The Dower House Mystery Read Online Free

ordered themselves.
    â€œI’ll let the house—that’ll help. And I’ll find something to do. I could ask three guineas a week for the house. I’ll do it. She shall have her chance. I’ll manage it somehow. Mr. Berry might know of something for me. I could catch the ten-thirty, and go and see him. I’ll do anything. But the child shall have her chance.”
    She lit her candle, and went upstairs. At the door of Daphne’s room she paused for a moment, then turned the handle and went in, the candle shaded by her open hand.
    Daphne was asleep, curled up like a kitten, with one hand under her cheek, her little head looking round and very black against the white pillow; her eyelashes were black too—black and wet.
    â€œShe’s been crying!” The thought pricked like a sharp thorn.
    Amabel set down the candle, using the huge, framed photograph of Amber Studland to screen it. She bent over Daphne, her heart soft against that pricking thought. And suddenly Daphne turned with a sob, and woke. The wet lashes showed blue eyes drenched with tears. Daphne’s hands came out with a groping gesture, and clutched at her mother’s wrist.
    â€œDaffy! Daffy darling!” Amabel’s arm went round her and felt the slight figure tremble violently.
    â€œMummy, oh, Mummy, if you could!”
    â€œMy Daffy dear.”
    â€œMummy, I love him so—so dreadfully. I swear it isn’t the money—I know you think it is, but it isn’t—it’s me and him.” The words came in gasps. “It’s everything—it’s my whole life. I was a beast to you—but it’s everything. Oh, Mummy!” Daphne’s scalding tears were on Amabel’s hand. There was a long, trembling pause. Then Daphne’s clutch relaxed. With a violent movement she pushed the bed-clothes back and sat up. “Oh, Mummy, isn’t there anything we can do?”
    â€œI could go and see Mr. Berry—and I could let the house, perhaps,” said Amabel.
    â€œYes, yes, of course you could.” The words came headlong and without a thought. “And Mr. Berry—perhaps he’ll offer to lend you the money.”
    Amabel laughed.
    â€œLawyers don’t build up flourishing businesses on lending money to their poorer clients. If I let the house, I shall have to find something to do. Don’t build on it, Daffy; but I’ll go and see Mr. Berry, and find out whether anything can be managed.”
    Daphne caught at her mother’s hands.
    â€œMummy, you angel!” she cried. “I knew—I knew you could manage something if you would only try.”
    Amabel lay awake till the dawn. How had she and Ethan managed to have a child so full of passionate impulses, so little disciplined? Was it all ingrain, or was her upbringing—Agatha’s upbringing—to blame? Such a violence of feeling; so much self-pity; such a strength of wilful determination—these things terrified Amabel for the future. Everything in herself which she had locked away behind iron bars of self-control seemed to live in Daphne. She lay awake, and felt that the night was long, and dark, and cold.

Chapter III
    â€œJust so,” said Mr. Berry, “just so.” He said the words with that air of bland interest which had done so much to establish his reputation.
    Mr. George Forsham, sitting opposite to him, finished signing his name to the document which lay before him, blotted the signature, and passed the paper to Mr. Berry, all in frowning silence. When he frowned his thin lips tightened—a tall man, stiffly built, with a long nose and a high forehead—the aristocratic type, with rather the effect of having faded, as an old photograph will fade.
    Mr. Berry, with his thick white hair, black eyebrows and florid complexion, presented as complete a contrast as possible. He continued to smile whilst his client frowned.
    Mr. Forsham put down his pen, looked across