The Mermaid in the Basement

by Gilbert, Morris

  “I’d rather draw birds than do these old fractions, Mum.”

  Serafina had learnt from experience that David had inherited neither her passion for science, nor the mathematical genes of his grandfather, Septimus. He was intrigued more by fanciful things than by numbers and hard facts, which troubled Serafina.

  “David, if you want to subtract a fraction from a whole number, you simply turn the whole number into a fraction.You change this number five to fourths. Now you want to subtract one-fourth from that. How many fourths are there in a whole number?”

  “I dunno, Mum.”

  Serafina shook her head slowly and insisted, “You must learn fractions, David.”

  “I don’t like them.”

  David suddenly gave her an odd, secretive look that she knew well. “What are you thinking, Son?”

  “Will I show you something I like?”

  Serafina sighed. “Yes, I suppose you will.”

  David jumped up and ran to the desk. He opened a drawer and took something out. It was, Serafina saw, a book, and his eyes were alight with excitement when he showed it to her. “Look, it’s a book about King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table.”

  Serafina took the book and opened it. On the first page, it read, “To my friend David,” and it was signed Dylan Tremayne. “Dylan gave you this book?”

  “Yes. Ain’t it fine? It was a present, and he gave me his picture, too.” David reached over and pulled a photograph from between the pages of the book. “Look at it,Mum. It looks just like him, don’t it now?”

  Serafina stared at the minature painting of Dylan Tremayne, and, as always, she was struck by the good looks of the man that had come to play such a vital part in her life. She studied the glossy black hair with the lock over the forehead as usual, the steady wide-spaced and deep-set eyes, and the wedge-shaped face, the wide mouth, the mobile features. He’s almost too handsome to be a man with those beautiful eyes. The thought touched her, and she remembered how only recently it had been Tremayne who had helped her to free her brother, Clive, from a charge of murder. She remembered how, at first, she had resented Tremayne for everything that he was, all of which ran against the grain for the Viscountess of Radnor. Whereas she was logical, scientific, and reasonable, Dylan was fanciful, filled with imagination, and a fervent Christian, believing adamantly that miracles were not a thing of the past. She was also disturbed by the fact that although she had given up on romance long ago, she had felt the stirrings of a powerful attraction to this actor, who was so different from everything she knew.

  She had tried to think of some way to curtail Dylan’s influence on David, for she felt it was unhealthy, but it was very difficult. David was wild about Dylan, who spent a great deal of time with him, and Serafina was well aware that her son’s affection for Tremayne was part of the latent desire that he had for a father.

  Firmly, Serafina said, “David, this book isn’t true. It’s made up, a story book. It’s not like a dictionary where words mean certain things. It’s not like a book of mathematics where two plus two is always four. It isn’t even like a history book when it gives the date of a famous person’s birth. That’s a fact.”

  David listened, but was restless. Finally he interrupted by saying, “But, Mum, Dylan says that these are stories about men who were brave and who fought for the truth. That’s not bad, is it?”

  “No, that’s not bad, but they’re not real men. If you must read stories about brave men, you need to read history.”

  “Dylan says there was a King Arthur once.”

  “Well, Dylan doesn’t know any such thing. King Arthur and his knights are simply fairy tales, and you’d do well to put your mind on things that are real rather than things that are imaginary.” Even as Serafina spoke, she saw the hurt in David’s eyes, and her own heart smoldered.

  “We’ll talk about it later,” she said quickly. “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes!”

  “You’re always hungry.” Serafina laughed and hugged him.

  “Dylan says he’s going to come and see me today. Is that all right?”

  “Yes, I suppose so. Come along now. Let’s go see what cook has made for us.”

  The dining room was always a pleasure to Serafina, and as she entered it she ran her eyes over it quickly. The table and sideboard were Elizabethan oak, solid and powerful, an immense weight of wood. The carved chairs at each end of the table had high backs and ornate armrests. The curtains that were pulled back now were dark green, and pictures adorned the walls. It was a gracious room, very large with the table already laden with rich food set out on exquisite linen. Silver gleamed discreetly under the chandeliers fully lit to counteract the gloom of the day. “You’re late, Daughter. You missed out on the blessing.”

  The speaker, Septimus Isaac Newton, at the age of sixty-two managed to look out of place in almost any setting. He was a tall, gangling man over six feet with a large head and hair that never seemed to be brushed as a result of his running his hand through it. His sharp eyes were a warm brown and held a look of fondness as he said, “David, I’m about to eat all the food.”

  David laughed and shook his head. “No, you won’t, Grandfather. There’s too much of it.”

  Indeed, the table was covered with sandwiches, many of them thinly sliced cucumber sandwiches on brown bread. There were cream cheese sandwiches with a few chopped chives and smoked salmon mousse. White bread sandwiches flanked these. Smoked ham, eggs, mayonnaise with mustard and cress, and grand cheeses of all sorts complimented the sandwiches, as did scones, fresh and still warm with plenty of jams and cream, and finally cake and some exquisite French pastries. Serafina sat David in the chair, and James Barden, the butler, helped her into her own, then stepped back to watch the progress of the meal.

  As Serafina helped pile the food onto David’s tray, she listened to her father who chose at mealtime to announce the scientific progress taking place in the world.

  “I see,” Septimus said, “that London architects are going to enlarge Buckingham Palace to give it a south wing with a ballroom a hundred and ten feet long.”

  “That’s as it should be. The old ballroom is much too small.”

  The speaker was Lady Bertha Mulvane, the widow of Sir Hubert Mulvane, and the sister of Septimus’ wife Alberta. She was a heavy-set woman with blunt features and ate as if she had been starved.

  “I’d love to go to a ball there,” Aldora Lynn Newton said. She was a beautiful young girl with auburn hair flecked with gold and large well-shaped, brown eyes and a flawless complexion. An air of innocence glowed from her, though she would never be the beauty of her older sister. By some miracle of grace, she had no resentment towards Serafina.

  Lady Bertha shook her head. “If you don’t choose your friends with more discretion, Dora, I would be opposed to letting you go to any ball.”

  Aldora gave her aunt a look half frightened for the woman was intimidating. “I think my friends are very nice.”

  “You have no business letting that policeman call on you, that fellow Grant.”

  Indeed, Inspector Matthew Grant had made the acquaintance of the Newton family only recently. He had been the detective in charge of the case against Clive Newton. After the case was successfully solved, and the murderer turned out to be the superintendent of Scotland Yard, it had been assumed that Grant would take his place. Bertha Mulvane had been happy enough to receive him as Superintendent Grant.

  Serafina could not help saying, “Inspector Grant was invaluable in helping get Clive out of prison.”

  “He did little enough. It was you and that actor fellow that did all the work solving that case.”

  “No, Inspector Grant’s help was essential,” Serafina insisted. She saw Lady Mulvane puff up and thought for an instant how much her aunt looked like an old, fat toad at times. She saw also that her aunt had taken one of the spoons and slipped it surreptitiously into her sleeve. “It’s one thing to entertain the superintendent of Scotland Yard, but a
mere policeman? Not at all suitable!”

  Septimus said gently, “Well, Bertha, that was a political thing.

  Inspector Grant should have gotten the position, but politics gave it to a less worthy man.”

  Lady Bertha did not challenge this, but devoured another sandwich. She ate not with enjoyment but as if she were putting food in a cabinet somewhere to be eaten at a future time.

  Serafina’s mother, Alberta, was an attractive woman with blonde hair and mild blue eyes. She was getting a little heavier now in her early fifties but had no wrinkles on her smooth face. Her hands showed the rough, hard upbringing she’d had, for she came from a poor family. Septimus had not been rich when they had met, and she had pushed him into becoming a doctor and later into the research that had made him wealthy and famous. “Perhaps Bertha is right, Aldora.”

  “Of course, I’m right!” Bertha snapped. “And you, Serafina, I’d think you’d finally gotten some common sense.”

  “I’m glad to hear you think so, Aunt.What brings you to this alarming conclusion?” Serafina smiled, noting that her aunt had slipped one of the silver salt shakers into the large sleeve of her coat. She well knew that Bertha Mulvane’s own house was furnished with items that had somehow mysteriously disappeared from Greenfield Hall and had taken residence at Lady Bertha’s abode.

  “Why, the fact that you have a suitor that’s worthy of you.”

  “I’m not aware that I had such a suitor.”

  “Now don’t be foolish, Serafina. Sir Alex Bolton is so handsome, and he has a title.”

  Serafina shook her head, picked up a cheese sandwich, and took a bite of it. “He’s not calling on me. I danced with him once at a ball last week.”

  “But he’s coming to dinner next week,” Alberta said, a pleased expression on her face. “And, of course, I know that he’s coming to see you.”

  “Oh, he’d be such a catch!” Bertha exclaimed.

  Septimus looked up from his paper. “He’s poor as a church mouse,” he said firmly. “He lost most of his money in bad investments and gambling.”

  “Oh, you’re wrong, Septimus,” Bertha said. “He owns a great plantation in Ireland.”

  “I’ve heard he owns some forty acres of bog land good for nothing,” Septimus said then turned to his grandson and smiled. “David, what are you going to do today?”

  “Dylan’s coming.We’re going to trap some rabbits.He knows how to snare them.”

  Bertha’s face was the picture of disgust. Her neck seemed to swell, and she barely spat out the words. “I have no doubt he’s a poacher.” She turned and said, “I would think you might choose your son’s companions more carefully, Serafina.”

  Serafina said calmly, “You didn’t object to Dylan when he was helping me to get Clive out of a murder charge.”

  Since Bertha had no defense for this, she left the room in a huff. David leaned over and whispered, “She stole a spoon,Mum.”

  “I know. Just don’t pay any attention to her, David.”