“At dinner,” she replied. “Father retired right after the
meal was finished. He wasn’t in the best of moods, but then
again, Father was rarely in a good mood.”
“Was there anything specifically bothering your father?”
the inspector shifted in his seat. The cushion was quite
hard.
“His stupid cat had gone missing.”
“And that had your father upset?” Witherspoon pressed.
“Was there anything else bothering him?”
“Something was always bothering the man,” Nina said
impatiently. “He was constantly complaining about how
much the household cost to run or how much he had to
spend on our wardrobes. But that was just his character. He
was genuinely upset about Samson. The silly cat had been
gone for two or three days. We told him not to worry, that
the animal would come home when he got hungry enough,
and sure enough he did.”
The door opened, and Mrs. Merryhill stuck her head inside. “The solicitors are here, ma’am,” she said to Nina Braxton. “Shall I put them in—”
38
Emily Brightwell
“Put them in Father’s study,” Nina interrupted, “and tell
them I’ll be in directly.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mrs. Merryhill started to withdraw. “Shall
I get Miss Lucinda and Miss Charlotte?”
Nina sighed heavily. “I suppose you’d better, otherwise
I’ll never hear the end of it.” She turned to the two policemen. “You’ll have to continue this another time, I must speak with the solicitors.”
“Of course, Miss Braxton,” Witherspoon replied. He
wondered why the solicitors were here so quickly. He made
a mental note to make sure he had a word with them as
well. Though with lawyers, one never knew how much information one could actually get out of them. “If you don’t mind, could you please direct us to your father’s room before
you go?”
She looked puzzled. “Why do you want to go there? By
the looks of it, he was murdered outside.”
“It’s standard procedure, miss,” Barnes said politely.
“Your father was wearing his nightclothes when he was
killed, so we’re assuming something or someone roused him
from his bed.”
Smythe knew he couldn’t hang about any longer. He ducked
behind a tree trunk and took one last, hard look at the Braxton property. So far, the only thing he’d found out was that the constables were searching the grounds and that their
search was bringing them closer and closer to his hiding
place. They were searching systematically, fanning out in a
wide pattern, poking through the rapidly melting snow and
peeking behind every tree, bush, and shed.
It had taken ages to work his way down here without being seen and much as he wanted to find out what was what, he didn’t dare. He stuck his head out from behind the trunk
Mrs. Jeffries and the Silent Knight
39
and made sure none of the constables were coming in his direction. But they were all still in the area just off the terrace and behind the conservatory. He knew that wasn’t going to
last much longer, so he eased out from behind the tree. He
wasn’t sure he ought to go back the way he’d come. There
had been a close call with a spaniel at one of the houses, and
he wasn’t sure he’d be so lucky this time.
Suddenly, a constable broke ranks and headed directly
toward the copse of trees where he stood. He turned, and
moving as quietly as he could, he ducked and broke into a
run. He made it to the edge of the property without hearing
an alarm raised, so he slowed and risked a glance behind
him. The constable was now at the copse of trees. Smythe
ducked lower, almost flattening himself behind a bush. He
peeked out and saw the constable turning his head slowly,
his gaze traveling from bush to bush and tree trunk to tree
trunk. Smythe sucked in air as he flattened himself completely on the ground, and within seconds the snow penetrated through the layers of clothing he wore. What on earth was he to do? He couldn’t make a run for it; the copper would see him for sure. He began to inch his way backward, toward a low wooden fence that framed this end of the property.
“Evans, what the blazes are you doing there?” asked an
irritable voice belonging to one of the constables still fanning out behind the house. “Get back here.”
“But I thought I saw someone,” Evans replied.
“Yes, and you thought you saw someone earlier,” the
voice chided. “But it was just the wind blowing a leaf. Now
get back here and help us search these grounds. It’s bloody
cold, and I want to get this done quickly.”
Evans, with one last look, trudged back to the others.
Smythe was up and over the fence in an instant.
40
Emily Brightwell
He made it back to Upper Edmonton Gardens by
lunchtime. Everyone was already at the table when he
walked inside.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” Betsy exclaimed. “We were so
afraid it would be tea time before we saw you.” She got up
and rushed toward him. “You look half-frozen. Take off your
coat and get out of those wet boots.”
“I’m fine, lass,” he replied, but he was delighted at her
fussing. He shrugged out of his heavy jacket and sat down
to unlace his boots.
“You’ve either found out an enormous amount of information in very little time, or you’ve found out nothing,”
Mrs. Jeffries said.
“I found out nothin’,” he admitted. “I couldn’t get close
enough and the inspector ‘ad the constable searchin’ the
grounds, so I couldn’t even get close enough to have much
of a look at anything.” He frowned. “Where’s Luty and
Hatchet?”
“We decided to wait a bit before we told ’em,” Wiggins
answered. He brushed a lock of his brown hair back off of
his forehead. “Luty’s still pretty ill, and we didn’t want ‘er
climbin’ out of ‘er sick bed.” He’d reluctantly gone along
with the others when they’d suggested the idea of keeping
quiet; after all, he’d promised Luty he’d tell her if they had
a murder. But the others had convinced him it might do her
a great deal of harm.
“Cor blimey, I forgot about that. Luty’ll not like havin’
to stay abed while the rest of us is off on the ‘unt.”
“That’s why we’re going to avoid telling her for a day or
two,” Mrs. Goodge added. “I think we ought to keep it
from Hatchet as well. She’ll notice if he’s gone.”
Mrs. Jeffries looked uneasy. “I don’t
