Mrs. Jeffries and the Mistletoe Mix-Up Read Online Free Page B

guard the ladies.”
    He left Fred staring mournfully after him as he disappeared down the hall to the back door. After a second or two, the dog went back to his spot by the cooker and lay down.
    “Did you learn anything else?” Mrs. Jeffries asked Ruth.
    She shook her head. “Not really, though now that I think of it, the victim’s name sounds very familiar. But I can’t remember in what context.”
    “McCourt, McCourt,” the cook muttered. “I’ve heard that name, too. Oh, now I remember. He married Elena Herron. I was workin’ at Lord Rotherhide’s country house in Sussex. It was years ago, but I remember that everyone in the Rotherhide family was stunned by the match.”
    “Why?” Phyllis asked. “Were they unsuited to each other? Was she from a poor family?”
    “Goodness no.” The cook laughed. “The Herrons were rich as sin. They weren’t old landed gentry or aristocracy. They made their money by workin’ for it. But their pedigree or lack thereof wasn’t what set the tongues to waggin’. They were Catholics, and Elena Herron had wanted to become a nun. Instead of enterin’ the convent, it was suddenly announced she was marryin’ this man, and no one had ever heard anythin’ about the fellow. Lady Rotherhide was furious, as she had a son close to Elena Herron’s age, and I remember overhearin’ her tell her husband that if they’d known the girl wasn’t goin’ to become a nun, they’d have encouraged their son to court her.”
    “Were the Rotherhides Catholic?” Phyllis asked.
    “No, they were just out of money, and the Herrons had plenty of that.” The cook laughed again.
    No one questioned Mrs. Goodge’s recollection. Not only did she have a very good memory, but she’d spent a lifetime working in the most aristocratic houses in all of England. She also had a vast network of old friends and colleagues she could call upon for information. She generally did her share in their investigations without ever having to leave the kitchen. If one of her old coworkers couldn’t be found to help her learn what she needed to know, she had an army of tradesmen, delivery boys, rag and bone men, and fruit vendors whom she plied with tea and treats. She’d sit them down and go over every single name connected with a case, and oddly enough, she always managed to learn something useful.
    Mrs. Goodge was very proud of what she’d accomplished in the twilight of her life, but more importantly, she was proud of herself and her ability to change.
    She’d come to the Witherspoon household after being sacked at her last place of employment for being “too old.” At that time, she’d considered working for a policeman—even a rich policeman with a big house—a bit of comedown in the world, but she’d needed a roof over her head and a salary, so she’d swallowed her pride and taken the position. That had been the best thing she’d ever done in her life. She’d discovered that working for justice changed everything. No longer did she think that people had to stay in their place and doff their caps to their “betters.” She’d seen too many of those “betters” commit unspeakable acts of murder. She’d learned that the poorest of people could have the most honor and the richest be so steeped in wickedness that even the devil wouldn’t want them. But the very best result of coming to work for Gerald Witherspoon had been that in her old age, she’d finally found a family.
    “Excellent, Mrs. Goodge. We’ve only just learned of the murder, and thanks to you, we already know something useful. Do you remember anything else?”
    “Not off the top of my head, but I’ll put some feelers out and see if I can make contact with some of the other people who served in that household,” she replied.
    “Wiggins will probably be out very late tonight,” Ruth murmured, her expression thoughtful. “Why don’t I send one of my footmen to Luty’s home first thing tomorrow morning with a message. That