Mrs. Jeffries and the Feast of St. Stephen (A Victorian Mystery) (31 page)

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Authors: Emily Brightwell

BOOK: Mrs. Jeffries and the Feast of St. Stephen (A Victorian Mystery)
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“Thank you, sir.” Barnes smiled proudly. “We are having the port properly analyzed. But as we were in a hurry for an answer, this seemed a sensible course of action.”
 
Christmas Day dawned clear and cold. They all went to church in the morning, and then Inspector Witherspoon crossed the gardens to Lady Cannonberry’s. He didn’t come home until late that night.
The staff had their Christmas dinner in the kitchen, and afterward they exchanged presents, sang songs, and played games. Neighborhood friends dropped by with bottles of sherry, tins of chocolate, and even a fruit basket. Everyone ate too much, drank too much, and thoroughly enjoyed themselves.
On Boxing Day, they received their Christmas boxes from Witherspoon, and then he left to spend another day with Lady Cannonberry. The household was having guests of their own.
Luty and Hatchet, their arms laden with presents, arrived at noon, and Dr. Bosworth, who’d also been invited to share the day with them, had appeared twenty minutes later.
“I understand the Whitfield case has been resolved,” he said as he handed Mrs. Jeffries his hat and coat. “You must tell me what happened. No one’s been arrested for the murder.”
They took turns telling him the details, and by the time they were ready to eat, he’d heard everything. Bosworth stared at them in amazement and then sat down in the chair next to Hatchet. “This was a most unusual case. It’s truly a wonder that you solved it at all.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Jeffries replied on behalf of all of them. “Would you care to say the blessing?” she asked.
“I would be delighted.”
Everyone bowed their heads as he said grace.
When the doctor had finished and they’d all said a hearty “amen,” Wiggins exclaimed, “Cor blimey, this is an even bigger feast than yesterday. Look at all this food.”
“It’s the Feast of St. Stephen,” Mrs. Goodge said. “And I think it’s only fitting that we’re all here together, celebratin’. As the good doctor said, it’s truly a wonder we solved this case at all.”
“We’d be right miserable if we hadn’t,” Smythe murmured. He reached for Betsy’s hand under the table and was relieved that she didn’t pull away from him.
“But we did solve it.” Luty raised her glass of beer. “And if you ask me, it’s because we’re the smartest bunch of detectives on this side of the river.”
Everyone laughed and began to help themselves. As they ate, they discussed the case, gossiped, told jokes, and had a rollicking good time. The weather brightened that afternoon, so everyone went out into the garden for some fresh air.
Wiggins tossed sticks, which Fred felt honor bound to chase. Mrs. Goodge decided it was too cold, so she went back inside for a nap. Hatchet declared that Luty had had enough excitement, so they took their leave.
Smythe grabbed Betsy’s hand and pulled her toward the kitchen door. “Come on. You promised we could have our talk today.”
“But what if someone comes in?” Betsy protested.
“Mrs. Jeffries and Dr. Bosworth are discussing the size of bullet holes.” He pointed at the two of them, who were seated on a bench near the big oak. “They’ll be talkin’ about it for hours.”
“Where’s Wiggins?”
“He’s takin’ Fred for a walk.” Smythe gently urged her across the terrace and into the house.
The kitchen was very quiet, the only sound the ticking of the clock. Betsy took her usual chair, but Smythe, instead of taking the seat next to her, slipped into the spot directly across from her. He wanted to be able to watch her face.
Neither of them said a word for what seemed a very long time. Finally he cleared his throat and began, “You said you were still willin’ to marry me.”
“I did.”
He was scared to ask the next question, but he had to. “Uh, when would we want to have the wedding?”
Betsy cocked her head to one side and crossed her arms over her chest. She’d thought hard about this matter, and she’d come to a decision. “Well, I’d not like it to be too soon. I’m still a bit raw about what happened.”
“Alright, I can understand your feelin’s about that,” he replied.
“And this time, seein’ as our last plans didn’t work out the way we’d hoped, I’d like it to be a bit smaller.”
He wasn’t sure he understood. “What does that mean?”
“It means I want a much smaller wedding.” She uncrossed her arms. “I don’t want a wedding breakfast, and I don’t want a lot of fuss and bother. We can get the banns read and then have a quiet wedding with just the household and a few close friends.” She wasn’t going to risk being humiliated in front of the whole world again.
A rush of anger surged through him, but as he watched her face, the temper vanished as quickly as it had come. He suddenly understood that she was afraid. Her words had sounded strong and confident, but he could see fear and pain in her eyes.
“Betsy, I love you more than anything in this world, and I’m sorry I hurt you. I’ll marry you any way that you want. But know this—I’ll never, ever leave you again.”
“What if someone from your past shows up and they need you?” she asked. Her eyes misted with tears, but she blinked to keep them back.
“Then I’ll take you with me,” he replied. “I should have taken you with me to Australia. I should have at least asked and given you the choice. I’ll not make that mistake again.”
Once more she was silent. She looked away and took a deep breath. When she turned back to him, she was grinning from ear to ear. “That’s what I’ve been waiting to hear ever since you got back. That I come first, that you’ll never push me aside again.”
“I didn’t push you aside before.”
“But it felt like you had,” she said.
“I’m so sorry, love. I’ll never hurt you again,” he promised.
“Sure you will.” She grinned. “We’re going to be man and wife. Even the most devoted couples hurt each other from time to time. But just don’t ever put me second again. Don’t ever push me aside.”
“I’ll never push you aside.” He leapt up and raced around the table.
Laughing, she got up, and he grabbed her, lifted her up over his head, and whirled her about the kitchen. “You’ve made me the happiest man in the world,” he cried. “When, when are we going to wed?”
“Put me down,” she giggled. “Someone will come.”
Several of them were already there. Mrs. Jeffries and Dr. Bosworth were hovering in the doorway.
“Tell me when first,” he demanded.
She’d thought about that, too. “I think I’d like to marry in the autumn. October is a good month.”
“October it is, then,” he cried.
“Cor blimey, what’s goin’ on?” Wiggins pushed past Mrs. Jeffries and the doctor. “Are we dancin’, then?”
It was Betsy who answered. “I’m going to be a bride again.”
“I like celebrations and parties. We gonna ’ave a big one?”
Smythe lowered her to the floor and waited for her to reply. She looked at the three people in the doorway. “Oh, yes, it’s going to be a wonderful wedding. I’m going to invite everyone we know.” She reached for his hand. “And this time, if you try to leave me at the altar, I’ll hunt you down and skin you alive.”
He was humbled by the trust she’d just given him. “I promise you, love—I’ll never leave you again.”
“And if he does, I’ll ’elp ya hunt him down,” Wiggins offered.

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