“It’s a lad, sir,” Matilda called back, “and he’s brought his
dog. He claims to have a note from Mrs. Crookshank.”
“I do ‘ave a note,” Wiggins protested. “It’s right ‘ere, and
it’s right important, and I’ve left my dog by the lamppost,
so I don’t see ‘ow it’s any ‘arm to you.”
He was rather offended by the young maid’s manner. He
couldn’t see her all that closely in the gloom, but he had the
feeling she was younger than he was, so he didn’t think she
ought to be calling him a “lad.”
“Invite him in, Matilda,” the voice came again.
Grudgingly, she opened the door and jerked her head at
him. “Come along, then. It’s cold with the door open.”
Wiggins hesitated. “I’ve only just looped the dog’s lead
around the post—”
“Then bring the dog inside.” Josiah Williams appeared
behind the maid. He was a tall man with dark brown hair
and hazel eyes. He grinned at Wiggins. “He doesn’t bite,
does he?”
“No sir, ‘e’s a right good dog. But there’s no need to invite me inside, I can just give ya the note.” He started to reach into his pocket.
“Please, if Mrs. Crookshank has sent you, I’d like to have
a word with you. Bring your dog and come inside where it’s
warm.”
“Yes, sir.” Wiggins hoped this wouldn’t make him too
late getting home. The women of the household always got
Mrs. Jeffries and the Silent Knight
177
worried when he got in too late. He retrieved Fred and hurried back to the house.
As he stepped inside he saw that Matilda was quite a
pretty girl. He thought she’d be even prettier if she smiled a
bit. “Go on in there.” She pointed to a door just inside the
hall. “He’s waiting for you.”
“Thank you, miss,” Wiggins bobbed his head politely.
She had lovely blue eyes.
She snorted faintly, reached down and petted Fred, and
then flounced off toward the back of the house.
“Have a seat, please,” Williams invited.
“That’s kind of you, sir,” he replied. Williams obviously
didn’t recall that they’d met, but there was no reason he
should, as it had only been for a few moments on one of
their other cases. He noticed Fred’s tail was wagging, and
that was a good sign. The dog was an excellent judge of
character. “But I can’t stay long, sir. We’ve got to get back.”
He reached into his jacket, pulled out the envelope, and
handed it to the solicitor.
“Have we met before?” Williams looked at him closely.
“Do you work for Mrs. Crookshank?” He pulled the letter
out and unfolded it.
“I’ve seen ya at Mrs. Crookshank’s, but I work for Inspector Witherspoon,” Wiggins blurted before he could stop himself. Perhaps Luty hadn’t wanted her lawyer to
know how closely she was involved in the inspector’s cases.
Drat, he thought, he wasn’t cut out for all this skulking
about and keeping secrets. He’d felt bad enough this evening telling them he was taking Fred for a long walk. Deliberately misleading Mrs. Goodge hadn’t felt right. On the other hand, he’d promised Luty to take her note to her
solicitor.
178
Emily Brightwell
Williams looked up from reading the note and stared at
Wiggins. He said nothing.
“I’m just a footman,” Wiggins stammered. This wasn’t
going well at all.
“Oh, I suspect you’re more than just a footman. This is a
rather unusual note, but then again, it’s from one of my
more unusual clients.” He gestured toward a chair by the
fire. “If you’ll take a seat, I’ll send her a reply.”
Wiggins didn’t know what to do now. He’d not counted
on having to go back to Luty’s with an answer. Drat. At this
rate, it’d be midnight before he and Fred got home. He’d
best have a good reason for being out so late, or the ladies of
the household would have his guts for garters. None of
them took kindly to spending their evenings worrying
about him. “Do you need to do that?” he blurted. “I mean, I
thought Luty, er . . . Mrs. Crookshank expected you to go
along and see her.”
Williams smiled kindly. “Unfortunately, I’ve another engagement this evening. An engagement that I should like to keep, as it will actually help me find the information Mrs.
Crookshank seeks.”
“Oh, right then, I’d best wait.” He gave Fred’s lead a tug
and settled in the chair. The only sound in the room was the
crackle of the flames and the scratch of the solicitor’s pen.
Finally, after what seemed like ages, Williams put the
pen back in the stand, folded the paper, put it in an envelope, and stood up. Wiggins leapt up as well. Fred, who’d settled rather comfortably in front of the fire, got to his feet
a tad more reluctantly.
“I would be most grateful if you could get this to Mrs.
Crookshank this evening,” Williams instructed. “It’s rather
important.”
“I’ll get it to her as soon as I can,” he said evasively. He’d
Mrs. Jeffries and the Silent Knight
179
do his best to give it to her without being spotted tonight,
but that might be impossible. If he was too late getting
home, even Smythe would be worried. Maybe he could pretend he’d gotten lost.
Williams reached into his pocket, and Wiggins heard the
jingle of coin. He raised his hand. “There’s no need for
coin,” he said quickly. “What I do for Mrs. Crookshank, I do
because I want to, not for any other reason. I’ll take this note
along to her.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t wish to cause you offense,” he apologized.
“None taken,” Wiggins said easily. “Come along, Fred,
we’d best be on our way.”
“How long is he going to be over there?” Mrs. Goodge
glared at the back door. “He’s going to be so tired by the
time he gets home, he’ll retire straight away, and you’ll not
get anything about the case out of him.”
Mrs. Jeffries glanced at the clock and saw that it was almost nine o’clock. “It is getting quite late. But I imagine he’ll be here anytime now. Let’s be patient.”
“We’ve not got much choice,” the cook grumbled. “And
where’s that Wiggins got to? He’s been gone for ages. It’s a
cold night, and if he doesn’t get inside soon, he’ll be frozen
to his bones.”
Smythe came into the kitchen carrying a large burlap
bundle on his back. Branches of holly thrust out of the open
top. “Where do you want this?” he asked Mrs. Jeffries.
“Put it
