The Dead Songbird (The Northminster Mysteries) Read Online Free Page A

and set it opposite the Major.
    “Now, please, ma’am, sit, and you can begin from the beginning.”
    Felix positioned himself on a sofa next to the wall, where he could observe her completely. He saw her folding her pale hands neatly in her lap, but then after a moment she began to play with one of her rings. She did not need such decorations, he thought; her hands were perfection already.
    “I have never spoken of this to anyone before,” she said, after a brief silence. “I thought if I did not, then it would go away, but it did not.” She glanced from Major Vernon to Felix with a half smile. “Oh dear.”
    “Think of me like a Roman Cleric in a box, hidden behind a grille,” said Vernon. “Anything you say is quite safe.”
    “So long as I do not get a penance for my sins,” she said, with a sort of nervous levity.
    “So?” prompted the Major.
    “Yes, yes, of course,” she said, and reached in a pocket in the folds of her skirt and took out a folded piece of paper. She fingered it for a moment then held it out to him. “This is why I called you. It is probably nonsense.”
    Vernon took the paper, unfolded it and looked it over.
    “That is not nonsense,” he said after a moment. “May I show this to Mr Carswell?”
    “Yes.”
    Felix crossed the room and took the paper. It read:
    “Death is too good for a whore like you.
    But He may show you mercy yet.
    BE PREPARED.”
    It was not written out, but made from printed letters, chopped up and pasted, a violent jumble of typefaces and capitals, so that the words seemed like blows. He stared down at it, appalled that anyone should think of doing such a thing to her.
    “Good God,” he said, under his breath.
    “This was delivered to you here?” Major Vernon asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Amongst your usual letters?”
    “Yes.”
    “But delivered by hand, apparently,” said Vernon. “There’s no stamp, I think?” Felix turned the paper over, glad not to look at it. The name and direction had been carefully printed but the Major was right. There was no stamp. “You don’t recognise this hand at all?” the Major continued.
    “No. I have puzzled over it before.”
    “You have had such letters before?”
    “Yes.”
    “How many?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Two or three?”
    “More than that. Usually I throw them straight into the fire. That seems the best place for them. After all, they are just little bits of gummed paper, it’s just some horrible, childish game. I decided I would not let myself be hurt by them. To take them seriously, well, that seems to play into their hands. I should have burnt that one.”
    “But you decided not to on this occasion. Is the language stronger?”
    “Yes, somewhat.”
    “And why did you decide to speak of this now?”
    “Because I have not given out my address here. I had thought it was just some nonsense that happens in London. People do write to me a great deal there. It is a hazard of being well known, and I tried to make light of it. But finding one here, when I am supposed to be away from all that – it disturbed me.”
    “When did it arrive?” Felix asked.
    “Yesterday afternoon, with my other letters. It was waiting for me when I arrived. That disturbed me and last night I did not sleep. A strange bed in a strange house I suppose accounts for that, but to find it here already, waiting for me...”
    “How long have you been receiving these letters, then?” Major Vernon asked.
    “I cannot say when it began. I have pushed it from my mind, I suppose. It was too unpleasant. When it came I threw it straight on the fire. It was last summer, I think.”
    “And you have spoken to no-one of this?” he said.
    “No-one.”
    “Not even your husband?” the Major said.
    She shook her head.
    “My letters are a slightly sensitive matter between us,” she said, after a moment. “I get a great many letters. I do not invite them. It is simply that people of my profession seem to attract