Free Mrs. Jeffries & the Yuletide Weddings by Emily Brightwell Page B

madwoman. But whatever she was looking for wasn’t there, because she threw it on the table and told me she was going out and not to wait dinner for her. I knew something awful was brewing. I tried to get her to stay in, but as I said, she wasn’t one to be told what to do. As she put on her hat and coat, she just kept muttering that she’d make them see reason no matter what the cost.”
    “It sounds as if she was expecting either a visitor or a letter,” Witherspoon murmured.
    Barnes reached for his mug of tea. “Do you know who she was referring to when she was talking about making them ‘see reason’?” he asked.
    She smiled grimly. “Of course I do—she was talking about Arabella and Jeremy Evans.”
     
    “Are you nervous?” Smythe took Betsy’s hand and pulled her close as they stood at the barricade of the number ten platform waiting for the train from Liverpool. Around them Euston Station bustled with activity as people rushed from the platforms to the street. On the huge arrivals board, shuttles clattered as the board changed, announcing the arrival of the London Northwest Express from Liverpool.
    “I’ve got butterflies in my stomach. I was just a child when I last saw Norah and Leo. People change.” Betsy tightened her grip on the bunch of flowers they’d stopped and bought on their way into the station. “What if I don’t recognize her?”
    “No matter how much she’s changed, you’ll recognize your own sister,” he promised. He turned his attention to the platform as the train chugged to a stop. The carriage doors opened and passengers poured out of the compartments. The ticket collectors opened the barricade.
    The trickle of passengers soon turned into a torrent surging for the gate. Betsy rose up on her tiptoes and craned her neck as she tried to spot her relatives. “There, there, I see her.” She pointed to a couple at the back of the queue. “Oh my gracious, it’s her. It’s my Norah.”
    Smythe stared at the woman who would soon be his sister-in-l aw. She looked like his Betsy, only a bit plumper and older. She wore a dark green traveling suit with a fitted jacket and carried a carpetbag. Her blonde hair was tucked up under a sensible brown and green bonnet, and the expression on her face was one he’d seen many times on his beloved Betsy’s. She was anxious and just a bit worried. The man walking beside her was of medium height and wore a dark navy blue suit, a black overcoat, and a bowler hat. His complexion was ruddy, his build stocky, and his face apprehensive as he scanned the crowd. He carried two brown suitcases.
    Betsy grabbed Smythe’s hand and pulled him toward the barrier just as Norah and Leo came through. Norah’s eyes widened as she spotted Betsy coming toward them. For a moment, no one said anything, and then Betsy gave a squeal of delight. “Oh my goodness, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again!” she cried as she hurled herself at her sister.
    Norah dropped the carpetbag and held out her arms, her blue eyes, so like Betsy’s, filling with tears. “I thought you were dead,” she said in a voice that trembled as they fell into each other’s arms. The two women held each other tightly, and without warning, both of them began to cry.
    Smythe looked at Leo. The fellow did the sensible thing and put the cases down and then stepped around the two sisters. “Let’s give them a minute,” he said softly as he edged away.
    Smythe didn’t have to be told twice; watching Betsy cry, even tears of happiness, was about his least favorite activity on the face of God’s green earth. He followed his soon-to-be brother-in-law, and when they were a few feet away, he stuck his hand out. “I’m Smythe . . .”
    “I know who you are.” Leo extended his own hand and they shook. “And I’m very grateful to you for arranging all this. I don’t know that I can ever pay you back . . .”
    “Pay me back,” Smythe repeated. “There’s no need for any talk like