Mrs. Jeffries must help Inspector Witherspoon crack a new case and catch a killer in this next installment of the beloved Victorian Mystery series. Successful businessman Jeremy Marks wasn’t highly regarded by any of the members of the West London Archery Club. Most of them considered him a buffoon and a bore. But everyone was stunned when the fellow was murdered during a lull in the club’s annual archery competition. He’d been shot with arrows from a longbow during a raging thunderstorm. But those who knew Marks well understood that the unkempt "court jester" persona adopted by the late, unlamented man was as fake as the smile he wore. As Inspector Witherspoon investigates the murder, he discovers the victim had real enemies among the assembled archery contestants. Marks was notorious for not paying his bills, cheating vendors, bad-mouthing business rivals, and worst of all, betraying his business partners. The dead man had built a whole career and amassed quite a substantial fortune by harming those who trusted him. It will take Mrs. Jeffries and the inspector’s household as well as their friends to sort out fact from fiction and target a killer. Emily Brightwell is the New York Times bestselling author of forty-one Inspector Witherspoon and Mrs. Jeffries books. Chapter 1 "What's wrong now?" Luty Belle Crookshank put her champagne glass on the table and frowned at the tall, white-haired man sitting opposite her. "You've been starin' out that window for the last ten minutes. Glarin' at the storm ain't goin' to make it let up any quicker." "That's easy for you to say, madam," Hatchet replied. "You're not the one who didn't get to compete. I've been practicing for weeks now and most of the Ladies' Division had finished. I was the first in my category to shoot, and if they'd let us stay out for five more minutes, I would have had my chance." He flicked a piece of lint off the sleeve of his jacket, picked up his tea, and took a sip. Luty, a tiny, elderly American with snow-white hair, blue eyes, and a love of flashy clothes, shook her head. "If you'd stayed out for five more minutes, ya coulda been struck by lightning, and your outfit would have been ruined." She was dressed in a bright red cotton skirt with a wide blue cummerbund waist and a lacy white blouse with a high collar and puffy sleeves. Gold-and-pearl earrings dangled from her ears, and a gold broach in the shape of a frog playing a harmonica was pinned over her heart. Hatchet glanced down at the blazer he wore over his starched white shirt. It was a deep green so dark that it almost looked black. His flat wide-brimmed matching cap was on the table next to Luty's gloves. "I'm not certain that would have been so bad." He wasn't used to the garments they were required to wear for the competition. They were undignified, but when he'd mentioned the matter to Luty, she'd merely scoffed and said that wearing something other than his usual attire of black stovepipe trousers, white shirt, cravat, and old-fashioned black frockcoat was good for him. He'd decided it was pointless to argue with the woman, since her love of fashion made it impossible for her to understand that wearing different clothing made him uncomfortable. The two of them were sitting by the window table in the common room of the West London Archery Club. Hatchet, who was supposedly Luty's butler, was drinking tea while Luty had opted for a glass of champagne. They'd come here so that Hatchet could compete in the annual archery contest, but owing to the sudden, vicious storm, everyone was now inside waiting and hoping for the bad weather to pass. "I know you're disappointed and it don't seem fair that you had to miss your turn, but the contest ain't over." She glanced at the well-dressed men and women crowding around tables and milling about the huge room. She recognized a large number of people, most of whom were acquaintances rather than friends. "Archery ain't my cup of tea, but it's a better sport than horse racing. You can lose your shirt bettin' on the ponies." "I'm not doing it just for the sport," Hatchet pointed out. "You know my doctor insisted I get more exercise, and archery is perfect. It provides the right amount of physical activity without making one desperately hot and miserable. You know how hard I've practiced, madam, and it isn't fair that my category was suddenly shoved to the end of the competition instead of at the beginning as is the normal custom." He jerked his chin toward the rain-streaked window. "If it had gone the way it was supposed to, I'd already be finished . . ." "And you'd have first place," Luty teased. "Possibly, madam, possibly," Hatchet replied. The two of them had more than an employer-employee relationship. They had a strong bond, and it was because of this bond that Luty had used her considerable influence to get him accepted as a member. The archery club wasn't as class-ridden as most of London's athletic establishments, but they d