If I do not set down in writing the thoughts and fears which continue to plague me I will go mad. Indeed it is only the solid reassurance that none but I and my closest friend will ever read these words which gives me the strength to take up my pen to write. Perhaps I will never look upon these pages after they are filled, or in time I might revisit their contents and wonder why I thought my scribblings to be of such vital import. Nevertheless I must do this, if for no other reason than to assure myself a few hours rest for what remains of this night.

I know that it has long been an accepted practice for a woman to keep a diary, where she might pour out her soul without supposed fear of discovery. I have often scoffed at such romantic tendencies, preferring instead the comfort of a friend who will keep my secrets, or a quiet hour spent in prayer. I consider myself an intelligent woman, and have never given credence to the belief that words consigned to the pages of a diary will forever remain a secret closely guarded by their author. Indeed I know of more than one incident where such information has led to scandal and the ruin of even the most sterling of reputations.

Why then am I now sitting at my window, writing by candlelight? My reasons are not so frivolous as those of countless other women, for I intend to see that this account will be delivered into the hands of my oldest friend, in the hope that after she has read what these pages contain she may find it in her heart to forgive me for what I did.

I spoke only at the insistent urgings of Dr. Watson and Mr. Holmes. So firm was their conviction that my testimony could secure my friend's freedom and so sincere Dr. Watson's gentle coaxing that at last I relented. It was not hard to relate the events of that night, for they are firmly imprinted upon my memory and will remain with me the rest of my life. But strongest of all, even than the sight of that disfigured man, was the look of shocked recognition and unwavering affection which filled my friend's dark eyes the instant she saw this stranger's face.

For as long as I have known her, Nancy has proved to be a loyal friend ever ready to help when I am in need. Over the years of our friendship I came to respect her as a woman of strong opinions, who held fast to the promises of our Lord.

That is why I was surprised when she married the respected Colonel Barclay, indeed I recall many a conversation we had before her wedding where I earnestly questioned my friend's choice. At the time I did not consider her response significant, but now that I know or at least suspect some of her reasons I understand why she spoke as she did. Her answer was always the same that James was a respected soldier, a man her parents approved of, and the only available choice.

I sometimes wondered whether she visited me so frequently after her marriage, because she could not face the prospect of returning home. Once I even dared to ask her outright if there was trouble between her and the Colonel, and her hasty reassurances that all was well came too swiftly for me to suppose that she spoke the truth. Not that I believed her husband ever raised a hand to her, for he cared for my friend as tenderly and ardently as if she was his greatest of treasures.

If any man had given me such open adulation, I know I would have found his attentions stifling at the very least. The slight grimace Nancy always wore whenever the subject of James Barclay came up in our conversations led me to suspect that she shared my opinion. Any woman longs for her husband's affections, but not to the extent where he smothers her spirit and dictates her actions.

I am glad that only one other will know my silent speculations, for although I hinted to Nancy that I found her husband to be a trifle overbearing, never did I dare to be as open as I am now when putting these thoughts down on paper.

But despite the strength of our friendship, still there were some confidences which she kept secret from me. Many times over the course of our friendship I watched her succumb to dark thoughts. During those hours she sat as still and silent as a statue, gazing into the fire with an expression of such grief and longing that I could not help inquiring as to the cause of her distress.

Her vague protestations that all was well did nothing to allay my fears, and it was only when she thought I wasn't watching that I learned what little she let slip. In the mist of her sorrow she once spoke, and it was only a name, spoken so low that I strained to discover its meaning.

"Henry." Once I had the courage to ask her who this Henry was, and she reluctantly confided that he was an old friend who had been killed in India during a skirmish.

Whenever I pressed her for more details, assuring her of my continued support and friendship, she only remained silent or turned the conversation to other topics of interest. So things continued on, and whenever I thought of my dear friend's sorrow all I could do was pray that comfort and strength would be given to her in greater measure.

It was not until a few days ago that I learned the truth. The evening was warm, and as usual we chose to walk together to a meeting of the Guild of St. George. All went well until we were on our way home, when a stranger emerged out of the shadows and asked to speak to my friend.

And at last I discovered a small portion of the truth of my friend's deep rooted sorrow as she looked upon the twisted countenance of this stranger. No, not a stranger, for she bestowed on him a look of such tenderness and affection like one would give to the most passionate of lovers.

And once again I heard her speak that name, with such deep tenderness and joy that I immediately withdrew to give the two their privacy. A few moments later my friend rejoined me, and though I did not understand why I did as she bid me and swore to keep this encounter secret.

It was only after the death of the Colonel that I felt my resolve waver and finally shatter under the weight of Mr. Holmes' cool logic and the Dr.'s gentle yet insistent prompting.

It was for Nancy's sake that I dared to break my silence, to inform Mr. Holmes and his friend of what took place on the night of James Barclay's death.

God forgive me, but it had to be done. I could not have lived with myself if I had kept silent while my friend was condemned for a crime she did not commit.

From early childhood I was always taught to regard friendship and its confidences as sacred trusts which should not be broken. I say this only to assure you Nancy that I would not have broken my promise to you unless it was of the utmost importance. In all sincerity I thought only to offer to Mr. Holmes and his companion whatever aid I could give that would clear you of all suspicion.

I pray that after you have read these pages, you might come to understand why I acted as I did, and not judge my choice a betrayal of your trust. If you find my explanation sufficient, send me word as soon as you have recovered enough to receive visitors.

Perhaps you might also introduce me to your Henry, and I might at last learn the details of your history together. I have only conjectures at this point, thoughts that you believed Henry dead after the war and married the Colonel according to the wishes of your family.

I anxiously await your reply.

Anne

Note from the authoress: I am so sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. Lack of inspiration for this tale, as well as life being busy and my working on stories for my page which take place in Narnia and the world of Greek mythology kept me from posting more for this fic.

For a while I struggled to write Watson's perspective, but had to give up as I got stuck halfway through and couldn't come up with anything.

Then this week I was listening to the awesome Sherlock Holmes BBC dramas, and I thought why not write a chapter from Anne Morrison's view instead? After all, if she had not chosen to speak Holmes and Watson might never have discovered the truth, and she receives only a brief mention in the story.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter and would as always love your feedback.

Thanks for reading.