Free The Dead Songbird (The Northminster Mysteries) by Harriet Smart

reason,” said Felix. “And that back lane – no-one has been along there?”
    “I’ve walked around the property every five minutes, just like Major Vernon told me. So I couldn’t have missed anything.”
    At the sound of a sash being raised, Felix could not help but glance over his shoulder, hoping, he knew, that he might catch a glimpse of her at the window. But there was nothing to be seen but the glow of a lamp within and he turned back to Constable Eakins.
    Then a second later a shriek ripped through the air.
    It came from the open window – a sustained, hysterical high-pitched scream, terrifying in itself, as well as for what it implied. What nameless horror had provoked such an extraordinary reaction?
    Eakins and Felix rushed round to the front door. As he knocked, Felix turned the handle and was surprised to find the door was not locked. He was horrified that the door had been left open in such circumstances. What were her servants thinking?
    He ran in and started to sprint up the stairs, his heart pounding at the thought of what might have happened to Mrs Morgan, only to be forced to stop in his tracks. On the landing above him stood the lady herself.
    She was holding a candle and was dressed in only her nightgown, her hair cascading down over her shoulders. She looked pale, but it was evident she was not the source of the scream.
    “Mr Carswell!” she said. “What are –?”
    “Where? Who?” he said.
    She indicated the room from which the sound had come and Felix ran into it, only find another woman, also dressed in her nightgown. But he scarcely noticed her, for the lamp was on the floor and flames were starting to lick the rug. Felix was obliged to attend to that first, stamping it out, while the woman fell sobbing into Mrs Morgan’s arms. A jug of water from the wash stand put out the rest of the flames and then Felix turned and saw what it was that had caused such a reaction.
    Lying on the bed, in the centre of the quilted white counterpane, was a small dead bird, with a piece of scarlet ribbon about its neck, like a ligature. Felix glanced at Mrs Morgan who was holding the now howling woman against her, comforting her.
    “Get it out of here! Get it out!” the woman shouted.
    “This is your bedroom, Mrs Morgan?” Felix said, taking the bird up and putting it into his pocket.
    “We share it,” said Mrs Morgan, who was already leading the woman out of the room and across the landing. Darkness fell in the room, for she still held the candle, so Felix followed then.
    Mrs Morgan crossed the landing and went into a small bedroom. She sat her companion down on a low chair, wrapping a shawl about her and kneeling in front of her, holding her hands.
    “Now breathe, Paulina, breathe steady and true. Remember how we were taught? In and then out. In and then out, nice and slow... There, that’s better, isn’t it?” After this admirable treatment, the woman’s hysterical fit seemed to subside. Felix felt he could not have done better himself, and found another score of reasons to admire Mrs Morgan. “There is nothing to be afraid of.”
    “I know, I know,” wailed Paulina. “It’s just that... d...d...dead birds... I cannot bear the sight of them, and to turn round and see one!” She buried her face in her hands. “I could have burnt the house down. I could have killed us all!”
    “No, no, it would not have come to that,” said Mrs Morgan. “And our landlord will forgive us a singed rug,” she said. “Do you not think, Mr Carswell?” she added, shooting a gentle smile at Felix as he stood at the door way.
    “Certainly,” he managed to say, stunned for the moment by the beautiful movement of her pale gold hair as she had turned to look at him.
    “Nothing to worry about, then,” said Mrs Morgan, stroking Paulina’s hair. “Nothing at all.”
    Felix was even more impressed by her courage than he had been that morning. For it was evident that the bird had been left there deliberately,