The Ghost and Mrs. Jeffries

INSPECTOR WITHERSPOON
ALWAYS TRIUMPHS…
HOW DOES HE DO IT?

Even the inspector himself doesn’t know—because his secret weapon is as ladylike as she is clever. She’s Mrs. Jeffries—the determined, delightful detective who stars in this unique Victorian mystery series! Be sure to read them all…

The Inspector and Mrs. Jeffries

A doctor is found dead in his own office—and Mrs. Jeffries must scour the premises to find the prescription for murder!

Mrs. Jeffries Dusts for Clues

One case is closed and another is opened when the inspector finds a missing brooch—pinned to a dead woman’s gown. But Mrs. Jeffries never cleans a room without dusting under the bed—and never gives up on a case before every loose end is tightly tied…

The Ghost and Mrs. Jeffries

Death is unpredictable…but the murder of Mrs. Hodges was foreseen at a spooky séance. The practical-minded housekeeper may not be able to see the future—but she can look into the past and put things in order to solve this haunting crime!

Berkley Prime Crime titles by Emily Brightwell

THE INSPECTOR AND MRS. JEFFRIES

MRS. JEFFRIES DUSTS FOR CLUES

THE GHOST AND MRS. JEFFRIES

MRS. JEFFRIES TAKES STOCK

MRS. JEFFRIES ON THE BALL

MRS. JEFFRIES ON THE TRAIL

MRS. JEFFRIES PLAYS THE COOK

MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE MISSING ALIBI

MRS. JEFFRIES STANDS CORRECTED

MRS. JEFFRIES TAKES THE STAGE

MRS. JEFFRIES QUESTIONS THE ANSWER

MRS. JEFFRIES REVEALS HER ART

MRS. JEFFRIES TAKES THE CAKE

MRS. JEFFRIES ROCKS THE BOAT

MRS. JEFFRIES WEEDS THE PLOT

MRS. JEFFRIES PINCHES THE POST

MRS. JEFFRIES PLEADS HER CASE

MRS. JEFFRIES SWEEPS THE CHIMNEY

MRS. JEFFRIES STALKS THE HUNTER

MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE SILENT KNIGHT

MRS. JEFFRIES APPEALS THE VERDICT

MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE BEST LAID PLANS

MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE FEAST OF ST. STEPHEN

MRS. JEFFRIES HOLDS THE TRUMP

MRS. JEFFRIES IN THE NICK OF TIME

MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE YULETIDE WEDDINGS

MRS. JEFFRIES SPEAKS HER MIND

MRS. JEFFRIES FORGES AHEAD

MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE MISTLETOE MIX-UP

MRS. JEFFRIES DEFENDS HER OWN

Anthologies

MRS. JEFFRIES LEARNS THE TRADE

MRS. JEFFRIES TAKES A SECOND LOOK

EMILY BRIGHTWELL

BERKLEY PRIME CRIME, NEW YORK

This book is dedicated to
one of the nicest people in my life,
E
LIZABETH
D
OMHOLT

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Abigail Hodges slammed the door so hard the gold-leafed mirror rattled dangerously against the foyer wall. She paused long enough to fling the door key and her silver beaded purse onto a mahogany table before stalking across the polished oak floor to the bottom of the curving stairway.

“Mrs. Trotter,” she bellowed for her housekeeper. “Come here at once. At once, do you hear me!”

There was no answer.

“Mrs. Trotter,” she shouted again. “Thomasina? Thomasina! Where are you? What’s going on here? Where is everybody?”

Impatiently her toe tapped against the floor. Where was the confounded woman? They’d pay for this! Abigail fumed. She’d teach the servants to ignore her summons. She’d teach them to play about while the mistress of the house stood waiting for service.

Her toe stopped tapping against the floor as she realised how very silent the house was. Ominously silent, almost as though it was empty.

A slow chill climbed her spine as she remembered the medium’s parting words. “Darkness, death, despair,” the woman had intoned portentously.

Abigail took a deep breath and resolutely brushed Esme Popejoy’s warning aside. What nonsense the woman had spouted. She’d been absolutely right to tell that so-called medium precisely what she thought of such silly twaddle. She’d certainly had the last word on that matter.

It was a deeply held principle that Abigail Hodges always had the last word.

But where was everybody? The house was deathly quiet. Too quiet, Abigail thought. She listened for the faint noises that indicated the presence of those well-trained servants whose duty it was to wait up for the mistress of the house. But she heard nothing. “Hello. Is anyone here?”

After a moment she snorted indelicately. She wasn’t going to stand here all night like some frightened ninny. “Could that wretched husband of mine possibly have given the servants the night off?” she finally muttered, pushing the medium’s theatrical warning to the back of her mind. She started slowly up the stairs, her steps encumbered by the heavy skirts of her evening dress. “No doubt he thinks it was wrong of me to keep them all in last Sunday. Well,” she continued muttering under her breath, “we’ll just see about that. Coddling servants! When Leonard finally decides to bring himself home, I’ll give him the task of sacking everyone. That’ll put him in his place. That’ll teach him to try to undermine my authority.”

Abigail reached the top of the stairs and paused to take a deep breath. She glanced back over her shoulder, hoping to hear the tapping footsteps of a running maid or Mrs. Trotter’s breathless apologies for not being on duty to receive her.

She heard nothing.

Despite her brave words and utter fury, Abigail was frightened. She didn’t like the feeling. It was unfamiliar to her and it made her even angrier than she’d been when Leonard had announced his intention of escorting that silly Mrs. Popejoy to the train station. And after everything that
had happened! Oh, she’d make him pay for this. She’d make him really pay.

Esme Popejoy. That stupid woman! She’d never go to
her
for a reading again. Just because Mrs. Popejoy was the current rage and supposedly the best medium in the city didn’t mean she had any genuine talent. Why just look at tonight’s fiasco. Seven people had paid good money to try to contact their dear departed loved ones and they’d gotten nothing but some melodramatic claptrap! Darkness, death and despair, indeed.

Abigail’s temper flared again. Why was
she
the one to have been singled out for a warning? she asked herself. Absolute rubbish. And that despicable Leonard! Instead of bringing
her
home and giving
her
comfort, her own husband had cavalierly agreed to escort that charlatan of a medium to the station!

Tonight was the first time Leonard had ever openly defied her wishes. The experience left a nasty taste in her mouth. Abigail wasn’t used to anyone defying her wishes. She wasn’t about to let it go unpunished either. She smiled slightly, thinking of the conversation she’d have when her husband finally had the good sense to come home. She’d have the last word about that too, she promised herself.

From below, she heard a loud creak. It sounded like a footstep. Abigail’s heavy brows drew together. “Who’s there?”

But no one answered her.

Instead of calling out again, she stomped down the hall to her room. Bravado desperately trying to ward off an unwelcome curl of fear, Abigail frowned thoughtfully as she noticed all the lamps in the hallway had been lighted. They’d been on in the drawing room as well, she remembered. Flinging open the door, she marched inside, noticing that every lamp in her room was blazing too. She wondered if Mrs. Trotter had done that before she’d taken herself off tonight. Usually, that kind of wastefulness annoyed Abigail,
but tonight she was almost grateful for the brightness. It helped keep the fear away.

There was another creak. Abigail froze. The sound had come from the staircase. For some reason, though, she couldn’t bring herself to call out again.

Tilting her head towards the door, she listened hard for the noise to repeat itself. But there was nothing but silence.

After a few moments had passed, she decided she was merely being fanciful. Imagining things. This was an old house. Old houses groaned and creaked all the time, she had just never noticed it before. Abigail walked over and stood in front of her dressing table. Lifting her arm, she started undoing the buttons on the sleeve of her dress.

There is nothing outside the door, she told herself firmly. She finished the buttons on the sleeves and then reached behind her. Her fingers couldn’t quite reach the tiny ornate buttons on the back of the dress.

Suddenly the bedroom door crashed open. Abigail whirled around. Her mouth opened in shocked surprise, her eyes widened in sheer terror.

A shot rang out and then another.

She was dead before she hit the floor.

For once, Abigail Hodges didn’t get the last word.