Mrs. Jeffries Takes the Stage Read Online Free Page A

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have one,” the maid replied with a grin. She looked at the housekeeper. “How much longer do you think the others will be?”
    “Not long now,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. She was glad to see that Smythe and Betsy seemed to be speaking civilly. Ever since the girl’s mysterious errand to the East End they hadn’t been comfortable with one another. Mrs. Jeffries was fairly certain that the coachman wasn’t annoyed that Betsy had disobeyed him. Smythe wasn’t stupid enough to think that just because he was paying court to the maid, his word was law. Rather, she thought Smythe was hurt because Betsy hadn’t confided in him. Now that they had a murder to solve, perhaps the two of them could iron out their difficulties. If, indeed, Dr. Bosworth was correct and they did have a homicide and not a case of accidental drowning.
    “I suppose we have to wait for them,” Betsy said. “But perhaps…”
    “No buts, Betsy,” Mrs. Goodge said firmly. “We’ll wait. It wouldn’t be fair to start without them.”
    “You’re right.” Betsy laughed. “I’d be annoyed if you started without me.”
    From outside the back door, Mrs. Jeffries heard the sound of a carriage pulling up. “Let’s get the tea poured, Mrs. Goodge,” she said. “I think I hear them now.”
    A few moments later Wiggins came into the kitchen, followed by two others. “Good thing I got there when I did,” he announced as he hurried to take his usual seat at the kitchen table. “They was fixin’ to go out.”
    “Oh, dear.” Mrs. Jeffries smiled apologetically at the newcomers. “I do hope our summons didn’t interrupt something important.”
    Luty Belle Crookshank and her butler, Hatchet, had helped on several of the inspector’s cases. They would have been most put out if they weren’t immediately sum-moned when a murder was afoot. Co-conspirators, they were trustworthy, intelligent and extremely well connected.
    Luty Belle, an elderly American woman, waved her parasol impatiently. “Don’t be silly, Hepzibah,” she said, using the housekeeper’s given name. “Nothin’s as important as our investigatin’.”
    Luty was dressed, as usual, in an outrageously bright day dress of buttercup yellow. A matching yellow hat decorated with plumes, lace and brilliant blue peacock feathers sat at a jaunty angle on her white hair. Beneath the wispy vail, her dark brown eyes glowed with enthusiasm. The wealthy widow of a self-made English millionaire, Luty had plenty of time on her hands and liked nothing better than spending it catching killers.
    “Please don’t concern yourself,” Hatchet, Luty’s tall, white-haired butler said. “We were only going for a drive. Madam was bored.”
    “Good. Let’s get started then.” Mrs. Jeffries took her place at the table.
    “Who’s the victim?” Hatchet asked. He sat his black top hat down on the empty chair next to him.
    “A man named Ogden Hinchley…”
    “The theatre critic?” Wiggins exclaimed.
    Everyone turned to gape at him.
    “How’d you know he was a critic?” Betsy asked.
    “Gracious, Wiggins, you do surprise one,” Mrs. Jeffries said.
    “I like to read,” Wiggins said, somewhat defensively. “And he’s famous. I’ve read some of his reviews in the papers. Funny, but nasty, too. Says the most awful things about people when ’e don’t like a play.”
    “That’s very good, Wiggins.” Mrs. Jeffries smiled proudly at the footman. “How clever of you to recognize the name. Obviously, then, if he’s as nasty in print as you say he is, he probably has plenty of enemies.”
    “How was he killed?” Smythe asked.
    “I’ll tell you everything I know.” Mrs. Jeffries launched into the tale. “Therefore, I expect the first place to start is where we usually do, with the victim.”
    Mrs. Goodge cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Mrs. Jeffries. But that’s what we did the last time and look what happened then.”
    “The inspector solved it!” Betsy cried.
    “We was