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

chord and winced. “Oh dear.”
    “Do you know him well?” he managed to ask.
    “Scarcely at all,” she said.
    “Then he presumes,” he said.
    “He is not the only one,” she said. “And in my profession, you learn to expect it.”
    “But still, he ought not to,” said Felix.
    “It does not offend me. His attention is good-natured and generous. You know, Mr Carswell, he spoke warmly of you. You should not be too unkind to him – I hope you do not mind me saying such a thing? You, on your part, should not assume anything.”
    It was gently said, but he felt stung by it.
    “Ma’am, I did not mean to imply...” He broke off, and found himself looking about the room, at anything but her. How had he managed to offend her so quickly when all he wanted was her good opinion? “I meant only to...”
    He would have continued, but at that moment Major Vernon came back into the room.
    “I’m afraid we will have to take our leave, Mrs Morgan. Something rather urgent has come up. But I will be attending to this matter of yours as soon as I can, I assure you.”
    “Thank you.”
    “In the meantime, if anything else unusual or disturbing happens, please let me know at once. I will put one of my men to watch the house. You can send messages by him.”
    “What could be more urgent than those threats?” said Felix as they hurried downstairs. He had no desire to leave at all.
    “How about a dead body?” said Major Vernon.

Chapter Five
    Giles looked about him, taking in the circumstances.
    The room was large, cool and light, with a five-lancet window filling the entirety of one wall – that was the window that could be seen from St Anne’s Street, Giles thought. The opposite wall was filled entirely with the organ pipes. Beneath the large window was a raised dais with a plain communion table with an equally plain cross upon it. There were two floor-standing candlesticks heavy with melted wax, and numerous other candlesticks, also containing half-burnt candles.
    On the floor directly below the dais, lying on his back with his hands folded as if in prayer, was the body of a young man. His head was resting on a kneeler and his wavy, pale corn-gold hair had been carefully swept back from his forehead. His eyes were closed, his expression blank. He was the image of dignity and peace in death, yet there was something profoundly shocking about him.
    He was scarcely a man, more a boy, and the clear midday light in the room showed his considerable beauty.
    “And this is exactly how you found him, Mr Watkins?” Giles said, turning to the younger of the two men who had accompanied him and Carswell.
    “Yes, exactly.”
    “You did not touch anything?”
    “No, nothing. I may have touched him when I went to see if he was breathing – well, to see if he was dead. Then I locked the door and went straight to Canon Fforde.”
    “I’m surprised you didn’t go to the Dean, Mr Watkins,” said Lambert Fforde.
    “I thought since – well, I knew your connection with Major Vernon, sir, and I thought it better. Besides, the Dean...”
    “The Dean will need this broken gently to him, yes indeed. I see your point,” said Lambert.
    “And you recognize him?” said Giles, turning to his brother-in-law.
    “Yes, he’s one of the Vicars Choral,” said Lambert. “His name is Charles Barnes.”
    Carswell had knelt down and was examining the body. He felt the dead man’s hand. “He’s not been here long. He’s still warm.”
    “Of course he is!” exclaimed Watkins. “He was alive last night!”
    “When you’re done, can you make a drawing of this?” Giles said. “Just as he is now – and all the objects around it.”
    “Yes, of course,” said Carswell.
    “It’s so deliberate,” Giles said. “But no obvious signs of violence.”
    “Well,” said Carswell, “I’m not so sure about that. That looks suspiciously like a ligature mark to me.” He loosened the stock and pulled back down the collar and down at the bare