Mrs. Jeffries and the Mistletoe Mix-Up by Emily Brightwell Page A

of his head. “It was a Hwando that was used to murder him,” he said.
    “Oh dear God.” Leon closed his eyes briefly. “The papers only said it was a sword. I’d no idea it was the Hwando.”
    “You didn’t know the Hwando was hanging in his study?” the constable pressed. “The doors between the study and the drawing room were wide open.”
    “I know that, Constable, but Daniel kept his swords displayed on the wall in the study, and one didn’t go there without an invitation,” Leon replied. “You couldn’t see it from where we were in the drawing room, and I’ve not been in his study for months.”
    Witherspoon put his cup down on the table. “How long were you actually at tea before the fire broke out?”
    “We’d only just started,” Glenda said. “Elena had poured and the maid had lifted the stack of plates off the bottom rack of the trolley when all of a sudden there were people shouting from below stairs. Naturally, Daniel and Elena excused themselves and went to see what was wrong. They came back a few moments later and announced there had been a small fire by the back staircase but that everything was now fine.” She smiled ruefully. “But within five minutes, it became obvious that it wasn’t over. The room seemed to fill with the most dreadful smell.”
    “Was it paraffin?” Barnes asked.
    She frowned prettily. “At first, that’s what it seemed to be, but then it wasn’t.”
    “I’m sorry, Mrs. Brunel, but I don’t understand exactly what you mean,” the inspector said.
    “It’s difficult to explain, but it was almost as though there were two separate odors, and both of them were paraffin. At first we all pretended not to notice, but honestly, within a few moments, it simply couldn’t be ignored. I felt so sorry for Elena; she was so humiliated, and I know we’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but Daniel only made the situation worse. He kept pretending that nothing was wrong.”
    “But my dear, what else could he have done?” Leon asked reasonably.
    “He could have kept quiet long enough for her to do something. But he kept talking and talking about what a wonderful acquisition he’d made.” She gave a discreet, ladylike snort. “Elena finally interrupted him after you commented that I appeared to be about to faint. She stood up and ordered the maid to open the windows. Then she apologized for the awful smell and told us we could leave. Well, it was dreadful, so everyone got up and started for the hallway to get their hats and coats.”
    “What was Mr. McCourt doing at this point?” Witherspoon asked.
    “He was upset,” Leon said, “but trying hard not to let it show.”
    “And that’s when everyone left?” Barnes pressed.
    “As I’ve already said, we were the first to leave, so I can’t say when the others might have gone.”
    “Arthur Brunel and Mr. Saxon were right behind us.” Glenda gave her husband a sharp look. “We heard them talking.”
    “Yes, but we didn’t actually see them leave,” he argued. “Unless, of course, you looked back. Did you?”
    “Why would I?” she said irritably. “But we did hear them.”
    “Did you summon a hansom or walk home?” Witherspoon asked.
    “We went to the corner and got a cab. I put my wife in it and presumably”—he gave her a quick, assessing look—“she came straight home.”
    Witherspoon glanced at the constable. “You didn’t return home with Mrs. Brunel?”
    “No, I had an errand of my own to run,” Leon said. “I’d planned on doing it this morning, but as our social engagement ended so abruptly, I decided to take care of the matter immediately.”
    “Where did you go, sir?” Witherspoon asked. He noticed that Mrs. Brunel was watching her husband closely.
    “I went to see my solicitor, Inspector.” He broke off and smiled at his wife. “I had some rather urgent business.”
    Glenda Brunel stared solemnly back at her husband.
    Witherspoon wasn’t an expert on marital