Mrs. Jeffries in the Nick of Time by Emily Brightwell Page A

cases.
    “I’ve never met him. He didn’t really travel in the same circles as the Farringdons or Lord Seaton,” Emery replied, mentioning his previous two employers. “But I have heard of him. He was married to a rich American woman named Estelle Collier. She owned about half of every railway company in the United States. She died a few years ago and left him everything.”
    “Did they have children?”
    “Not that I’ve ever heard about.” Emery frowned. “I’m trying to remember something about them, now what was it? Oh yes, they used to have a huge flat just the other side of Hyde Park. But about ten years ago, he talked her into moving to some place a bit farther out of town. The gossip was that he wanted to be able to watch the trains go by or some such nonsense.”
     
    Inspector Nivens snatched the papers out of Lionel’s hands as he handed them to Barnes. “You’ll not speak to your betters in such a fashion,” he snapped. “Constable Barnes is a senior officer and you’ll treat him with respect. Furthermore, you’ll take these documents”—he shook the papers under Lionel’s nose—“to Fulham yourself and if you give me any argument about it, I’ll go have a word with your mother. Do I make myself understood?”
    Lionel stared at his uncle impassively for a moment and then tucked the pages under his arm. “I meant no disrespect to the constable. There’s no need for you to get so angry. I was only excited to have the opportunity to work with Inspector Witherspoon.” He looked at Barnes. “I apologize, sir.” He then turned to Witherspoon. “If it’s all the same to you, Inspector, I’ll meet you at Humphreys House later this afternoon. What time shall I tell my superiors at Fulham to expect Constable Barnes?”
    “He’ll report there tomorrow morning,” Nivens interjected. “And if anyone questions that, have them contact me directly.”
    Lionel bowed his head respectfully and started for the staircase. As soon as he was out of earshot, Nivens closed his eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry about this, Witherspoon. As God is my witness, I tried my best to get the transfer order rescinded, but it was impossible. My sister, Lionel’s mother, has better connections to the home secretary than half the Queen’s relatives.” He sounded angry and bitter. “But at least I’ve got him out of your way for a few hours.”
    “I appreciate that, Inspector,” Witherspoon said softly. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Constable Barnes and I need to get back to Humphreys House. We’ve still statements to take.”
    On the way back to Acton, Barnes did his best to reassure his inspector. “Not to worry, sir,” he said with a confidence he didn’t feel. “You’ll soon have this case solved.”
    “I’ve never worked a murder case without you,” Witherspoon admitted as the hansom pulled up in front of their destination. “I don’t think I shall like it much. It’ll be awkward working with a new person. Especially one that I’m not sure I can completely trust.”
    Barnes stepped out onto the road. “Constable Gates doesn’t have the same reputation as his uncle.” He paid the driver and the two men started up the long walkway to the house.
    “That may be true, yet I find his behavior somewhat alarming,” Witherspoon replied. They climbed up the steps to the door.
    Barnes banged the brass knocker. “How so, sir?”
    “He went to great lengths to get put on this case, Constable. Furthermore, he did it in a devious and rather back-handed manner.”
    “Some people will do whatever is necessary to get what they want,” Barnes muttered. He was surprised by the inspector’s comment. He generally gave everyone the benefit of the doubt. But now that the words had been said, the Constable found he agreed with them. “Watch your back, sir,” he said as the door opened and Mrs. Eames ushered them into the house.
    Annabelle Prescott was waiting for them in the drawing room. “I heard you