned top hat with the other. “Hello, everyone, I do hope you don’t mind us coming around this early. But I knew you’d be up and eager to get cracking on our case.”
    “What he means,” Luty said, shooting her butler a disgruntled glance, “is that he hoped you’d be up so he wouldn’t have to wait another minute to find out about this murder we’ve got.”
    Luty Belle Crookshank was a white-haired, rich American. She was small of stature, sharp as a razor and had a penchant for wearing outrageously bright clothes. Today she had donned a brilliant blue day dress with a matching hat, carried a parasol festooned with lacy rosettes and, of course, her white fur muff. Luty never went anywhere without her muff. She carried a Colt .45 in it, despite both Hatchet’s and the household of Upper Edmonton Gardens’ pleas that it was dangerous. As Luty was fond of telling them, her “Peacemaker” had gotten the inspector out of trouble more than once in the past.
    “Goodness,” Mrs. Jeffries exclaimed, “how on earth did you get here so fast?”
    “Don’t ask.” Luty rolled her eyes at her butler. “Once Hatchet got that telegram, he had me bundled up, packed and headin’ for London faster than an avalanche in the Colorado Rockies. We got out of Lord Lovan’s so quickly, I don’t think the man will ever speak to me again.”
    “Nonsense, madam,” Hatchet said briskly; he pulled a chair out for his employer. “Lord Lovan won’t even noticewe’re gone. It was a house party, you see,” he explained to the others. “Even if he does notice our absence, I don’t think he’ll take umbrage at our hasty departure.”
    “Hasty departure,” Luty snorted. “You didn’t even let me finish my breakfast yesterday morning before you had me on the move.” She plopped down in the chair and grinned. “But enough about that. Tell us who’s been murdered.”
    “Pour yourselves some tea first,” Mrs. Goodge said briskly. “And I’ll get some more bread and butter. If you’ve been traveling, you’ll be hungry.”
    “I’ll get it,” Betsy said, rising to her feet.
    Mrs. Jeffries waited until the new arrivals had their refreshments before she began telling them about their latest case.
    Luty and Hatchet listened carefully. When Mrs. Jeffries had finished, Luty put down her teacup and shook her head. “Not much to go on, is there?”
    “Really, madam,” Hatchet said quickly. “I think the household has done a rather good job of it so far. But I am confused as to why the inspector is being so close-mouthed.”
    “’E’s listenin’ to his inner voice,” Wiggins said. “Whatever that means.”
    Mrs. Jeffries didn’t really want to take the time to explain what it meant. She felt just a bit foolish. After all, she was the one who’d told the inspector on more than one occasion to listen to his instincts, his inner voice and his guiding force. But goodness, she’d only said those things to keep the inspector’s spirits up when he was feeling inadequate to the task at hand. She hadn’t meant for him to take her literally. “Let’s not worry about the inspector’s reticence right now,” she said briskly. “We’ve quite enough information to start