Mrs. Jeffries and the Mistletoe Mix-Up Read Free Page A

something wonderful for her first Christmas.”
    Relieved, he smiled. “Good. I wouldn’t like you to think I was being foolish. Let’s go inside and get it.” He took Ruth’s elbow and they turned toward the shop door just as a constable came racing around the corner on the opposite side of the road. Witherspoon stopped in his tracks, his attention on the policeman. “That’s Constable Griffiths. I saw him this afternoon at the station. What’s he doing in this district?”
    “I expect he’s looking for you,” she replied. She watched the constable scan the faces along Oxford Street until he spotted them. Ignoring the heavy traffic, he dashed into the road and weaved his way through coopers’ vans, hansom cabs, and private carriages. “He’s seen us now.”
    Griffiths made it across the road safely. “Sorry to bother you, sir, but there’s been a murder,” he said as he halted in front of them.
    Witherspoon sighed inwardly. Of course there was a murder; there always was at Christmas. “Where?”
    “Victoria Gardens, sir.” He caught his breath. “Number twelve. The victim is a man named Daniel McCourt.”
    “Isn’t Inspector Craddock on duty tonight?” Witherspoon wasn’t trying to ignore his obligation; he didn’t want to step on Craddock’s toes. Promotions in the Metropolitan Police Force often came because an officer successfully concluded a murder investigation, so moving onto another policeman’s patch could result in a lot of bad feelings.
    “Yes, sir, he is. But we’ve already had a message from the Yard, and Chief Inspector Barrows wants you to take the case. But not to worry, sir. Inspector Craddock won’t get annoyed. He doesn’t like murders.”
    Neither did Witherspoon. “Right, then. I’ll escort Lady Cannonberry home and get over to Victoria Gardens. Has someone sent a message to Constable Barnes?”
    “Constable Coleman went to fetch Constable Barnes, sir,” Griffiths replied.
    “Gerald, there’s no need to see me home,” Ruth interjected. “Just flag down a hansom and I’ll go straight to your house. I can let your household know you won’t be home for dinner until very late. Wiggins can escort me across the garden.”
    Witherspoon hesitated. He was torn between doing his duty as a policeman and as a gentleman. “Are you certain you’ll be alright?”
    “I’ll be fine.” She turned her attention to the crowded road, scanning the traffic for a cab. “If I’m going to fight for equality for women, I must be prepared to have the courage of my convictions, and that certainly means being competent to see myself home.” She spotted a hansom dropping off a fare fifty yards up the street and raised her arm, waving at the driver. As soon as she was sure he’d seen her, she turned and gave the inspector a brilliant smile. “Don’t be concerned, Gerald. I’m a grown woman, and I’ll be fine.”
    The cab pulled up, and Witherspoon helped her into the seat. “I know you value your independence, but promise me you’ll have Wiggins escort you home tonight. Yes, the communal gardens are always locked, but it’s still not a good idea for you to walk there alone.”
    She patted his hand. “I promise. Don’t worry about me. You’ve a murderer to catch.”
     
    Constable Barnes saw the cab come around the corner onto Victoria Gardens, so he stopped and waited, hoping it was the inspector. He’d already put in a whole shift today, and he was tired. But this was murder, and he worked with the inspector, so he’d not complain. His back was still ramrod straight, and he could move quickly if he had to, but he wasn’t a young man anymore. Under his policeman’s helmet his curly hair was now completely gray, and his eyes weren’t as sharp as they used to be.
    The hansom halted across the road, and Witherspoon got out. The inspector paid the driver and hurried over to Barnes. “I’m so sorry you had to get called out, Constable,” he began.
    Barnes raised his hand.