Anne Perry's Silent Nights Read online




  Praise for

  Anne Perry’s Christmas Mysteries

  A Christmas Journey

  “One of the best books to brighten up the joyous season.”

  —USA Today

  A Christmas Visitor

  “Perry creates excellent winter atmosphere in the wild, snowy lands of northern England.”

  —The Arizona Republic

  A Christmas Guest

  “[A] satisfying tale.”

  —The Wall Street Journal

  A Christmas Secret

  “Anne Perry has crafted a finely written Christmas puzzle that has a redemptive seasonal message woven within its solution.”

  —The Wall Street Journal

  A Christmas Beginning

  “Intriguing … Perry’s use of period detail is, as-always, strong and evocative.”

  —The Seattle Times

  BY ANNE PERRY

  FEATURING WILLIAM MONK

  The Face of a Stranger

  A Dangerous Mourning

  Defend and Betray

  A Sudden, Fearful Death

  The Sins of the Wolf

  Cain His Brother

  Weighed in the Balance

  A Breach of Promise

  The Twisted Root

  Slaves of Obsession

  Funeral in Blue

  Death of a Stranger

  The Shifting Tide

  Dark Assassin

  Execution Dock

  FEATURING CHARLOTTE AND THOMAS PITT

  The Cater Street Hangman

  Callander Square

  Paragon Walk

  Resurrection Row

  Bluegate Fields

  Rutland Place

  Death in the Devil’s Acre

  Cardington Crescent

  Silence in Hanover Close

  Bethlehem Road

  Farriers’ Lane

  Hyde Park Headsman

  Traitors Gate

  Pentecost Alley

  Ashworth Hall

  Bedford Square

  Half Moon Street

  The Whitechapel Conspiracy

  Southampton Row

  Seven Dials

  Long Spoon Lane

  Buckingham Palace Gardens

  THE WORLD WAR I NOVELS

  No Graves as Yet

  Shoulder the Sky

  At Some Disputed Barricade

  Angel in the Gloom

  We Shall Not Sleep

  THE CHRISTMAS NOVELS

  A Christmas Journey

  A Christmas Visitor

  A Christmas Guest

  A Christmas Secret

  A Christmas Beginning

  A Christmas Grace

  A Christmas Promise

  A Christmas Beginning

  To all those who

  dream impossible dreams

  SO THIS WAS THE ISLE OF ANGLESEY. RUNCORN stood on the rugged headland and stared across the narrow water of the Menai Strait towards the mountains of Snowdonia and mainland Wales, and he wondered why on earth he had chosen to come here, alone in December. The air was hard, ice-edged, and laden with the salt of the sea. Runcorn was a Londoner, used to the rattle of hansom cabs on the cobbles, the gas lamps gleaming in the afternoon dusk. Every day he was surrounded by the sing-song voices of costermongers, the cries of news vendors, drivers of every kind of vehicle—broughams to drays—and the air carried the smell of smoke and manure.

  This isolated island must be the loneliest place in Britain, all bare hills and hard, bright water, and silence except for the moan of the wind in the grass. The black skeleton of the Menai Bridge had a certain grace, but it was a cold elegance, not the low, familiar arches across the Thames. The few lights flickering on in the town of Beaumaris behind him indicated nothing like the vast city he was used to, teeming with the passions, the sorrow, and the dreams of millions.

  Of course the reason he was here was simple. Runcorn had nowhere else in particular to be for Christmas, no family. He lived alone. He knew many people, but they were colleagues rather than friends. He had earned his promotions until he was now, at fifty, a senior superintendent in the Metropolitan Police, separated by office from those he had once worked beside. But he was not a gentleman, like those of his own rank. He had not the polish, the confidence, the ease of speech and grace of movement that comes with not having to care what people thought of you.

  He smiled to himself as the wind stung his face. Monk, his colleague many years ago, one of his few friends, had not been born a gentleman either, but somehow he had always managed to seem like one. That used to hurt, but it did not anymore. He knew that Monk was human too, and vulnerable. He could make mistakes. And perhaps Runcorn himself was wiser.

  The last case in which they had worked together had been difficult and in the end ugly. Now Runcorn was tired of the city and he was due several weeks of leave. Why not take it somewhere as different as possible? He would refresh his mind away from the familiar and predictable, take long walks in the open, think deeply for a change.

  The sun was sinking in the southwest, shedding brilliant, burning light over the water. The land was dark as the color faded and the headlands jutted purple and black out of the sea. Only the uplands, ribbed pale like crumpled velvet, still caught the last rays of light.

  How long was winter twilight here? Would he soon find himself lost, unable to see the way back to his lodgings? It was bitterly cold already. His feet were numb from standing. Turning, he started to walk towards the east and the darkening sky. What was there to think about? He was good at his job, patient, possibly a little pedestrian. He never had flashes of brilliant intuition, but he got where he needed to. He had succeeded far more than any of the other young men who had started when he had. In fact, his own success had surprised him.

  But was he happy?

  That was a stupid question, as if happiness were something you could own and have for always. He was happy at times, as for example when a case was closed and he knew he had done it well, found a difficult truth and left no doubts to haunt him afterwards, no savage and half-answered questions.

  He was happy when he sat down by the fire at the end of a long day, took the weight off his feet, and ate something really good, like a thick-crusted ham-and-egg pie, or hot sausages with mashed potatoes. He liked good music, even classical music sometimes, although he would not admit it, in case people thought he was putting on airs. And he liked dogs. A good dog always made him smile. Was that enough?

  He could only just see the road at his feet now. He thought about the huge bridge behind him, spanning the whole surge and power of the sea. What about the man who built that? Had he been happy? He had certainly created something to marvel at, and changed the lives of people far into the future.

  Runcorn had untangled a few problems, but had he ever built anything, or did he always use other people’s bridges? Where did he go, anyway? No more than home to bed. Tonight it was to be an unfamiliar lodging house. It was comfortable. He would sleep well, he usually did. Certainly it was warm enough, and Mrs. Owen was an agreeable woman, generous in nature.

  The next morning was sharp and cold, but a pale sun struggled over the horizon, milky soft through a fine veil of cloud, which Mrs. Owen assured him would burn off soon. The frost was only a dusting of white here and there, enough to make the hollows stand out on the long, uneven lawn stretching down to the big yew tree.

  Runcorn ate a hearty breakfast, talked with Mrs. Owen for a little while because it was only civil to appear interested as she told him about some of the local places and customs. Afterwards he set out to walk again.

  This time he headed uphill, climbing steadily until nearly midday when he turned and gazed out at a cloudless sky, and a sea shimmer
ing unbroken into the distance.

  He stood there for some time, lost in the enormity of it, then gradually descended. He was on the outskirts of Beaumaris again when he turned a corner in the road and came face-to-face with a tall, slender man of unusual elegance, even in his heavy, winter coat and hat. He was in his mid-thirties, handsome, clean-shaven. They both stopped, staring at each other. The man blinked, uncertain except recognizing Runcorn’s face as familiar.

  Runcorn knew him instantly, as if it had been only a week ago they had met. But it was longer than that, much longer. It had been a case of suicide suspected to be a murder. John Barclay had lived in a house backing onto the mews where the body had been found. It was not Barclay whom Runcorn remembered; it was his widowed sister, Melisande Ewart. Even standing here in the middle of this bright, windy road, Runcorn could see her face as clearly as if it were she who were here now, not her arrogant, unhelpful brother.

  “Excuse me,” Barclay said tensely, stepping around Runcorn as if they had been strangers and walking on up the road, lengthening his stride. But Runcorn had seen the recognition in his face, and the distaste.

  Was Melisande here too? If she was, he might see her, or at least catch a glimpse. Did she still look the same? Was the curve of her hair as soft? The way she smiled and the sadness in her had continued to haunt him in the year since they’d last met.

  It was ridiculous for him to think of her still. If she remembered him at all, it would be as a policeman determined to do his job regardless of fear or favor, but with possibly a modicum of kindness. It was her courage, her defiance of her brother Barclay in identifying the corpse and taking the witness stand, that had closed the case. He had always wondered how much that had cost her afterwards in Barclay’s displeasure. There had been nothing he could do to help.

  He began walking again, around the bend in the road and past the first house of the village. Was she staying here also? He quickened his step without realizing it. The sun was bright, the frost nothing more than sparkling drops in the grass.

  How could he find out if she was here, without being overeager? He could hardly ask, as if they were social acquaintances. He was a policeman who had investigated a death. It would be pointless to see her, and much too painful. Chastising himself, he thought what a fool he was to have even thought about it.

  He hurried on towards his lodgings, the safety of Mrs. Owen’s dining room table and the cheerful conversation of strangers.

  But Runcorn did not stop thinking of Melisande. The weather grew a little milder, and for the first time it was well above freezing. He saw more than a hundred birds pecking over a field, and a farmer told him they were redwings. There were plenty of yellow gorse in bloom and the occasional cowslip. He walked in the sun and the wind, once or twice in the rain, and over a couple of days learned his way along the shore to east and west of Beaumaris. He found favorite places, hollows out of the wind, orchids that caught his breath with sudden pleasure, intimate rock pools where strange shells and seaweeds could be found.

  On Sunday he dressed in the one decent suit he had brought with him and went to the morning service at the church nearest to the place in the road where he had encountered John Barclay. It was a solid stone building with stained-glass windows and a bell that rang out in the gusty air, the rich sound carrying across the town and into the fields beyond.

  Runcorn knew why he was here, drawn as if by the pull of a magnet. It had nothing to do with the worship of God, even though he entered through the great, carved wooden doors with head bowed, hat in his hand, and a mixture of reverence and hope that made his heart beat faster.

  Inside the old church was a stone floor and a high ceiling crossed with massive, carved hammer beams. The light was hazy and the sound hushed. Colors in the great illuminated windows showed the stations of the cross and what looked like a woman following after the figure of Christ in the street. She knelt to touch his robe, and Runcorn remembered a biblical story about healing. He could not recall the details.

  The congregation was already seated as he slipped into a pew along one side. He watched with interest, bowing his head as Barclay passed by him, then lifting it again with a sudden pang of disappointment that Melisande was not with him. But there was no reason for her to be on this wind-scoured island in its barren glory, with its wild coast, its birds, and the roaring sea. What was there for a beautiful woman to do here?

  Then another, entirely different woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties, walked past the end of his pew and continued on up the aisle. She moved with a unique grace, almost fluid, as if she were not touching the hard stone of a church floor with her boots, but were barefoot on grass, or the smooth sand of a beach. Her head was high, and when she turned, her pale face was quickened by a secret laughter, as if she understood something no one else did. She was wearing a green so somber it appeared almost black, and her cloud of dark hair escaped the rather rakish hat she seemed to have put on at the last moment, without thought. Her eyes were peat-brown, and wide. Runcorn noticed that, even though she looked at him for only an instant.

  She went on up to the very front row, and sat down beside a woman perhaps fifteen years older, who turned to greet her with a quick, warm smile.

  Runcorn suddenly noticed the movement of a man a couple of rows in front of him who quickly turned to stare at the younger woman with an intensity unsuitable in church. His features were regular and he had an excellent head of hair, thick with a slightly auburn tone to it. He was almost handsome, but for a tightness about his mouth that gave him a look of meanness. He was perhaps approaching forty.

  If the young woman were aware of the man’s attention, she showed no sign of it at all; indeed, she seemed indifferent to any of the people around her except the vicar who now appeared. Middle-aged, he had a pale, ascetic face with a high brow and the same peat-dark eyes as the girl in green. Almost immediately the service commenced, with the usual soothing and familiar ritual. The vicar conducted the proceedings somberly and somewhat as if it was a habit he was so accustomed to that it required far less than his full attention. Runcorn began to wonder if there were any way in which he could escape before the sermon without his departure being rudely obvious, and concluded that there was not. Instead, he decided to occupy his thoughts by looking at the people.

  The man in front of Runcorn was turning to look at the young woman again. There was too much emotion in his face to believe he was simply admiring her. He had to know her, and there had to have been conflict between them, at least on his part.

  What of her? Runcorn could not see her now because she was facing forward, her attention on the vicar as he began his sermon. His subject was obedience, an easy matter for which to find plenty of reference, though not one so simple to give life to or warmth, or to make seem relevant to Christmas, now less than two weeks away. Runcorn wondered why on earth the vicar had chosen it, for it was singularly inappropriate. But then, Runcorn reflected, he did not know the congregation. There could be all kinds of passions running out of control that obedience might hold in check. The vicar might be the good shepherd trying every way he knew to lead wayward sheep to safe pasture.

  Barclay was also looking at the young woman in green, and for a moment there was a hunger in his face that was quite unmistakable. Runcorn was almost embarrassed to have seen it. Two men courting the same woman? Well, this must happen in every village in England.

  He had not been paying attention to the service. He had no idea what the curate had risen to do, only that his face was in every way different from that of the vicar. Where the older man was studious and disciplined, this man seemed mercurial and full of dreams. Though barely into his twenties, there was a keen intelligence in him. He looked at the girl and smiled, then as if caught in a minor offense, quickly looked away. She turned a little, and Runcorn could see, even in the brief profile of her face, that she was smiling back, not wistfully as a lover, but with life and laughter, as a friend.

  Runcorn would never know
what tangle of emotions bound those people together. He had come to church because he thought Barclay would be here and, in spite of the absurdity of it, there might be a chance he would see Melisande. He would like to think she was happy, whatever it was that had saddened her in London. The thought of her still facing some sort of darkness was so heavy inside him he felt tight in his chest, as if a physical band prevented him from taking a full breath. Where was she? He could not possibly ask Barclay if she was well. And any answer he gave would be no more than a formality. His ilk did not discuss health or happiness with tradesmen, and he had made it abundantly clear that he regarded Runcorn, and all police, as the refuse collectors of society. He had said as much.

  The congregation rose again to sing another hymn. The organist was good and the music pealed out with a powerful, joyous melody. Runcorn enjoyed singing, his voice was rich and he knew how to carry a tune.

  It was as he started to sit down again, a moment or two after the people to the left of him, that he saw Melisande. She was nowhere near Barclay, but it was unmistakably her. He could never forget her face, the gentleness in it, the clear eyes, the laughter and the pain so near the surface.

  She looked at him now with sudden, wide amazement. She smiled, and then self-consciously turned away.

  Runcorn’s heart lurched, the room swayed around him, and he sat down in the pew so hard the woman in front turned to glare at him.

  Melisande was here! And she remembered him! That smile was far more than just the acknowledgment of a stranger caught staring at her. It was more than civility, it had had warmth. He could feel it burn inside him.

  The rest of the service passed by him in a blur of sound, beautiful and meaningless, like the splashes of color the sunlight painted through the windows.

  Afterwards he stood in the bright winter stillness as the congregation came outside again, talking to each other, shaking the vicar by the hand, milling around exchanging gossip and good wishes.

 

    The face of a stranger Read onlineThe face of a strangerTriple Jeopardy Read onlineTriple JeopardyA Question of Betrayal Read onlineA Question of BetrayalA Christmas Gathering Read onlineA Christmas GatheringDeath in Focus Read onlineDeath in FocusA Christmas Resolution Read onlineA Christmas ResolutionA Christmas Journey Read onlineA Christmas JourneyA Christmas Garland: A Novel Read onlineA Christmas Garland: A NovelAnne Perry's Christmas Vigil Read onlineAnne Perry's Christmas VigilA Sunless Sea wm-18 Read onlineA Sunless Sea wm-18The Whitechapel Conspiracy Read onlineThe Whitechapel ConspiracyLong Spoon Lane: A Charlotte and Thomas Pitt Novel Read onlineLong Spoon Lane: A Charlotte and Thomas Pitt NovelA Christmas Hope Read onlineA Christmas HopeThe Hyde Park Headsman Read onlineThe Hyde Park HeadsmanAnne Perry's Silent Nights Read onlineAnne Perry's Silent NightsA Christmas Message Read onlineA Christmas MessageA Christmas Hope: A Novel Read onlineA Christmas Hope: A NovelHyde Park Headsman Read onlineHyde Park HeadsmanNo Graves As Yet wwi-1 Read onlineNo Graves As Yet wwi-1The Sins of the Wolf Read onlineThe Sins of the WolfBlood on the Water Read onlineBlood on the WaterHighgate Rise Read onlineHighgate RiseA Christmas Revelation Read onlineA Christmas RevelationCater Street Hangman tp-1 Read onlineCater Street Hangman tp-1Cain His Brother Read onlineCain His BrotherA Breach of Promise Read onlineA Breach of PromiseRevenge in a Cold River Read onlineRevenge in a Cold RiverMidnight at Marble Arch tp-28 Read onlineMidnight at Marble Arch tp-28Shoulder the Sky wwi-2 Read onlineShoulder the Sky wwi-2The Shifting Tide Read onlineThe Shifting TideSilence in Hanover Close tp-9 Read onlineSilence in Hanover Close tp-9Long Spoon Lane Read onlineLong Spoon LaneThe Silent Cry Read onlineThe Silent CryWeighed in the Balance Read onlineWeighed in the BalanceSilence in Hanover Close Read onlineSilence in Hanover CloseDark Assassin Read onlineDark AssassinAshworth Hall Read onlineAshworth HallA Sudden, Fearful Death Read onlineA Sudden, Fearful DeathTwenty-One Days Read onlineTwenty-One DaysBethlehem Road Read onlineBethlehem RoadBuckingham Palace Gardens Read onlineBuckingham Palace GardensA Christmas Promise Read onlineA Christmas PromiseExecution Dock Read onlineExecution DockThe William Monk Mysteries Read onlineThe William Monk MysteriesAt Some Disputed Barricade wwi-4 Read onlineAt Some Disputed Barricade wwi-4Angels in the Gloom wwi-3 Read onlineAngels in the Gloom wwi-3Cardington Crescent tp-8 Read onlineCardington Crescent tp-8Dark Tide Rising Read onlineDark Tide RisingCallander Square Read onlineCallander SquareA Christmas Beginning c-5 Read onlineA Christmas Beginning c-5One Thing More Read onlineOne Thing MoreAn Anne Perry Christmas: Two Holiday Novels Read onlineAn Anne Perry Christmas: Two Holiday NovelsA Christmas Journey c-1 Read onlineA Christmas Journey c-1Treason at Lisson Grove: A Charlotte and Thomas Pitt Novel Read onlineTreason at Lisson Grove: A Charlotte and Thomas Pitt NovelResurrection Row Read onlineResurrection RowA Christmas Beginning Read onlineA Christmas BeginningTreason at Lisson Grove Read onlineTreason at Lisson GroveMurder on the Serpentine Read onlineMurder on the SerpentineResurrection Row tp-4 Read onlineResurrection Row tp-4We Shall Not Sleep Read onlineWe Shall Not SleepBedford Square tp-19 Read onlineBedford Square tp-19The Angel Court Affair Read onlineThe Angel Court AffairBlind Justice wm-19 Read onlineBlind Justice wm-19Farriers' Lane Read onlineFarriers' LaneA Christmas Return Read onlineA Christmas ReturnA Christmas Guest Read onlineA Christmas GuestWhitechapel Conspiracy Read onlineWhitechapel ConspiracyThe Twisted Root Read onlineThe Twisted RootA Dangerous Mourning Read onlineA Dangerous MourningBelgrave Square Read onlineBelgrave SquareFuneral in Blue wm-12 Read onlineFuneral in Blue wm-12Slaves of Obsession wm-11 Read onlineSlaves of Obsession wm-11Tathea Read onlineTatheaShoulder the Sky Read onlineShoulder the SkyA Christmas Secret cn-4 Read onlineA Christmas Secret cn-4The Shifting Tide wm-14 Read onlineThe Shifting Tide wm-14Death On Blackheath (Thomas Pitt 29) Read onlineDeath On Blackheath (Thomas Pitt 29)Defend and Betray Read onlineDefend and BetrayMidnight at Marble Arch Read onlineMidnight at Marble ArchRutland Place tp-5 Read onlineRutland Place tp-5Dorchester Terrace Read onlineDorchester TerraceBlind Justice Read onlineBlind JusticeA Christmas Visitor Read onlineA Christmas VisitorAngels in the Gloom Read onlineAngels in the GloomThe Scroll b-1 Read onlineThe Scroll b-1Dorchester Terrace tp-27 Read onlineDorchester Terrace tp-27Paragon Walk tp-3 Read onlineParagon Walk tp-3A Christmas Secret Read onlineA Christmas SecretA Christmas Garland Read onlineA Christmas GarlandA Christmas Grace Read onlineA Christmas GraceDeath in the Devil's Acre Read onlineDeath in the Devil's AcreBetrayal at Lisson Grove Read onlineBetrayal at Lisson GroveCome Armageddon Read onlineCome ArmageddonTraitors Gate tp-15 Read onlineTraitors Gate tp-15Cater Street Hangman Read onlineCater Street HangmanAcceptable Loss wm-17 Read onlineAcceptable Loss wm-17A Christmas Homecoming Read onlineA Christmas HomecomingDeath in the Devil's Acre tp-7 Read onlineDeath in the Devil's Acre tp-7A Christmas Grace c-6 Read onlineA Christmas Grace c-6Scroll Read onlineScrollCardington Crescent Read onlineCardington CrescentSlaves of Obsession Read onlineSlaves of ObsessionAnne Perry's Silent Nights: Two Victorian Christmas Mysteries Read onlineAnne Perry's Silent Nights: Two Victorian Christmas MysteriesThe One Thing More Read onlineThe One Thing MoreNo Graves As Yet Read onlineNo Graves As YetPentecost Alley Read onlinePentecost AlleyThe Sheen on the Silk Read onlineThe Sheen on the SilkSeven Dials Read onlineSeven DialsBrunswick Gardens Read onlineBrunswick GardensParagon Walk Read onlineParagon WalkBedford Square Read onlineBedford SquarePentecost Alley tp-16 Read onlinePentecost Alley tp-16A Christmas Odyssey cn-8 Read onlineA Christmas Odyssey cn-8Highgate Rise tp-11 Read onlineHighgate Rise tp-11Anne Perry's Christmas Mysteries Read onlineAnne Perry's Christmas MysteriesA Christmas Odyssey Read onlineA Christmas OdysseyAcceptable Loss: A William Monk Novel Read onlineAcceptable Loss: A William Monk NovelDeath On Blackheath tp-29 Read onlineDeath On Blackheath tp-29Betrayal at Lisson Grove tp-26 Read onlineBetrayal at Lisson Grove tp-26Half Moon Street Read onlineHalf Moon StreetA New York Christmas (Christmas Novellas 12) Read onlineA New York Christmas (Christmas Novellas 12)The Twisted Root wm-10 Read onlineThe Twisted Root wm-10Half Moon Street tp-20 Read onlineHalf Moon Street tp-20Traitors Gate Read onlineTraitors GateCallander Square tp-2 Read onlineCallander Square tp-2The Sheen of the Silk Read onlineThe Sheen of the SilkSouthampton Row Read onlineSouthampton RowA Christmas Guest c-3 Read onlineA Christmas Guest c-3Death on Blackheath Read onlineDeath on BlackheathBlind Justice: A William Monk Novel Read onlineBlind Justice: A William Monk NovelThe Scroll Read onlineThe ScrollA Sunless Sea Read onlineA Sunless SeaBuckingham Palace Gardens tp-25 Read onlineBuckingham Palace Gardens tp-25Funeral in Blue Read onlineFuneral in BlueAcceptable Loss Read onlineAcceptable LossAnne Perry's Christmas Mysteries: Two Holiday Novels Read onlineAnne Perry's Christmas Mysteries: Two Holiday Novels