Dreaming of the Bones

of a genuine emotion, but was it shock or fear? Before she could recover, he said, ”When Dr. McClellan interviewed you, you gave her the impression that you and Lydia were merely acquaintances, old school chums whose paths occasionally crossed.”
    ”But I—”
    ”When, in fact, you and Lydia Brooke had a long and close friendship. Why would you have wished to mislead her?”
    ”I didn’t deliberately mislead her,” Daphne protested. ”But why should I have felt compelled to discuss my personal affairs with a complete stranger? I have a right to my life, and my memories—”
    ”But what about Lydia ?” interrupted Gemma. ”Surely if you cared about Lydia you’d have wanted her portrayed accurately. And Lydia’s letters certainly suggest that you might give the most unbiased picture—”
    ”Letters?” whispered Daphne, her face ashen. ”What letters?”
    ”Oh, Dr. McClellan had access to Lydia’s letters, of course,” said Gemma brightly. ”Did she not mention that? Including Lydia’s extensive correspondence with her mother over the years, in which she mentioned you repeatedly. It appears that you weren’t on the best of terms with Morgan Ashby. Was there some particular reason why Morgan disliked you?”
    For a moment, Daphne seemed too stunned to answer, then she rallied. ”It’s none of your business. And I didn’t give a damn how Lydia appeared in Dr. McClellan’s book. Biography is a useless exercise, a picking over of bones when the meat is gone.” She took a breath and clasped her trembling hands together. ”Look, I’m not saying that Victoria McClellan didn’t have good intentions, but no amount of letters or interviews could ever have conveyed—”
    ”Well, that’s rather a moot point now, isn’t it?” Kincaid drawled. ”Because there won’t be a biography. And if someone preferred that the details of Lydia’s life remain buried, then they’d be feeling quite comfortable with it all, wouldn’t they? Enjoying weekends in the country and all that.” He smiled. ”It has come to our attention, by the way, that you might have had very good reason to safeguard the details of your relationship with Lydia Brooke, Miss Morris. Say if your relationship was of an... unorthodox sexual nature, for instance? I doubt that would go over smashingly well with the school governors.” He looked round with evident admiration. ”It is rather a prestigious institution, as far as girls’ boarding schools go, I understand.”
    Daphne jerked to her feet, knocking the delicate gilded chair over backwards, where it bounced soundlessly on the soft carpet. Ignoring the chair, she shouted, ”You’ve been talking to Morgan, haven’t you? He’d say anything to hurt me, the jealous, paranoid bastard. Did he tell you that he was arrested for assaulting Lydia ?” Their surprise must have shown in their faces, because she went on with great satisfaction, ”Oh, yes. Did he tell you he broke her ribs? And her jaw? Did you think Morgan’s famous artistic temper was all bark and no bite?”
    ”When exactly did this happen?” asked Gemma.
    The calmness of Gemma’s tone seemed to communicate itself to Daphne, for she wiped a shaking hand across her mouth, then touched the hair that had escaped its binding. She had large hands, Kincaid noticed, more suitable to a milkmaid than a goddess.
    ”I shouldn’t have said that. I promised Lydia I’d never tell anyone.” She shook her head. ”And I’ve never in all these years broken a promise to Lydia .” Her eyes filled with tears.
    ”There will be records, you know, hospital admissions and so on, if we’re forced to trace them,” Gemma continued. ”But it would be better coming from you. Was this shortly before Lydia died?”
    Daphne gave her a look of blank incomprehension. ”I’m sorry?”
    ”You told us Morgan attacked Lydia ,” Kincaid said carefully. ”Did this happen near the time of her death?”
    ” Lydia hadn’t seen Morgan for years when she died, as far as I know. This was just weeks before they separated. She came to me.” Daphne groped backwards for her chair, and Kincaid moved quickly to right it for her. ”Why do you keep talking about Lydia’s death?” she asked. ”What has that to do with anything?” Daphne’s hands gripped the seat of the gilded chair beneath her thighs as if it were a frail craft on a storm-tossed sea.
    ”Vic—Dr. McClellan—thought that Lydia’s death might have been... engineered,”