Free Mrs. Jeffries in the Nick of Time by Emily Brightwell Page B

the housekeeper or the butler. But I’d not want work in a house with trouble.”
    “Then you’ll want to stay away. I didn’t mean to sound rude, but the bloke who told you there was trouble was right.” She leaned forward, her expression serious. “There’s been a murder.”
    “Cor blimey, how awful for you.”
    She blinked, surprised by his concern for her. “It was, but it was worse for the master—he was the one that was killed. Shot right through the head, he was. We’ve had the police around asking all sorts of questions.”
    “Do they know who did it?” he asked.
    She shook her head. “No, they’ve not caught anyone and I don’t think they’re goin’ to, either.”
    “Why do you think that?”
    “It happened right in the middle of the afternoon. The house was full of guests having tea. We all heard the shot, but by the time everyone got upstairs, the killer was gone. He must be very clever to murder someone in a houseful of people and get clean away with it.”
    “Maybe he was just lucky,” Wiggins said hesitantly. “Maybe he used the confusion to get away.”
    She thought about it for a moment. “That’s possible. All the relatives and even some of the guests were in poor Mr. Humphreys’ room and we was all standin’ about on the landing and the staircase. Even cook had come up out of the kitchen to see what all the fuss was about.”
    Wiggins wanted to know how much she’d actually seen. “Was there a lot of blood?”
    “I don’t know, I couldn’t see all that much. I was too far away. It was right shockin’, it was. We could hear the others from inside Mr. Humphreys’ room, shoutin’ and arguin’ with one another. Then Miss Ross come out leadin’ Mrs. Prescott off to her room and Mrs. Eames told us all to get about our business.”
    “What happened then?”
    She shrugged. “Nothing, really. I went back up to the top floor to finish polishing the brass sconces on the lamps. But it was hard to concentrate on my work what with him lying down there dead, and then Mrs. Prescott pops her head up and orders me back downstairs to help Agnes clean up the tea things from the drawing room.” She snorted derisively. “For someone who’d been bawlin’ her eyes out only moments earlier, she recovered quickly enough. So I went back downstairs and Agnes and I cleared up the drawing room.”
    “I guess murder confuses things a bit.” Wiggins gave her his kindest smile.
    She looked out the window. “He wasn’t a bad master. Truth of the matter is, we’re all a bit worried about what’s going to happen next. Even Mrs. Eames was concerned about whether or not we’re all going to have our positions once he’s buried and the will is read.”
    “Do you think you might be turned out?” Wiggins asked.
    “I don’t know.” She bit her lip. “I hadn’t even thought about it until I overheard Mrs. Eames talkin’ with cook.”
    “What was she sayin’ that upset you so much?” he asked sympathetically. He wasn’t acting now; he was genuinely concerned for the poor girl. He knew what it was like to wonder if you were going to have a roof over your head and food to eat.
    “She told cook that she thought Mr. Humphreys might have mortgaged the house. She said she wasn’t sure, but she knew he was wantin’ to raise money and she knew he’d been to see both his banker and his solicitor right before he was murdered.” She shrugged. “Then they walked away and I couldn’t hear anything else.” She suddenly looked at him with renewed interest. “What’s the name of the agency you’re goin’ to see today? If I need work, maybe I’ll try them?”
    “Oh, it’s Dalyrumple’s Domestics on Praed Street,” he lied. “But I’m sure you don’t have anything to worry about. I mean, if your Mr. Humphreys just went to see his solicitor and his banker right before he died, there couldn’t have been enough time for anything to happen. Doesn’t that sort of thing take ages?”
    “I