Sonnet to a Dead Contessa Page 5

  She moved over to the window, and soon they emerged from the big house and out onto the spacious green lawn. The trees had been cut back, so there was little danger of a kite being lost. She watched them and could hear their voices plainly. David asking question after question, and Dylan patiently answering them. Finally they were ready, and she smiled as Dylan manoeuvred the kite up into the air as David held on to the string. “Let out more string, Davey boy, let it out!” Dylan called, and then he moved quickly over to stand beside David. Serafina watched as the kite flew higher and higher, and the two voices made a pleasant sound on the summer air.

  “What are you watching, Serafina?” Dora asked.

  “It’s Dylan and David. Dylan made that kite himself, and now he’s teaching David how to fly it.”

  “He’s a gifted man, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, he is. I don’t know much about acting, but those who know say he’s one of the best to ever grace the stage here in England. But I’m far more impressed,” she said, “at how he won David’s confidence and how the two have grown to be such fast friends.”

  The two women stood there watching, and finally Dora said, “I’m a little troubled. Could I talk to you?”

  “Why, of course you can.” Serafina turned and put her back to the window and studied her sister’s face. Dora was a slender young woman, well formed, with a wealth of auburn hair and warm brown eyes. She was nearly nineteen and had always seemed almost childlike in her ways, but now Serafina knew she was coming into womanhood and had fallen in love with Matthew Grant.

  “What is it, Dora?”

  “Well, it’s about love.” She suddenly blushed and ran her hand over her hair in a nervous gesture. “It’s just like magic to me the way I love Matthew and he loves me.” Her voice grew warm and her eyes lit up as she began to speak of how she had been afraid of Matthew at first, but had discovered that beneath a rather stern exterior he had the gentleness she desired in a man. Finally she looked down and said, “But I don’t know anything about love: What I’m supposed to do. How I’m supposed to act. I’m going to marry Matthew, but I don’t know how to be a wife. Will you tell me, Serafina?”

  Serafina could not speak for a moment. This was the one question she had hoped Dora would not put to her, but she had suspected it would come. She had been her younger sister’s confidante for years, and now at this moment she would have given a great deal to have a ready answer. Her own marriage had been so terrible that she had nothing to share along those lines, and finally she said gently, “You’ll find your way, Dora. You have a good, loving heart, and Matthew is a good man. So the two of you are going to have a wonderful life together.”

  Dora listened as Serafina spoke another minute, encouraging her sister. Finally, when Serafina finished, Dora said, “What about you, Serafina? Will you ever fall in love again?”

  The question caught Serafina with the suddenness of a blow. “Oh, I don’t think about things like that.”

  Dora’s face showed disappointment, but she smiled and, after a few minutes more, excused herself.

  Serafina returned to the window and stared down. She could hear the voices of Dylan and David as they flew the kite higher and higher, but a question suddenly had come to her. Will I ever have love? Ever since her marriage ended, she had tried to block out this question, to throw herself into science and into the work with her father, but now as she stood there, the thought came, What would it be like to be married to Dylan?

  It was a question she had never thought she would ask, for viscountesses didn’t marry stage actors. Aunt Bertha would die of shame, she thought, and many others too.

  As she stood there, she fixed her eyes on Dylan, and a memory came back to her. Twice since she had known Dylan they had come to moments that she had not forgotten. In one of those instances she had been terribly troubled and shaken. Dylan had embraced her and just held her. She still remembered, even though it had been months ago, what it had been like to be held in his arms and comforted. The other memory was the time he had simply kissed her, and as she stood there, she remembered how she had surrendered to his embrace and how she had had to fight to pull herself back from any intimacy. She knew she was afraid of love, or perhaps it wasn’t love that she was afraid of but just men. Charles had been a vicious man under a smiling exterior. He could be charming, and usually was in public, but she had dark memories of the intimacy of her married life with him. As she stood there at the window, her eyes followed Dylan’s movements, and she realised that she had a longing for something in her life. Someone, perhaps, to share it with. She had always pushed away from any sort of surrender of this kind, and although there had been men who had come to woo her, she had never once been excited or tempted to marry anyone else. But now as she stood there at the window, she knew that if Dylan Tremayne moved out of their lives here at Trentwood House, David would not be the only one who would grieve.

  “What were the two of you playing at so hard, Dylan? David went right to sleep. He hasn’t taken a nap in ages.”

  “I think he’s the one who tired me out,” Dylan said. He was in the study looking at the books when Serafina returned from taking David to his room. “Did he seem okay?”

  “Yes, but he was so tired he crawled into bed and went right to sleep.”

  “He’s such a fine boy, Serafina, and he’s going to be a fine man.”

  Serafina hesitated, then said, “You’ve meant a great deal to David, Dylan,” and then almost involuntarily the next words came out, “and to me too.”

  “You say that now? Well, pleased I am that you feel that way.”

  The two were suddenly caught in a moment that neither of them could explain. It had happened before, and Serafina understood well that it was because they felt an attraction, but one that she thought could never amount to anything. There was too much space between them, too many differences—her bad marriage, Dylan’s faith, and his uncertainty about his career. So Serafina was glad when Ellie Calder, the tweeny maid, came to the door and said, “There’s a lady to see you, ma’am.”

  “Who is it, Ellie?”

  “She gave me this card for you.” Serafina saw that it was a plain white card with a single name on it: MARTHA BINGHAM.

  “Do you know who she is, Dylan?”

  “Never heard of her. Who is she?”

  Serafina made a face. “She’s a woman who’s lecturing all over the country now saying that women need to have equal rights with men. She’s been to see Lady Margaret, trying to enlist her in ‘The Cause.’”

  “Whatever can she want with you?”

  Serafina smiled suddenly. “I imagine she’s come to get me to join forces with her to put you men in your proper places.”

  “Sounds dreadful.”

  Serafina laughed. “Well, I’ll still see her, I suppose. Show her in, Ellie.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The two waited, and in a short time a woman came through the door. “Lady Trent, my name is Martha Bingham.” The woman was rather striking. She was taller than average and had a fine figure. She was attractive, but her voice had a strident quality to it. “I apologise for coming without an appointment, but I felt I had to see you.”

  “That’s quite all right, Miss Bingham. My good friend Lady Margaret Acton has told me of your work. Would you have a seat? This is Mr. Dylan Tremayne.”

  “How do you do, Mr. Tremayne?”

  “I’m happy to meet you, Miss Bingham.”

  Martha Bingham, Serafina saw, had fixed her eyes on Dylan. She was accustomed to women looking at Dylan with all sorts of emotion. Most of them were overwhelmed by his good looks and his stature as an actor, but there was nothing in this woman of admiration. She eyed Dylan instead as one would eye an opponent.

  “Shall I have tea brought in, Miss Bingham?”

  “No, I would much rather get right down to business.” She suddenly turned and said, “I prefer to see you alone, but if your friend here wants to stay, I have no objection.”


  “Well, perhaps it would be just as well if you state your business,” Serafina said.

  “Are you familiar with our movement?”

  “I have read a little in the newspapers.”

  “Then you must understand how anxious I am to have women like you join our forces.”

  “What exactly do you hope to accomplish, Miss Bingham?”

  Miss Bingham put her gaze on Serafina. She had strange, slate-coloured eyes, a hue that Serafina had never seen before. There was a forcefulness in her that could not be denied. Perhaps the fact that she was physically larger and obviously stronger than most women revealed some of the inner force.

  “Women in our country are no more than slaves.”

  “Isn’t that a little extreme?” Serafina said.

  “No, it isn’t. Why, we don’t even get to choose our names. I was given my father’s name.”

  Dylan suddenly spoke up. “So was I.”

  The woman gave Dylan a quick glance and then shrugged. “Men just have no understanding of these things. A woman can’t even own property here in this country without a lot of legal manoeuvring. Men can do anything they please, but women are kept at home to bear children and do housework.”

  Serafina listened as the woman continued to speak. There was an anger in her, she could see that, and also a strength that was undeniable. But finally she heard her say, “I was hoping you would come to our rally tomorrow in Hyde Park. It would be very helpful if I could introduce you as being a supporter of our movement.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Bingham, but I will be unable to attend.”

  The woman’s slate-coloured eyes seemed to glow, and her lips drew into a straight line. “I will hope you change your mind, Lady Trent. You’ll always be welcome.” She rose and nodded slightly to Dylan, then moved out of the room.

  As soon as she was gone, Dylan smiled. “I take it you won’t be joining the lady’s army.”

  “Well, she has a point. Women are abused, and there are some rights—the right to vote, for example—that I believe that women should have.”

  “I believe that too. I’m sure many men do.”

  “Not so many as you might think,” Serafina said. “Women have a difficult time in many ways.”

  Suddenly Ellie was back. “Superintendent Grant is here, ma’am. He wants to see you and Mr. Tremayne.”

  Serafina and Dylan exchanged glances. “Show him in at once, will you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  As soon as Matthew Grant entered, Serafina saw that he was troubled. “What is it, Matthew? Is it a new development in the murder case?”

  Matthew sighed and shook his head. “I’m afraid so, and this is not a pleasant one. It’s you I’ve come to see, really, Dylan. I was told you would be here.”

  “To see me? About what?”

  “We have been running down this multitude of clues, and we made a rather unpleasant discovery.”

  “Unpleasant? In what way?” Dylan asked.

  “The knife that killed Lady Welles belonged to you,” Matthew said directly. “It’s the knife that you use in the play, you know, when Macbeth kills the king.”

  Serafina sat alert, and she turned to Dylan. “Where’d you keep the knife?”

  “Why, with the other costumes. It was missing a few nights ago. I don’t remember exactly when. I was ready to go onstage, and suddenly I realised that the knife was gone, and I had to get the prop man to find me another one quickly.”

  “Will he testify to that?”

  “Why, of course he will.”

  “You surely don’t suspect Dylan, Matthew?”

  “No, of course not. It’s just another one of these fantastic things. First we find the Victoria Cross belonging to a national hero at the crime scene, and now a prominent actor’s knife is found there.”

  “Anyone could have taken that knife. The door’s not locked, and people do come and take souvenirs.”

  “Well, the unfortunate thing is,” Matthew said grimly, “a fool of a policeman let it slip that the knife belonged to you, that it was part of the costume you wear in the play. So you can depend on it—tomorrow you will be in the news, and then I’ll have to contend with Lord Herbert, who is raving like a maniac for an arrest already.”

  “Are you going to arrest me?”

  “Certainly not, but I just wanted to prepare you for what’s going to come.” He turned to say, “Lady Trent, have you made any headway with that list I gave you?”

  “No, not really. If I ever saw a random list in my life, that was it. Whoever killed the woman had to have collected these things and brought them, somehow, when he came to do the murder.”

  “He must be insane,” Matthew said, “but then, I suppose in some way all murderers are not quite sane.”

  The three stood there talking as Matthew asked the standard questions. Then he turned and said, “I’d like to see Dora before I leave.”

  “She’s out in the back in the garden, Matthew. Let us know if anything happens.”

  “Of course I will.”

  As soon as Matthew left, Serafina turned to Dylan and said with a troubled look on her face, “This is bad, Dylan. You know how the newspapers are.”

  “And the public. Nothing more fickle than the public. A hero today, a murder suspect tomorrow.”

  “This murderer has already drawn two suspects: General Hunter and you. I wish it hadn’t happened.”

  “God will sort it all out.”

  Serafina was struck, as she always was, at Dylan’s calm insistence that God was in everything that happened to him. She did not argue any longer and had actually learnt to admire his stead-fast conviction. Now she shook her head and said, “What I’m worried about is that in the note he left, he said he’d strike again. That will be hanging over our heads.”

  The two stood there for a moment, and then Dylan said heavily, “I think I’d better be going. Tomorrow won’t be very enjoyable after the papers come out.”

  “Come back when you can. David misses you constantly.”

  “Yes, I’ll do that.” He suddenly reached out his hand in an unusual gesture, and she took it. He squeezed it slightly and said, “Be cautious, Serafina, but don’t worry. God’s going to take care of all of us.”

  FIVE

  The face of Sir Herbert Welles was flushed with anger, and his voice was pitched high as he spoke to Matthew Grant. He had come into Grant’s office making demands again, this time about Tremayne, and Grant, knowing the power in the hands of members of the House of Lords, had managed to keep his temper.

  “Your work is not acceptable, Superintendent,” Welles said, biting the words off as sharply as if he used a knife. “You should have made an arrest by this time. What have you been doing sitting in your office while a murderer is roaming the streets of London?”

  “Perhaps you don’t understand how difficult the situation is, Lord Herbert. It’s always difficult to catch a murderer like this, but this one is especially a problem.”

  “What’s the problem? You found the murder weapon, and you found the man who owns it,” Welles shouted, his voice tight with strain. “Arrest the man! I demand it!”

  Carefully Grant spoke, keeping his voice on an even plane. “I know you’ve been reading the newspapers, and I’m well aware that they are agitating for us to arrest Dylan Tremayne. But I can’t do that, sir.”

  “You made that very obvious, and it’s clear enough why you won’t arrest him.”

  “I won’t arrest him because there’s not enough evidence to do so.”

  “That’s not true, and you bloody well know it! You won’t arrest him because he’s your friend.” Welles nodded vehemently. “You think I didn’t know about that? Well, I do! He even stayed at your house for a time. That’s the reason you won’t arrest him.”

  “I would arrest anyone if I had sufficient evidence.”

  “You have evidence.”

  “No, sir, I do not.”

  “The knife belonged to the m
an. You’ve proven that. I read that in the papers.”

  “Yes, the knife belonged to him, or at least it belonged to the theatrical company of which he is a member. They own all of the costumes and all of the ‘props,’ as they are called. It was not a personal possession.”

  “But he had access to it. He carried it on the stage.”

  “Yes, Sir Herbert, he carried it on the stage. That’s what it was there for. I spoke to Mr. Elliot, the producer of the play. The knife actually belonged to his brother, Thomas. He had borrowed it for use in the play that Mr. Tremayne is now acting in.”

  “But it was in his possession.”

  “Not in the sense you mean.”

  “What are you talking about? He had the knife. Everybody knows that.”

  “The reporters of newspapers are rather simplistic, so let me explain—”

  “You had better. I’ve been talking to the home secretary, and I’ve demanded action on this. Now, what have you to say for yourself?”

  “In the first place, Sir Herbert, the knife was kept in Tremayne’s dressing room, and the door was never locked. Anyone could have come in at almost any time and taken that knife, and I’m convinced that’s what happened.”

  “You have no evidence of that.”

  “No, but I do have evidence of where Dylan Tremayne was on the night that your wife was murdered.” He waited for Welles to speak, and when Welles simply stared at him in disbelief, he said, “We checked his movements very carefully. He was, of course, on stage until ten o’clock, at which time the play was over. He went out to eat with some of his fellow actors, and they were together until eleven thirty.”

  “They have lied for him, of course.”

  “No, sir, they would not lie for him, not those that I have mentioned. We checked not only the actors but others who were present. One of them was Lord Cherbourg. I’m sure you’re familiar with his record. Lord Cherbourg said that Mr. Tremayne was with him until eleven thirty.”