Marie Belloc Lowndes

“ What took their place was an overwhelming curiosity.
“Cristina,” said Beppo deliberately, “is not a servant. She is my father's sister—not, as mamma probably told you, his foster-sister.”
As an exclamation of astonishment escaped Lily he went on: “That woman is an angel! She adores my father, she adores me! When many years ago, papa lost his fortune, and my parents were in very truth terribly poor, my Aunt Cristina offered to come and live with them literally as their servant. ”

“ She turned on the electric light—a bright, good light, very unlike the guttering candles of La Solitude.
She sat up, and looked about her. On a table lay her hat, and with the sight of her hat she suddenly remembered—she could not have told you why—M. Popeau.
These people were very kind, but Papa Popeau was her friend, her dear, kind, clever friend. He was leaving Monte Carlo to-night, but late, quite late—she knew that. Why not go to him now, and put her suspicions, her almost certainties, before him? ”

“ The only person now living who knows the truth is the Marchesa Pescobaldi. Her family and mine were friends through generations, so she has always known the strange story of Aunt Cristina.”
As she spoke there came back to Lily the curious, ambiguous words the Marchesa had used as to Cristina being a noble woman and doing what she did for the sake of Beppo. Had she done a great deal else, which neither Beppo nor anybody else in the world but she, Lily, suspected—also for the sake of Beppo? ”

“ He is even inclined to believe that she knows more of the murder than she is willing to admit. But that neither I nor mamma think likely. Altogether it is a Very exciting affair!”
Lily could not speak. Her mind was in a whirl of miserable suspicion and questioning fear.
“Perhaps you do not realise,” went on Beppo, “that the spot where the hideous discovery was made is only about two hundred yards from La Solitude!”
“Surely we're much farther off than that here!” exclaimed Lily.
“Yes, walking homeward as we are now walking, we are at least a mile from La Solitude. ”

“ There would be plenty of time to tell him everything afterwards. Everything? No, not everything. She would never, never let him know that poor George Ponting had stayed on that night simply because it was a pleasure to him to meet an English girl. ”

“ Before doing so she would make him promise to forget that he had anything to do with the police. She would tell him that if he could not make her that promise then she could not ask him for advice. But she felt sure he would understand. ”

“ Horrible images haunted her mind. She thought of La Solitude, that sinister, lonely house, as being full of the ghosts of those who there had met with a hideous death.
Deep in her heart she knew that the Countess Polda had used her as a catspaw, and once she heard herself say quite out loud: “Aunt Cosy killed George Ponting, and she killed Mr. ”