Flowers Stained With Moonlight by Catherine Shaw Read Free Book Online Page B

and shifted it quietly, making a path for myself just along the wall, so as to be sure that I would be able to move up and down there in complete silence. Then, feeling I had done enough, I scurried back to my room, darted inside, closed and bolted the door with a sigh of relief, shifted the table, and flinging myself into a chair, I drew pen and ink toward me and began to write this letter.
    Here I am just barely arrived, and already I am specifically ignoring the injunctions of my hostess, with the purpose of laying the grounds for an eavesdropping expedition! I feel quite ashamed, but quite adventurous. I only hope that no one is spying on me as I am spying on them, for this letter is not very discreet! I had better hide it with care, until tomorrow when it shall be taken to the post office by Peter’s ministrations.
    I leave you tenderly, my dear, and will write again very soon.
    Your loving
    Vanessa

Maidstone Hall, Sunday, June 12th, 1892
    My dearest sister,
    I must finish telling you the events of yesterday.
    We had barely gathered at tea, the girls with damp foreheads and muddy boots from their long tramp across the fields, when a loud ring came at the front door.
    ‘Oh, that will be the inspector already,’ said Mrs Bryce-Fortescue,with an impatient, worried look. ‘If not early, he is certainly punctual!’
    There was a moment of tension, and she glanced at me. As we heard the front door being opened by Mr Huxtable, I rose and, without haste, carrying in my hand the teacup which she had only just filled, I left the room.
    I should tell you that I had had a little talk with Mrs Bryce-Fortescue a few moments earlier, when she had knocked at my door to fetch me down to tea. And she had made a rather peculiar request.
    ‘As you know, the police intend to interrogate Sylvia yet again this afternoon,’ she told me. ‘It is the fourth time since Geo—since her hus—since my son-in-law was killed. I cannot think what they believe they can still have to learn from her, but I am afraid, very much afraid. They came specially and urgently to make this appointment, and as I cannot think what else it may mean, I very much fear that they may have some new evidence to try and use or turn against her. Now, I intend to insist on remaining with her during her interrogation. I will say that she is in fragile health, and I have instructed her to say the same. Yet I conceive that they will not allow me to do so, and I am desperately worried for Sylvia. She is such a little goose, that if they attempt to trap her into some contradiction, she will certainly fall for it straight away; she would be capable of incriminating herself out of pure foolishness, though I have of course told her again and again to stick quietly to the truth and offer nothing else. You know, of course, that she has an alibi for the time of the murder, for she was athome, and the housekeeper and maid have both stated that Sylvia did not leave the house, and could not have done so without being observed. But if I know anything about the police, they will try every possible way to pick holes in that statement, or frighten Sylvia into believing that they have done so. I simply
must
know what they say to her, otherwise how can we defend ourselves?’
    ‘Sylvia must have a lawyer,’ I said quickly. ‘You know that she has the right to one, and that the lawyer would necessarily be allowed to accompany her to all police interrogations.’
    ‘It is impossible – I have not the means to pay for a private lawyer, and the court will not appoint her one as long as she has not been formally accused. Furthermore, it seems to both Sylvia and me, and Camilla agrees, that it would appear to be a sign of guilt on her part to thus defend herself; we believe that she should behave exactly as though her innocence were perfectly clear – as indeed it should be – and she believed the police were questioning her merely in order to advance their researches. At least, that is