Mrs. Jeffries & the Yuletide Weddings Read Online Free PDF

constable stepped off the curb in front of the gas lamp across the road and crossed toward the house. She jerked the curtains closed and went to the front hall, opening the door just as the constable arrived.
    “Good evening, Constable.” She smiled pleasantly. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry—there was only one reason a constable would be here at this time of day.
    “Good evening, ma’am.” He nodded politely. “I’m Constable Markham. Inspector Witherspoon sent me around to let you know he’s been called out on a case and he’ll be quite late tonight.”
    “Oh dear,” she replied. “How unfortunate. Would you like to come in and have a cup of tea? It’s very cold out there.”
    “Thank you, ma’am, but no, I’m just on my way home. That’s why the inspector asked me to stop in. I was getting off duty and this is on my way.”
    “Yes, of course.” She was desperate to find out more information. “I do hope he didn’t get sent off too far away. I don’t think he took his umbrella with him and it looks like there’s more rain on the way.”
    “He should be fine, ma’am.” The constable smiled indulgently, as the young do toward older people. “He’s only gone to Notting Hill. A woman was found stabbed in front of a house on Chepstow Villas. Once he conducts the preliminary investigations, a hansom can have him home in fifteen minutes.”
    “Oh that does make me feel better.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “He doesn’t like me to fuss, but a man his age simply shouldn’t spend too much time out in the wet. I hate to think of him being miles away and then having to come home in the dead of the night.”
    “Yes ma’am.” He smiled politely, turned, and headed down the short staircase to the pavement. Mrs. Jeffries stood at the open doorway, watching until he disappeared down the street, then she closed the door, took a deep breath, and raced for the kitchen.
    Mrs. Goodge had just put supper on the table. Smythe and Betsy had taken their seats and Wiggins was pulling out his chair as she flew into the kitchen. Everyone looked up. “Hurry and eat,” she charged. “We’ve got a murder.”

CHAPTER 2

    The elegantly dressed woman ignored her husband and turned her full attention on Witherspoon. “I’m Arabella Evans,” she snapped. “And I would appreciate an explanation as to what is going on here.”
    A tall, blond man who’d been sitting on the settee put his teacup down on a side table and rose to his feet. He said nothing, merely looked curiously at the two policemen.
    “I’ve just told you, Mama,” Rosemary said, “Miss Moran’s been killed. She’s been stabbed to death right outside our house. Did you send her an invitation to tea? She must have been on her way here.”
    “Of course I didn’t invite her.” Mrs. Evans stared coldly at her daughter. “Don’t be absurd, why would she be coming here? None of us have seen the woman in years.”
    “But Mama, that’s not true,” Rosemary persisted. “She was here the day before yesterday. I heard you talking with her. I tried to get downstairs to say hello to her, but she’d gone before I got here.”
    “That is ridiculous.” Arabella pursed her lips. “You haven’t spoken to her since you were eight and you certainly wouldn’t recognize her voice.”
    “But I would,” Rosemary insisted with a shake of her head.
    In the bright light of the drawing room, the inspector noticed the young woman’s hair was the same color as her mother’s. But she was slender rather than plump and her eyes were hazel, not blue. Just then, the blond fellow stepped toward the girl.
    “Rosemary, darling”—he took her hand—“you must be mistaken. I’m sure your dear mama would know if this person had been visiting the house.”
    Rosemary jerked her hand back. “But I heard them . . .”
    “You heard me arguing with the dressmaker.” Arabella waved her off dismissively. “Now go and sit down while your father