Free Mrs. Jeffries & the Yuletide Weddings by Emily Brightwell

seconds,” she gasped. They stood waiting for her to regain her composure, and finally she took a deep breath and looked at Witherspoon. “I’m Jane Middleton, Miss Moran’s cook and housekeeper. Something has happened to her, hasn’t it? Something awful.” Her hazel eyes filled with tears.
    “I’m afraid she’s dead,” Witherspoon affirmed softly. “She was stabbed yesterday evening in front of a house in Notting Hill.”
    Barnes studied the distraught woman. “You don’t seem surprised by this. Was Miss Moran worried that someone was trying to do her harm?”
    Jane Middleton stood up. “Let’s go into the kitchen. I don’t want the others hearing what I’ve got to say.”
    “What others?” Witherspoon glanced around the small space. The drawing room was empty and there was no one in the hallway or on the stairs. As far as he could tell, they were completely alone.
    “This is a residential hotel, Inspector.” She started down the hall toward the back of the house. “And take my word for it, you can’t see up the stairwell, but there’s at least three sets of ears hanging about on the first-floor landing. As you’ll need to be speaking to all of them yourself, it’s best if they don’t hear my statement. Now come along.”
    As they trailed after her, the two men exchanged glances. When she’d addressed him, Jane Middleton had used Witherspoon’s rank, yet neither man had introduced himself.
    When they reached the kitchen, she hurried to the cooker, struck a match, and put the kettle on. Witherspoon started to introduce himself. “I’m Inspect—” but she cut him off.
    “I know who you are. You’re Inspector Witherspoon.” She smiled slightly and then jerked her chin toward the constable. “And you’re Constable Barnes. Gracious, does my boy envy you. Mind you, from the way he tells it, every constable in the force would give their eyeteeth to work with the famous Inspector Witherspoon.” She flicked her gaze back to Witherspoon. “My boy Roddie talks about you all the time. He’s a constable in Marylebone Division and he pointed the two of you out to me just last week. You were coming out of the Marylebone Magistrates Court. That’s how I knew to get you away from all those listening ears before I made my statement. If Miss Moran’s been murdered, you’ll need to interview everyone in this house. My Roddie is always going on and on about police procedures and what should and shouldn’t be done. Now you two sit yourselves down and I’ll make us a nice cup of tea. I was fixing myself one when you knocked on the door.”
    Bemused and a bit embarrassed by her comments, Witherspoon did as ordered, pulled out a chair and sat down. Barnes took the empty seat across from him.
    “Are you sure you’re alright, ma’am?” he inquired. Her color had improved, but she was still very pale.
    “Of course I’m not alright,” she muttered as the kettle began to whistle. “My friend’s been murdered and I’ve no idea what’s going to happen. But that’s life, isn’t it. All sorts of odd things happen and none of us has any idea what the eventual outcome will be, do we. I’ve been worried about her ever since she got back from her holiday. She was right as rain when she first come in the door last Sunday evening. But that didn’t last long.”
    “Miss Moran had been away?” Witherspoon asked softly.
    “Yes, for the last six months. She took one of those grand tours of the continent. You know, one of those fancy ones from Thomas Cook. She’s wanted to go for ages, and she finally decided that she better do it while she was fit enough to see everything she wanted to see.” She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes.
    “Miss Moran was in good spirits when she returned home last Sunday evening?” Barnes inquired. He glanced at Witherspoon, who gave him an almost imperceptible nod. They had to make sure Miss Moran’s murderer hadn’t followed her home from her travels.
    “She was a bit