The Witness on the Roof by Annie Haynes Read Free Book Online Page A

the most exquisite embroidery of seed pearl and silver that lay like a delicate network of frost over the whole surface. The gown looked at first sight almost severely plain, but it had been designed by an artist to whom Joan’s wealth of colouring had been, an inspiration. Nothing could have better become the girl’s brilliant complexion, the scarlet of her lips, the warmth of her hair, than the soft ivory-white. The long, beautifully modelled throat rose from a cloud of priceless old lace. Celestine, too, had risen to the occasion. Joan’s hair was arranged with seeming carelessness, but with the hand of an artist. A necklace of pearls, which had been an heirloom for generations of Davenants, was clasped round her neck.
    Cynthia, with diamonds twinkling in her hair and round her throat, coming into the room in her pale-green chiffon, looked at her cousin almost enviously.
    â€œYou are perfectly transformed, Joan! Of course I always knew you could look lovely, properly dressed, but really—that is really magnificent! It looks simple, unpretentious, and yet one sees it is exactly the thing. Beside you, I shall look atrociously overdressed.”
    â€œYou look perfectly charming!” Joan declared. “I feel very expensive, but it is nice to be properly dressed for once.”
    â€œOf course it is!” Cynthia agreed heartily. “I am glad Aunt Ursula has behaved decently at last.”
    Cynthia was a popular hostess, and dances being few and far between in the neighbourhood, her rooms filled rapidly. Joan, as a cousin of the host, and endowed with unusual good looks and with the reputation of being the greatest heiress in the county, found herself much in request. Warchester was early at her side. He claimed the first dance, and, looking at her programme, Joan felt a little alarmed as she saw how often his name figured. They made a splendid pair with their unusual height, for, though Joan was tall for a woman, her head barely reached to Warchester’s shoulder. Many eyes followed them as they circled slowly round the room, and many heads were close together when they passed.
    Later in the evening they went into supper together. Warchester secured a table in an alcove a little withdrawn from the others. As she ate her chicken and salad Joan glanced across at her companion.
    â€œHow long is it since you were in the neighbourhood, Lord Warchester?”
    He looked slightly surprised.
    â€œFourteen—no, fifteen years. I was twenty-three-the last time I stayed at Warchester. I had no expectation of succeeding to the title then. My cousin Basil, to whom my uncle left the Marsh and most of the unentailed property, was with me.”
    Joan looked interested.
    â€œHe is an invalid, is he not—your cousin?”
    â€œYes.” Warchester’s head was downcast; his hand was absently playing with his watch-chain. “Some ten years ago he had an accident, and was frightfully smashed, up, poor chap. He has been more or less an invalid ever since, and his memory has been seriously affected.”
    â€œHow terribly sad!” Joan exclaimed. “And has he anybody—any sisters or a mother to live with him?”
    â€œHis mother died two years after the accident,” Warchester said slowly, “I think the shock of it killed her, for she had been so proud of him. But his tone changing to lighter vein—“why are you looking so puzzled, Miss Davenant? What is worrying you?”
    â€œBecause I thought—” Joan came to a stop. “But if you have not been here for ten years—”
    â€œI have not been here for nearly fifteen years,” he corrected. “As a matter of fact, as you may have heard, my uncle was so seriously annoyed when I refused to fall in with his plans for my future that he vowed that I should not cross the threshold of the Towers in his lifetime, and he kept his word.”
    â€œThen of course it must be my fancy, since it