think of how to find Samson.”
Charlotte ignored her and kept on reading.
“You’re being quite silly about this matter,” Nina said
calmly.
“If we don’t find that wretched cat, everyone’s Christmas
will be ruined,” Lucinda snapped. “So whether you think
I’m being silly or not, I would suggest you get up and help
me locate Samson. As Charlotte is too busy reading to care
about the matter, it’s going to be up to the two of us to keep
Father from ruining our holidays over that stupid cat.”
“I wasn’t referring to the cat,” Nina continued. She
smiled slyly. “I was referring to our houseguests.”
Lucinda felt a flush creep up her cheeks. She took a deep
breath, trying to calm herself and keep her face from turning that mottled crimson color that was so unbecoming to a woman of her age. She cringed as she thought of her age.
Forty-three wasn’t really old, but then again, Fiona was only
thirty-five.
“Don’t be absurd. I’m simply being a good hostess. Of
course I don’t want Raleigh’s Christmas ruined over a stupid
cat and you know what Father’s like. If Samson isn’t found,
we’ll probably have to go without Christmas dinner.”
“I’m glad to hear that your concern extends to Fiona as
well,” Nina said. She was only thirty-eight, but unlike her
sister, she had no prospects for marriage on the horizon. Nor
did she want one, either. Being under her father’s authority
was bad enough. Why on earth any woman would deliberately put herself under a husband’s authority was beyond her.
“I don’t care if Fiona falls into a well,” Lucinda shouted.
“I do care if I’m humiliated in front of my fiancé.”
4
Emily Brightwell
“Oh, you’re engaged?” Nina asked archly. “When did
that happen? I certainly saw no evidence of it at breakfast
this morning. Odd that Raleigh didn’t mention it when
Fiona asked him to accompany her to the Waifs and Strays
Society subscription dinner.”
Lucinda’s face turned beet-red, and she glared at her sister. “You’re impossible,” she cried as she stomped her foot.
She charged for the door. “I don’t know why I even bother
speaking to either of you.” She slammed the door hard as
she left.
“That was rather mean,” Charlotte said. “But very
funny.”
“Yes, wasn’t it?” Nina grinned. “And even better, it’ll
keep her away from both of us for the rest of the day. I don’t
know about you, but I’m busy. I’ve a number of things to
see to today.”
“As do I,” Charlotte murmured.
“I do wish people would stop slamming doors.” Sir
George Braxton stepped into the room and gave both his
daughters a disapproving frown. “What’s wrong with Lucinda? Has she lost what little good sense she ever had and gone completely mad?” He was a short, stocky man with a
heavy mustache, ruddy complexion, and watery blue eyes.
He was also going bald. “Charlotte, I thought I told you to
clear out all that junk in the attic. It can be sorted and sold.
There’s no use letting perfectly good items sit up there doing nothing.”
Charlotte looked up from her book. “That’s Mrs. Merry-
hill’s job,” she said. “And most of the things in the attic are
broken or useless.”
“Mrs. Merryhill has enough to do around here,” he
snapped. “And I’ll thank you not to talk back to me. Not if
you want your quarterly allowance.”
Mrs. Jeffries and the Silent Knight
5
Charlotte who’d opened her mouth to reply to him,
thought better of it and clamped her lips shut. Finally, she
said, “I’ll see to it this afternoon.”
“See that you do.” Sir George turned his attention to his
youngest daughter. “I want you to come into my study this
afternoon at four. The builder’s coming to give me an estimate on the cost of tearing down the conservatory. You’re best at dealing with tradespeople. So make sure you’re not
late.”
“Yes, Father,” Nina replied. “I take it you’ve told
Clarence you’re selling it. He’ll need to make arrangements
for all his plants.”
“His plants!” Sir George snorted. “Seems to me they’re
my plants. I bought and paid for every single one of them.
Don’t you worry about what I’ve told Clarence. You just be
there at four and don’t make any plans for tomorrow morning, either. My broker is coming in at half past ten, and I’ll need you there to decipher what the fellow’s talking about.
You can never get a straight answer out of those chaps.” He
stomped toward the door, then turned. “Have either of you
seen Samson? I can’t think where he’s got to.”
“I haven’t seen him, Father,” Charlotte said.
“Nor have I,” said Nina. “Why is your broker coming? Is
something wrong?”
“I’ve no idea what the fellow wants. He said he needed to
see me, that’s all.”
“He probably has a good investment idea for you,” Nina
said cheerfully. “Oftentimes one has to act quickly to take
full advantage of a good situation.”
“Humph, we’ll see.” Sir George’s broad face creased in a
worried frown. “It’s odd Samson going off like this, it’s
been miserable outside, and you know how he hates bad
weather. He’s been gone for two days now, and that’s simply
6
Emily Brightwell
not like him. Can you two have a look about the place for
him? I’ve had the servants and Clarence out looking, but
they’re useless.”
“Of course, Father,” Charlotte said softly. “I’m sure he’ll
turn up.”
“He’d better,” Sir George muttered. “The paper predicts
snow for tonight.”
“It’s going to snow tonight,” Mrs. Goodge, the cook for Inspector Gerald Witherspoon said to the housekeeper, Mrs.
Jeffries. “I can always tell.”
“Can you really?” Mrs. Jeffries said. She looked up from
the list of provisions she’d been writing. “How?”
“My bones start to ache,” the cook replied. “Not the kind
of twingy ache you get when it rains, but a different sort,
deeper and kind of dull-like, if you know what I mean.”
Mrs. Goodge was a stout, elderly woman who’d cooked in
some of the finest houses of all England. But this, her last
and final position, was by far the best she’d ever had. “And
it’s not like when my rheumatism acts up,” she continued.
“It’s a different sort of feeling altogether.”
Mrs. Jeffries nodded. “Perhaps it’s just as well we’ve
nothing to investigate, then. Slogging about in the snow
wouldn’t be very amusing.”
“I’d not mind,” the cook grinned. “I do all my investigatin’ from right here, where it’s always cozy and warm. It’s been far too long since our last case. It’s boring.”
“True,” Mrs. Jeffries
