woke me up, and I got up and looked out the window. My
room faces the front of the house, Inspector, and I saw Charlotte coming down the drive. She went around to the side of the house. I expect she came in this door.” She pointed in the
direction he’d just come. “Which means she might have been
outside near the time father was being murdered. I think you
ought to ask her what she was doing out there, don’t you?”
“Are you absolutely certain of this?” he pressed. He hoped
she wasn’t making up tales to inconvenience her sister.
“Of course I am.” Lucinda sounded offended. “I’m not in
the habit of lying.”
“No, ma’am, I’m sure you’re not. Why didn’t you tell me
this earlier?” Witherspoon asked. “You claimed you slept
soundly that night.”
“I did, Inspector,” she snapped. “And I went right back
to bed. Seeing Charlotte slip into the house wasn’t anything
unusual. She did it all the time.” With that, she stuck her
nose in the air and flounced off down the hall. Witherspoon
was so surprised by her departure that he simply stood there
with his mouth agape. After a moment, he shook his head
and went off in search of Constable Barnes. He’d reached the
top of the back stairs, when he heard a distinct hissing
sound. Suddenly, a large orange-colored cat leapt out of the
shadows and landed on top of a walnut table. The cat
pinned back its ears and hissed at the inspector.
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Emily Brightwell
“Oh, dear, you don’t look as if you’re in a very cheerful
state,” he muttered. The cat glared at him.
“Samson, get down from there.” Charlotte Braxton appeared in the hallway.
“He doesn’t seem in a very good mood,” the inspector
said. Perhaps this might be a good time to ask this Miss
Braxton a few questions, he then thought.
“He’s never in a good mood,” Charlotte replied. She continued past the inspector to the staircase. “I expect he’s hungry. I doubt anyone’s fed the beast since Father died.”
“Gracious, that’s awful.” The inspector hurried after her.
“The poor thing is probably half-starved. No wonder he’s in
a terrible temper. Er, Miss Braxton, I’d like to ask you a few
questions.”
“It’ll have to wait, Inspector, I’ve an appointment, and I
can’t be late.” She’d reached the bottom of the staircase,
turned to her right, and disappeared.
“I must insist, Miss Braxton. I’ve just heard something
that is very important, and I must speak with you. Also, we
need to find out about when your solicitors were called to
the house, and what the bankers wanted with your father.”
Witherspoon charged down the stairs after her, but by the
time he got to the bottom, she’d gone.
Wiggins walked slowly across the railway station. His day
seemed to be going from bad to worse. He’d gone along to
Luty’s this morning, hoping to see her and keep his promise
to tell her about the murder. But once there, he’d had to
hide behind a letter box as Mrs. Jeffries had shown up right
on his heels. He didn’t dare try and see Luty then. He’d just
have to go there again this evening and try to sneak in and
have a word with her.
He glanced over and saw the clerk watching him. Blast a
Mrs. Jeffries and the Silent Knight
103
Spaniard, this was getting dangerous. He’d been here for an
hour now pretending to be meeting someone off the train.
Lurking about was easy if it was one of the big London terminals like Liverpool Street or Victoria, but in a small station like this, he was making a spectacle of himself. He heard a train pull in, so he went to the archway and looked
out, scanning the few passengers that got off.
A tall well-dressed woman with a cane got out of one of
the first-class carriages, but she obviously wasn’t a servant,
so talking to her would be useless. Then he flicked his gaze
to a middle-aged man wearing a black overcoat walking toward the end of the platform, but Wiggins didn’t think he looked like a likely prospect, either. Finally, a young woman
wearing a gray jacket, a brown wool bonnet, and with a bandage wrapped around her hand got out of the third-class carriage at the end of the train and hurried toward the exit.
Wiggins made up his mind: the pickings were slim, but if
he was going to speak to someone, it would have to be her.
Knowing that the ticket clerk was still watching him,
he made a point of sighing and shaking his head as he left
the station, trying to convey the impression that whoever
he’d been waiting for hadn’t shown up. He hoped his charade worked; with a murder in the neighborhood, he didn’t want the clerk running off to the police and giving out his
description.
Wiggins stepped out of the station and saw the girl from
the train standing in front of the café, staring in the window. He went toward her, taking off his hat respectfully as he spoke. “Excuse me, miss, but may I speak to you?” He
had a good story at the ready.
She turned and looked at him, her expression surprised.
She was a short, chubby girl with thick black eyebrows,
blue eyes, a rosebud mouth, and slightly protruding front
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Emily Brightwell
teeth. Her features were such that she ought to have been
homely, but oddly enough, she was quite attractive. “Why
do you want to speak to me?” She smiled brightly.
“Please don’t be offended, miss, but I was wonderin’ if
there was any positions at the place you work?”
Her smile faded. “Do I look like I’m in service?”
“Not really, miss,” he said quickly, “but I noticed the
color of your skirt peekin’ out beneath your jacket, and it’s
the same color as the one my sister wore when she was in
service.” He made a quick bow and stuck his cap back onto
his head. “No offense was meant, miss, it’s just my sister
and I ‘ave been out of work for a long time, and I’m desperate enough to try anything to get a position. You’ve got a lovely, kindhearted face, and I didn’t think you’d mind me
askin’.” He turned and started to walk away.
“Wait,” she cried. “Don’t go. I might be able to help.”
Wiggins felt like a
