the coat tree, pausing just long enough to reach down and
give Fred a friendly pat on his back. “Naturally, the train
got held up, that always happens when you’re in a rush.”
She hung up her garments and surveyed the room. “Where’s
Smythe?”
“He’s late as well,” Betsy said. “But I’m sure he’ll be here
soon.”
Mrs. Jeffries hurried to the table and took her seat just as
they heard the back door open. “I expect that’s him now,”
she commented as she reached for the teapot.
But Smythe wasn’t alone—he had a guest with him.
“Look who I found out in the garden.”
Ruth Cannonberry laughed. “I was trying to decide
whether or not to barge in on you,” she said.
“But then I made the decision for ‘er,” Smythe grinned
broadly, “by takin’ her arm and insistin’ she come inside for
a visit.”
“Ruth, it’s so very good to see you again,” Mrs. Jeffries
leapt to her feet. “We’re delighted you’ve come back. You
must have tea with us.”
“Only if you promise I’m not interrupting something
important,” she said. “I heard that the inspector got the
Braxton murder, so I know you’re all very busy. I’d not like
to intrude.”
Lady Cannonberry was a tall, blonde woman of late middle years. She was the widow of a lord, but as the daughter Mrs. Jeffries and the Silent Knight
155
of a very progressive vicar, she had a well-developed social
conscience. She worked hard for women’s rights and didn’t
believe in the separation of people by social status. She also
loved to help the household with the inspector’s murders,
and, like them, knew enough to keep her investigations very
discreet. She and the inspector were doing their best to develop their friendship, but it was most difficult for her. She was constantly being called out of town. When her husband
had died, she inherited his relatives, most of whom were elderly and of a nervous nature. Even the slightest sniffle could convince one and all of them they were at death’s door.
Lady Cannonberry had privately speculated there must be
something quite odd in the way the family reared its children, as all of them, including her late husband, had had the same character trait. But as she had both a kind heart and a
social conscience, she considered it her duty to go and take
care of them whether they were genuinely ill or not. Most of
them, she’d discovered, were simply lonely and that, of
course, was a malady they could only cure for themselves.
“You never intrude,” Wiggins said easily. “Matter of fact,
it’s good that you’re ‘ere. This case is a bit jumbled, and if
you know anything about Sir George Braxton, it’s bound to
‘elp.”
She laughed and slipped into the empty chair next to the
footman. “Actually, I got away as quickly as I could when I
heard about the murder. Cousin Harry was a bit annoyed,
but he’ll manage quite well without me.”
“Do you know anything about the Braxton family?” Mrs.
Goodge asked eagerly.
“I know his daughters,” Ruth replied as she accepted a
cup of tea from the cook. “I’ve met them several times, but
I wouldn’t say we were well acquainted.”
“Did you know Sir George?” Hatchet asked.
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Emily Brightwell
“I met him once. He was on some committee or other
with my late husband. But I don’t think he ever came to any
of their meetings, and I know that he wasn’t particularly
well liked. I can remember there was quite a bit of complaining from the other members that he’d got his name on the committee papers without doing any of the work.” She
frowned thoughtfully and took a quick sip of tea. “As a matter of fact, all in all, I’d say they’re considered a very peculiar family.”
“Yes, that’s our conclusion as well,” Mrs. Jeffries agreed.
“But let me tell you what we’ve learned so far. Once you
hear a few more details of the case and the names of the people who were on the property that night, you might recall something about one or more of them.” She gave their guest
a thorough yet concise narrative of the case. She took care to
explain the circumstances under which the body had been
found. When she’d finished, she leaned back in her chair
and looked hopefully at Ruth. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard
anything about any of the principals in the case that might
be useful?”
“At this point, anything you knew about ‘em might
‘elp.” Wiggins added.
Ruth thought for a moment before she answered. “I don’t
know if this is the sort of information that you need, but I
do know that Raleigh Brent was desperate to marry money.”
“That’s right useful,” Smythe muttered. “Now that Sir
George is dead, he’ll get his chance. From what we’ve heard,
Lucinda Braxton is keen to marry him, and now that she’s
got money, they’ll both get what they want.”
“But I don’t think that could possibly be a motive for
murder,” Ruth said earnestly. “I mean, I don’t think Brent
would have committed murder to free up Lucinda Braxton
Mrs. Jeffries and the Silent Knight
157
to marry him. The gossip I heard was that he was going to
marry Fiona Burleigh, and she’s got plenty of money.”
“But she’s not an aristocrat, is she?” Mrs. Jeffries commented. “Maybe Mr. Brent likes the idea of marrying the daughter of a baronet.”
“Especially as the title can pass to a daughter,” Mrs.
Goodge added.
“But we don’t know that the title would go to her,” Betsy
argued, “and even if it did, she’d be Lady Braxton in her
own right, and he’d be just her husband. He’d not get the
title.”
“But perhaps their children might,” Wiggins added.
“Mind you, she might be a bit past it.” He broke off, a horrified expression on his face as he realized he’d spoken so indelicately. “I’m so sorry,” he stuttered. “I don’t know what come over me, speakin’ as I did.”
Betsy snickered, Hatchet looked amused, Smythe
laughed, Mrs. Goodge tried to look disapproving but
couldn’t because she was trying not to smile, and Ruth Cannonberry had put her hand over her mouth to hold back a giggle.
“It’s quite all right, Wiggins,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “Your
words were rather blunt but did rather get to the heart of the
matter. The question is, why would Raleigh Brent risk murdering his host just to marry a rich wife, when he had
