Mrs. Jeffries and the Merry Gentlemen by Emily Brightwell Page A

does.”
    * * *
    Phyllis hummed to herself as she unlocked the front door and stepped inside. Mrs. Jeffries hadn’t wanted her to come across the garden at this time of night, so she’d given her a key to the front door. She closed her eyes, thinking back to the wonderful story she’d seen. Perhaps, one day, she’d have a house like this, too; perhaps, one day, she’d find she was the long-lost daughter of a rich man. She untied the strings of her bonnet as she walked down the hall to the back steps, grabbed the newel post, twirled dramatically, and started to go up to her room, when she noticed the light coming up from the kitchen. She couldn’t imagine anyone would be up; surely she was the last one home. She hurried down the stairs.
    â€œIt’s about time you got home.” Mrs. Goodge frowned at the maid as she entered the kitchen. “We were startin’ to worry.”
    Flustered, she yanked off her bonnet. “No one had to wait up for me. Mrs. Jeffries gave me a key to the front door.”
    â€œWe’re not waitin’ up just for you,” Wiggins said. “But now that you’re ’ere, we can get on with things.”
    â€œWhat things? What’s wrong?”
    â€œNothing is wrong, so to speak,” Mrs. Jeffries said calmly. “But we were getting concerned.”
    â€œI’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry anyone. It’s just that we couldn’t find a hansom right away. We had to walk half a mile up the Strand before we got one.” This was an out-and-out lie. She didn’t like deceiving them and she wasn’t very good at lying, but she couldn’t tell them the truth, they’d never understand. She and Susan had ignored half a dozen empty cabs so they could have more time together to talk about the play. They’d not wanted the evening to end. She slipped off her overcoat and hung it on the peg. “But I’m here now.” She took her seat at the table.
    â€œWe’ve got a murder,” Mrs. Jeffries said.
    â€œAnd the inspector is at the murder house now but he might come home at any moment,” Mrs. Goodge said.
    â€œSo we’d better make this quick,” Wiggins added.
    Mrs. Jeffries, Wiggins, and the cook gave her the pertinent details of what they knew thus far.
    â€œI do hope this one will be easy to solve,” Phyllis muttered when they’d finished speaking. “Our inspector was so looking forward to having time with Amanda over the holidays.” She didn’t add that she’d been hoping for some free time herself. She wanted to go back to the theater, to be taken once again out of her normal routine and shown a different world. For the first time in her life, she could afford to buy tickets. In this household, she didn’t have to pay for sugar or tea out of her wages and she’d managed to save practically all of what she’d earned. But she knew her duty. If they had a case, she’d do her part.
    In the sudden quiet that descended upon the room, the clock struck the hour, startling Mrs. Goodge. “Oh dear. I’d love to wait up for the inspector but I’m suddenly tired. I’m going to bed.”
    Phyllis got up. “I’ll clear off the tea things.”
    â€œI’ll lock up the back,” Wiggins said.
    â€œNo, both of you go on up to your beds,” Mrs. Jeffries ordered. “I’ll take care of the teapot and the back door. I couldn’t sleep anyway.”
    â€œYou goin’ to wait up for the inspector?” Mrs. Goodge asked around a yawn.
    â€œI’m going to try,” she replied.
    It was another two hours before the inspector came home but Mrs. Jeffries stayed awake. She’d heard the hansom cab pull up and that gave her enough time to meet him at the front door.
    He raised his eyebrows when he saw her. “Good gracious, you didn’t need to wait up for me. It’s dreadfully late. You must be