Mrs Jeffries on the Ball by Emily Brightwell

Author:Emily Brightwell [Brightwell, Emily]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Mystery, Crime Fiction, Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Traditional British
Amazon: B00GHK7C4O
Publisher: C & R Crime
Published: 2014-06-18T23:00:00+00:00

Supper was late that night. Mrs. Goodge muttered darkly under her breath as she and Betsy finished dishing up the food.

“What are you on about?” Betsy asked as she took a platter of beef and placed it in the center of the table.

“It’s nothing really,” the cook mumbled. She averted her gaze and reached for the pot of potatoes, but not before Betsy saw the genuine worry in her eyes.

“Something’s botherin’ you, Mrs. Goodge. It’s written all over your face,” she persisted. “What is it? Are you ill?”

“It’s not that.” Mrs. Goodge sighed. She and the maid were alone in the kitchen. “It’s that.” She jerked her head toward the kitchen sink.

“Something’s wrong with the sink? Well, have Smythe in to have a look at it—”

“It’s not the ruddy sink,” the cook cried. “It’s my medicine.”

Suddenly Betsy understood. “Is that what’s worryin’ you? For goodness’ sakes, Mrs. Goodge. I know how expensive it is. If you’re a bit short, I can loan you a few shillings—”

“That’s just it. The bottle’s full and it shouldn’t be.” She plopped down in a chair.

Betsy frowned in confusion. “What?”

“This is the third time it’s happened,” Mrs. Goodge said wearily. “And I’m beginnin’ to think I’m losin’ my mind. I use that liniment every day, so I know how much I’ve got. Well, for the past few months or so, every time it gets low, I remind myself I need to get more. I write myself a little note and leave it on the counter with me provisions list. But before I can even get to the chemists, another bottle appears. A full bottle.”

“I should think that’d make you happy,” Betsy said slowly. She wondered if perhaps the cook wasn’t getting forgetful. Mrs. Goodge was no spring chicken.

“The first time, it did,” she said. “I thought maybe Mrs. Jeffries or the inspector had got it for me. But I asked them, and neither of them knew a thing about it. Then it kept happening. I’m beginning to wonder if maybe I bought the bottles and…”

“And forgot about it?” Betsy finished bluntly.

Mrs. Goodge nodded slowly, her shoulders slumped, dejected. “That’d mean I’m gettin’ like me old granny,” she said softly. “She went right off her head before she died. Kept thinkin’ she were ten instead of ninety. Couldn’t remember where she’d put things or what she’d eaten for breakfast.”

“Don’t be silly,” Betsy said firmly. “You’re not goin’ off your head. It’s just like my shoes or Wiggins’s writin’ paper, that’s all. Someone in the ’ouse is doin’ us favors. But they don’t want to own up to it.”

“But writin’ paper and gettin’ soles mended is a bloomin’ sight cheaper than buyin’ that medicine,” Mrs. Goodge replied. “And who around here has that kind of money?”

“There’s an explanation for what’s happened,” Betsy persisted, determined to make the cook feel better. “Maybe the inspector’s been gettin’ it for you but don’t want to say anything about it. You know what a kind man he is.”

“You won’t say anything to anyone, will you?” Mrs.

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