Mrs. Jeffries Stands Corrected by Emily Brightwell

the night talking to his sister about the Dapeers household. She’d been surprised when she’d arrived at the pub to find him there alone. But he’d explained that Sadie had come down with a sore throat and couldn’t come. Betsy didn’t believe that for a moment. She wasn’t conceited, but a two-year-old could work out that the poor lad wanted to be alone with her. Now she felt lower than a snake. Once she found out what she needed to know, she had no plans ever to see him again. Stop it, she told herself fiercely. A murder’s been committed. She had to do what she had to do. “Oh Hamilton,” she gushed. “I think it’s ever so clever of you to know so much about the Dapeers household. You must be very observant.”
    “No.” He blushed to the roots of his curly hair. “I’m just a good listener. Most of what I know, my sister Sadie told me. Like I said, Sadie worked there for a few months. But then she got a chance for a better position in a milliner’s shop. It paid more and the hours is better, so she left the Dapeers house. She didn’t much like workin’ there anyway, it weren’t at all a nice place.”
    “Did they do a lot of arguin’ and such?” Betsy asked. She leaned closer across the small table.
    “Nah,” Hamilton replied. “It were mainly just the kind of feelin’ you get about a place that she didn’t care for. Said that Mr. Dapeers was always watchin’ Mrs. Hewett whenever he thought his wife wasn’t looking. And poor Mrs. Hewett went around with a long face and lookin’ miserable all the time. The only time she ever smiled was when she was with her daughter. She spent the rest of her time hiding from Mr. Dapeers.”
    “How awful.”
    “It was. Sadie overheard a dreadful row the night before she left.” He glanced at her empty glass.
    “Between Mr. Dapeers and Mrs. Hewett?” Betsy pressed.
    “Would you like another ale?”
    “No, thank you.”
    Hamilton picked up his beer and swallowed hastily. “It was between Mr. and Mrs. Dapeers. Seems that Mr. Dapeers didn’t like his wife givin’ so much time and money to Reverend Ballantine.”
    “Reverend Ballantine? Who is he?”
    “He runs some kind of missionary society,” Hamilton explained. “And Mr. Dapeers was right angry about Mrs. Dapeers giving him so much money.”
    Disappointed, Betsy slumped back in her chair. “Oh. Well, I guess there’s lots of husbands who wouldn’t want their wives giving away the household money.”
    Hamilton grinned and shook his head. “It weren’t the household money she was giving away.” He laughed. “Sadie said she heard Mrs. Dapeers shouting that it was her money she was using and she’d give it to whoever she liked.”
    Betsy brightened. “Mrs. Dapeers had money?”
    “Pots of it, accordin’ to Sadie,” Hamilton said. “Mind you, most of it is tied up in some kind of trust, that’s why Mr. Dapeers don’t have control of it. They argued about that lots of times. He was always wantin’ her to hire a solicitor and take some old relative of hers to court. But she refused to do it.”
    “So she gives this Reverend Ballantine money and tells her husband to mind his own business,” Betsy murmured.
    “If you ask me, Mr. Dapeers had a right to be angry,” Hamilton said quickly. “It’s not right, a wife having her own money.”
    Betsy’s chin jerked up and she opened her mouth to tell him he was a ruddy fool. Women should have their ownmoney! Then she remembered that she needed this young man to keep feeding her information, so she clamped down the angry retort on the tip of her tongue and forced herself to say, “I think you’re absolutely right.” The words almost choked her; when she got home, she ought to wash her mouth out with soap.
    Hamilton beamed at her, then he leaned forward and whispered, “And that’s not all Sadie heard, either. She heard Mr. Dapeers going on and on about how Mrs. Dapeers was making a fool of herself over this reverend.”
    “You don’t