The Deeds Of The Disturber by Elizabeth Peters

Author:Elizabeth Peters
Language: eng
Format: epub

The Deeds Of The Disturber

I ignored the remark. “Tell the nurserymaid not to permit her to buy such things. Too many sweets are not good for her.”

“I have told her, madam, but she is young and rather timid; and Miss Violet ...”

“Yes, I know, Mrs. Watson. I will have a little talk with Miss Violet. And perhaps another nurserymaid? I have forgot which it is, Kitty or Jane.”

“Jane, madam. Kitty expressed some doubts as to her ability to handle the duties required.”

“That was after she had met Miss Violet, I expect. Well, Mrs. Watson, try another of the maids. Were none of the applicants who responded to my advertisement suitable?”

“No, madam. I hired one young person to replace Jane; she had excellent references, from the DowagerÑ”

“Very well, Mrs. Watson. As usual, I leave it to you. EmersonÑ”

“I must be off,” exclaimed Emerson, stuffing the rest of his slice of toast into his mouth. “Have a pleasant day, my dear. Have you any particular plans?”

I looked at him. My look was severe and unsmiling; but although I take care never to admit it to Emerson, for fear of making him vain, the sight of him seldom fails to soften my resentment. The keen blue eyes, now a trifle narrowed with anxiety, the firm lips, now wearing a tentative smile, the broad brow with its tumbled waves of black hairÑ every lineament of his face touches chords of tender memory.

“I am going to Scotland Yard, Emerson,” I said quietly. “I wonder that you need to ask, since you heard me make the appointment with Inspector Cuff.”

“I heard no such thing,” Emerson cried indignantly. “But I might have known you would go. There is no use, I suppose, in asking you not to go? No. I thought not. Oh, curse it!”

He stamped out, with, I was pleased to observe, all his old vigor. I do not like to see Emerson subdued and apologetic; those little differences of opinion which add so much to the enjoyment of marriage lack their usual spice when he does not meet me on equal terms. (And I am bound to say that such occurrences are extremely rare.)

“Scotland Yard, Mrs. Emerson?” the housekeeper said uneasily. “I trust you have no complaints concerning any of the servants?”

How the dear innocent woman had managed to remain ignorant of our activities I cannot imagine. I hastened to reassure her. “No, Mrs. Watson, it is another matter entirely. I am about to interview a man wrongly accused of murder and free him from captivity.”

“HowÑhow nice, ma'am,” said Mrs. Watson.

The fog was lifting by the time I reached New Scotland Yard. Inspector Cuff was delighted to see me.

“My dear Mrs. Emerson! I trust you suffered no ill effects from your adventure of last night?”

“No, thank you, I am in excellent health. You were expecting me, I suppose?”

“Oh yes, ma'am. In fact, in anticipation of your visit I had the suspect brought here from Bow Street.”

“Suspect? He is under arrest for murderÑ”

“My dear Mrs. Emerson?” Cuff smiled angelically.

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