The Mermaid in the Basement

by Gilbert, Morris

  “I understand the bullets were greased with the fat of hogs and cows.”

  “That is correct.”

  “But our leadership should have known that the Muslims and the Hindus are forbidden to eat such things, and that the cartridges had to be bitten before they could be inserted in the muzzle.”

  “This is far too difficult for a layman to understand.”

  Mr. Morton, the reporter, laughed. “It seems simple enough when Lady Serafina explains it.”

  Quickly, Sir Osric said, “This is the gentleman you’ve been anxious to meet. Mr. Charles Darwin.”

  At once Serafina turned her attention to the man who advanced to stand before her. He was not a handsome man, having a beetling brow and homely features, but she cried out with delight, “I am so happy to meet you, Mr. Darwin! I’ve read your books about your voyage in the Beagle over and over again .”

  “I’m delighted to hear it, Lady Trent.”

  “I hope they have put us together at the table.”

  “Yes, indeed, we have,” Sir Osric said immediately.

  “But let me introduce you to a lady I’m sure you will recognise.May I introduce, Lady Trent,Miss Florence Nightingale.”

  “Of course. How do you do, Viscountess?”

  “I’ve read so much about your work in the Crimea. I, along with all of England, admire you and encourage you in your attempts to improve the nursing situation. It is abominable.”

  Florence Nightingale was a slight woman with aristocratic features.

  Serafina’s words brought a glow to her eyes. “I hope you can help me get that message across.”

  At that instant a butler entered and went to stand beside Sir Osric.

  “Sir, the dinner is ready at your pleasure.”

  “Why, thank you, Rogers. I believe we are ready. Come along.We can eat and argue at the same time, I trust.”

  Immediately Serafina took Mr. Darwin’s arm and walked with him into the dining room. The room itself was sumptuously decorated in French blue and gold. The long windows were curtained in velvet, displayed in rich folds that skirted out over the floor in the approved fashion. The table glittered with silver and crystal. So many facets gleamed and glinted, the display dazzled the eyes. One could barely see the faces of the people at the farther end of the reflected light. Silver and porcelain clicked discreetly beneath the buzz of conversation as the meal began, footmen refilled glasses, and course after course came and went: two soups, two kinds of fish, partridge and duck, pudding, desserts, and fruits—pears, plums, nectarines, raspberries, grapes—all grouped in generous pyramids.

  Darwin was monopolized by Lady Serafina, who said at once, “I read your paper on worms.”

  Everyone suddenly lifted their heads. Darwin saw the reaction and smiled. “I have written a paper on worms. I’m going to put it into a book. It will be entitled ‘The Formation of Vegetable Mold through the Action of Worms, with Observations on Their Habits.’”

  Morton laughed.“Mr. Darwin, I don’t think people will rush out and buy extra copies of that.”

  “I believe you are right, Mr. Morton,” Darwin said amiably, “but I found something congenial about worms. I became interested in them and wished to learn how far they acted consciously.Worms do not possess any sense of hearing. They took not the least notice of the shrill notes from a metal whistle which was repeatedly sounded near them.Nor did they know the deepest, loudest tones of the bassoon. They were indifferent to shouts if care was taken that the breath should not strike them.”

  “Somehow that is amusing, if you will forgive me,” Charles Dickens said, chuckling. “The idea of the great scientist tooting a tin whistle for worms is somehow beyond my imagination.”

  Florence Nightingale had said little, but at one point she said, “I understand you are a scientist, Viscountess.”

  “I pass for one among women, Miss Nightingale.”

  “I wish you would do something in the medical field.”

  “Indeed, I’ve been studying that very thing. I read your report about the many men who died of infection.”

  “More died of infection in the Crimean War than were killed by bullets. The wounds were terrible.”

  “I’ve been conducting a simple experiment of my own. It’s just beginning, you understand.”

  “Indeed?”Miss Nightingale said, her eyes intent on Serafina. “I’d like to hear about it.”

  “It involves maggots.”

  Every eye swiveled then to face Lady Serafina Trent, who spoke directly to Miss Nightingale and was unaware of the stares. “Maggots eat diseased flesh. I have introduced maggots into diseased flesh of animals, and have discovered that they have a therapeutic effect.”

  “We spend a great deal of time trying to keep maggots out of human flesh,” Florence Nightingale said. She smiled slightly, amused at the pained expression on the faces around her.

  “I think the answer lies in my initial experiments. I hope they may prove something different.”

  Charles Dickens suddenly cleared his throat, and his face was rather pale. “I think this might not be exactly the topic for a dinner conversation, Viscountess.”

  Serafina looked around the table with surprise. “Oh, I am sorry,Mr. Dickens. I have very bad manners in society.”

  Dickens began to talk of the literary world, his captivating presence entertaining everyone. Serafina was silent most of the time; she had not read most of the writers of whom Dickens and the others spoke.

  Finally Sir Osric said, “Well, I confess I’m not as well read as most of you gentlemen here, but I did meet a rather famous writer in America. Mr. Edgar Allan Poe.”

  Dickens at once turned to face Sir Osric, a light in his eyes. “Indeed, you knew Mr. Poe?”

  “Oh yes, we became friends of a sort.”

  “I have read his short stories,” Dickens said, “and his poetry. I can’t comment on the poetry, but he’s a genius with words.”

  “He writes about such gloomy things,” Lord Milburn said. “I tried one. It was about burying someone alive. I can’t see the value in that.”

  “Well, he has a macabre imagination,” Sir Osric said, “but he’s very popular in America, or was. He died a few years ago.”

  Dickens was very thoughtful as he said, “The stories of the detective C. Auguste Dupin are excellent. They are almost a new genre.”

  “Indeed, they are,” Sir Osric said warmly. “Mr. Poe told me he was tired of the bumbling of the police. He wanted to create a detective who would use pure mental powers, deduction, don’t you see, to solve a crime.”

  Serafina listened as the talk about Auguste Dupin, the literary detective, went on, but she made no comment. Finally Sir Osric gave a self-conscious laugh. “Indeed, I wish there were such a detective as this Auguste Dupin.”He looked at the faces around the table and said,“Of course there is no such man, but I have need of one like him.”

  “For what reason, sir?” Dickens demanded.

  “Well, I managed to get from Mr. Poe, during our relationship, an original manuscript. His fame wasn’t then what it is now, but the manuscript is worth at least ten thousand pounds. It’ll be worth more later, but it’s gone.”

  “Gone?”Morton, the reporter, said. “What do you mean, sir?”

  “I mean a thief broke in and stole the manuscript just last night.”

  “Have you called the police?”

  “Oh yes. They came and looked around, but they said it would be almost impossible to identify the thief or to recover the manuscript.”

  Serafina suddenly said, “I’m interested in this robbery. Could I see the room that was broken into?”

  Sir Osric looked baffled. “Well, of course, Viscountess, if you’d like.”

  “I’d like to see it myself,” Dickens said. He smiled and said in a teasing tone, “I think Lady Trent feels that she might have the kind of mind of Mr. Poe’s fictional character, Auguste Dupin.”

  A smile went around the room, and Serafina said, “It
’s an interesting problem. All science is a problem, is it not, Mr. Darwin?”

  “Indeed, it is, and many of them are never solved.”

  Sir Osric was embarrassed, but he said,“Perhaps all of you would like to come.”

  Indeed, the entire company did follow Sir Osric as he led Lady Serafina up the stairs.He opened a door, saying,“These are my private quarters.”He crossed the room and motioned. “There’s the broken window. The fellow obviously smashed the window, then reached in and unlocked it.”

  Serafina walked over and looked down at the window. She turned, and her face was stiff with concentration. “Where was the manuscript kept, Sir Osric?”

  “Ah, that’s the puzzling thing. See here.” He walked across the room and opened the door of an armoire. Several garments were hanging there, but he swung back a door. The back of the armoire seemed to be hinged. It swung out, and Sir Osric smiled. “There’s my secret safe.”

  Serafina moved closer. “How many people know the combination of that safe?”

  “Only my attorney and I. I hardly think he broke into my house to steal.”

  “You must have written it down.”

  “Well, as a matter of fact, I did.” He smiled ruefully. “My memory isn’t what it used to be.”

  “I suppose you put it in your desk? Perhaps taped to the underside of one of the drawers?”

  Wallace stared at her with amazement. “How in the world did you know that?”

  “It was the first place I thought of to hide such a thing. Ergo, you would do the same.”

  Serafina walked around the room thoughtfully, and Dickens said jovially, “Well, have you determined who the thief is, Viscountess?”

  Serafina turned and walked over to the window. “There’s no glass on the floor.Was there any outside on the ground?”

  Sir Osric nodded, and Serafina turned and stared at the butler, Rogers, who had followed them up the stairs. “The butler is the thief.”

  Everyone gave her an incredulous look and then turned to face Rogers. The butler’s face turned absolutely pale.

  “That’s—that’s not possible,” Sir Osric stammered.

  “Has he been with you long?”

  “No, the man who had served me for several years died recently, but he came recommended by Sir George Philpot himself.”

  “Did Sir George recommend him in person?”

  “No, but I had a letter from him that Rogers brought to me, and I know his handwriting.”

  “Why, this woman is entirely wrong, Sir Osric,” Rogers said. “I’m not a thief.”

  “I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake, Lady Trent,” Sir Osric said.

  “The window was broken from the inside. A random thief would have had no idea about your secret safe.”

  “But he didn’t know the combination!”

  “I thought of the hiding place at once. He is a clever man and would have had plenty of time to find it. Only a person who lives here would know that, and one who had opportunity to find the combination.”

  “I didn’t do it, sir. You must believe me, sir!”

  “You must have more proof than this, Lady Trent,” Sir Osric said, obviously disturbed.

  “Rogers here is a literary man.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “At dinner while you were talking about writing, he responded to your comments.When you mentioned one he didn’t like, he shook his head. When you mentioned one he did, he nodded and smiled. Also, he’s a Cambridge man, and he’s come into a large amount of money recently.”

  “How can you tell that?” Dickens demanded.

  “He’s wearing a Cambridge tie, and that’s an expensive new diamond ring.”

  “How can you say it’s new?” the reporter, Morton, demanded.

  “He’s taken it off more than once. Look at his hands—they’re tanned. If you have him take that ring off, you’ll see that underneath, where it should be white, where the ring would protect the skin from the sun, it’s not.”

  The man called Rogers suddenly let out a wild cry, whirled, and dashed out of the room. Everyone began to speak, and Sir Osric dashed out saying, “I must call the police!”

  “He can’t get far, Sir Osric. I’m sure the police will get out of him the name of the person who bought your manuscript.”

  Charles Dickens, in all probability the most famous writer in the world, came over to stand before Serafina. His eyes glowed, and he bent over, bowing deeply, and said, “I apologise with all my heart,Viscountess.

  You are, indeed, a wonder of intellect! A female Auguste Dupin!”

  Charles Morton moved closer and offered his accolade. “I think, if you’ll read the London Times, Viscountess Trent, you’ll be interested.”

  Serafina took her leave soon after that.When she got to the carriage, Givins was waiting. “’Ow was the dinner, Lady Trent?”

  As Serafina stepped inside and leaned back against the leather cushion, she shrugged.“Oh, it was all rather boring—except for the part about the worms and the burglar, of course.”

  FOUR

  Light had begun drawing a faint line across the horizon in the east when Serafina rose. She had passed a restless night, which was not unusual for her. Moving over to the window, she stared outside, and her eyes fell on the tall trees over to the west of the park. They stood in disorganised ranks like a regiment at ease, and already they were laying their shadows on the ground in long lines. She stood there so long that the trees seemed to shoulder the sun out of the way, but then the light came through, and the sun put lambent fingers through the trees, touching the earth with gentleness. She turned from the window finally and began to dress. She knew that Louisa would be along shortly to help her, but she had an independence in her that would not submit to this. A woman should be able to dress herself without help. The thought sprang into her mind, and she smiled faintly at her own foolish ideas.

  When she was dressed, she went back to the window again, as if reluctant to leave the sanctity of her room. She knew it would be a warm day, but an April shower was forming in the west. Torn shreds of clouds dragged across a clear azure sky, casting their frail shadows over the land. Serafina was always sensitive to the weather. A dreary day could darken her spirits and cause her to retreat into a shell. On the other hand, a cheerful, sunny day always lifted her spirits.

  She turned and left her room, descended the stairs, then made her way to the kitchen. She stepped inside and was pleased with the warmth and good smells that already had begun to fill the room. It was a huge kitchen with a black cooking range big enough to roast half a beef and boil enough vegetables or bake enough pies and pastries to feed fifty people at a sitting. She ran her eyes over the rows of copper saucepans hung in order of size, every one shining clean. Open cabinets held services of crockery, and beyond the kitchen were sculleries, and larders—one specifically for game—and a bake house. There was also a room for knives, the entire laundry wing, a pantry, and a pastry room. Farther on was the butler’s domain, which no human dared enter without fear of offending James Barden.

  “Good morning, Nessa.”

  Nessa Douglas turned at once and greeted Serafina with a smile. “Good morning, mistress.” Nessa was thirty-three, blonde with sky blue eyes, and somewhat overweight from sampling her own wares. She was a cheerful woman by nature and gave Serafina a bright smile. “You’re up early this morning, ma’am.”

  “Can I help you with anything, Nessa?”

  “And why would you be doing that, Viscountess? That’s what you pay me for. You do your job, and I do mine.”

  “I’d like a cup of tea while I watch.”

  “It’s already made.” Nessa moved her bulk quickly around the kitchen and set a large mug of steaming tea before Serafina. “There, that’s your favourite cup. You hate those tiny little china cups.”

  “I always say you can’t have a cup of tea too hot or too large.” Serafina sipped the tea and sat there and watched, her mind on something else.Nessa was a
ware that something was troubling the viscountess, but a servant did not inquire into the troubles of those who lived above the stairs.

  By the time Serafina had finished her second cup of tea, she had watched Nessa throw together a breakfast with such skill and ease that it seemed a child could do it. Nessa had prepared fresh strawberries, steaks, scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, biscuits, buckwheat cakes, fried bread, and a fruit compote with strawberries, blueberries, and peaches with honey and milk.

  “It looks like no one’s going to starve to death.” Serafina smiled. She had a good relationship with most of the servants. Only the butler, James Barden, was stiffly formal with her.He entered just as Serafina rose.He was a tall, dignified man with a wealth of brown hair neatly parted in the middle, and a pair of penetrating brown eyes.“Good morning,Viscountess.”

  Serafina said, “Good morning, James.”

  “Would you care to go to the dining room, ma’am? I’ll have the breakfast brought in.”

  “I’ll be there shortly. I have an errand to do first.”

  “Very well, ma’am.”

  The viscountess left the room, and as soon as she was out the door, James Barden sniffed. “Seems she’d have more to do than invade the kitchen.”

  “Bridle your tongue, Mr. Barden,” Nessa said sharply. “She’s a good mistress.”

  “She’s too free with the help,” Barden said. He liked to see the distinction between the family and the servants preserved. He looked over and said, “I think this will be sufficient. I’ll have Rachel take it in.”

  The knocking at the door disturbed Clive’s restless sleep. The noise persisted, and finally he sat up and blinked his eyes like an owl brought into the sunlight. “Who could that be?” he grumbled. Slipping out of bed, he pulled on a blue silk robe and went to the door. Opening it, he found Serafina standing there. “What is it, Serafina?”

  “I’ve got to talk to you, Clive.” Serafina simply pushed by Clive. He shut the door, then said with irritation, “Couldn’t it wait until after breakfast?”

  “No, I’m leaving as soon as I finish breakfast. I’m going riding with David this morning.”

  Clive’s fair hair was mussed, and a look of apprehension flickered in his eyes. He cleared his throat before asking, “What is it? You never come here unless it’s to tell me I’m doing something wrong.”