“No, I don’t want any.” The two sat down, and Alberta said, “What do you think of Inspector Matthew Grant?”
“Why, he seems like a jolly good chap. Fine member of the police force I’m told.”
“I don’t mean professionally. I mean what do you think about this attention he’s showing to Aldora?”
“Why, I hadn’t thought about it.”
“I think you should. After all, Aldora is going to have to marry very soon.”
“Why must she marry?”
“Oh, don’t be obtuse, Septimus! You know that’s the only life for a woman in this society.” Indeed, this was true enough. Women who could not manage to capture a husband usually became awkward guests in the house of a relative, not a desirable fate.
Septimus took another bite of his sandwich and said, “How do you think Dora feels?”
“Oh, it’s hard to tell about that girl. She likes everyone, of course, but he’s not a fit suitor for her.”
Septimus was an astute man in science, but sometimes he lagged behind in other areas. He suddenly straightened up and a frown creased his brow. “Has Bertha been talking to you?”
“Well, yes, she has. She says that we must forbid Dora to see Mr. Grant again.”
“Bertha doesn’t have enough to do. She has no life of her own, so she tries to run ours.”
Alberta looked at her husband with surprise. Very rarely did he ever speak a word of criticism about anyone, and he had shown a remarkable restraint toward Bertha Mulvane. “But I suppose Bertha is right. She would be marrying beneath her station.”
“Well, I married above my station, and we turned out all right.” Septimus grinned and pinched Alberta’s arm. “You know, I hate messing around with our children’s lives. It’s much safer to do my experiments and autopsies. After all”—Septimus paused and amusement danced in his eyes—“dead people don’t have any problems. What about Alex Bolton, this fellow that’s calling on Serafina?”
“We don’t know very much about him. He seems very taken with her.”
“Well, I doubt she’ll have him. She hasn’t shown any interest in a man since Charles died.”
“She’s a young woman. She’ll marry again, but I’m not sure Sir Alex is the proper man for her.” She sighed and shook her head sadly. “It’s so hard getting girls settled.”
“Well, Serafina’s not exactly a girl. After all, she is almost thirty, and she’s been married.”
“She’s very smart in scientific matters, but I’m not sure she does well in other areas.”
Alberta’s observation seemed to bring a silence over the room. Each of them was thinking of Charles Trent, Serafina’s husband, now dead for three years. He had seemed a likely enough choice, and Serafina had been happy and filled with joy before the marriage, as young girls should be. But both her parents had noticed that early in the marriage she had changed, and each of them had suspected that Charles was not a good husband.
“Well, we’ll have to wait and see, I suppose,” Septimus sighed. “Where is Serafina?”
“She’s gone to town with David. She’s taking him by the tailor to get him fitted for some new clothes. He’s growing very fast.” She rose and said, “I’ve got to get back to the house. You’re going to have to go to the tailor too.”
“Why should I do that?”
“You don’t have a thing to wear to the ball at Silverthorn.”
Septimus had risen, and now he stood there, an awkward figure indeed, and shook his head. “I’d rather be dissecting a body than go to a thing like that. I hate balls!”
“We have to go. It wouldn’t be right not to, and you’ll have to have a new suit.”
“I’ve got a suit.”
“You don’t have a thing fit to wear to the ball. Your clothes are terrible. We’re going tomorrow to the tailor.”
“Henry David Thoreau said, ‘Beware of all enterprises that require new clothes.’” Septimus spread both hands out in a gesture of despair, “And after all, Thoreau is never wrong.”
As the carriage made its way through the busy streets, Serafina peered out through the yellowish fog. Just why London fog was that colour no one had ever been able to ascertain, but always during the fall a great yellowness cloaked London, and lamps were lit even during the day. Sometimes this fog spread out until it extended miles from the heart of the city, and complaints were often made that the fog caused pain in the lungs and uneasy sensations in the head. Serafina had been to London a few times when the fog—which was called “a London peculiar”—was so thick you could take a person by the hand and not be able to see his face, and some people had literally lost their way and drowned in the Thames.
“Mum, why does London smell so bad?”
Serafina turned to David, who was sitting beside her in the carriage. “Well, big cities almost always smell bad. We’re fortunate that we can live a little ways out of London. There’s nothing, I suppose, that can be done for the way the place smells.”
“If I lived in London, I’d want to make it better.”
Serafina smiled and reached over to squeeze David’s shoulder. “I’m sure many people would like that, but you have to put up with some difficult things if you live in London.”
The carriage finally drew to a halt, and Albert Givins leapt down from his seat and came at once to open the door. “Bad day for a visit to London, Lady Trent. Can’t even see the sun, ma’am,” he complained.
“It is worse today, isn’t it, Albert? Nevertheless, we’ll have to put up with it.”
“I’ll wait right here while you take Master David to go get fitted.”
“Here, Albert, get yourself something good to eat from one of the street peddlers.” She handed him a coin and smiled. “We may be quite awhile.”
“Thank you, ma’am. A kidney pie would go down pretty good.”
Leaving the carriage, Serafina led David down the street. After the relative silence of Trentwood, the noise of the London streets was almost deafening. The carriages and many horses were part of the problem. The sound of horses’ hooves clacking over the cobblestones and of wheels grinding along struck her ears. The click of women’s pattens with wooden soles on the sidewalk, the bells of the salesmen, and the cries of street peddlers selling items such as dolls, eels, pins, rat poison, and a hundred other things added to the noise. Children swarmed the streets. They were poor, often called “Street Arabs,” and they begged Serafina for money.
“It’s noisy, ain’t it, Mum?” David said.
“Yes, it is. I’m not sure all this is good for your ears. Come along now.”
“Mum, I’m hungry.”
“Well, let’s get you something.” She stopped beside a peddler and bought a kidney pie from a thin man with a stovepipe hat askew on his head and a soiled apron around his waist. When David finished eating, they bought sweetmeat candy and a piece of candied fruit. “You’re going to get fat,” she said, smiling down at the boy, “if you keep on eating like that.”
“I don’t care. It’s so good!”
“Well, come on. We’ve got to get your clothes fitted.” She led him toward the sign and was barely able to make it out through the fog: Jonas Tyler—Tailor.
“That took a long time, Mum,” David complained as they emerged from the tailor shop. “I don’t like to be fitted.”
“It’s necessary, David,” Serafina said.
They passed by several shops and then noticed a poster that advertised a play. Serafina saw Dylan’s name on it, and she pointed it out. “Look, Mr. Dylan’s going to be in a play.”
“Can I go see him, Mum? I’ve never seen a play.”
“I don’t think this would be exactly the right one for you to see.” Serafina remembered Dylan saying that it had such immoral features that he was reluctant to act in it. As they made their way along the crowded streets, Serafina was surprised that Dylan had agreed to be in the play. He was goverened by such strong moral rules, and she determined to go see it.
They were approaching
the carriage when David said, “Listen, I hear singing.”
Indeed, Serafina heard it too. She looked ahead through the fog and saw a small crowd gathered around a few people standing with their backs to a building. “Those are church people, David. Sometimes they preach in the streets.”
“Not in a church?”
“I’m not sure why they do it, but yes, that’s correct.”
“Look, there’s Mr. Dylan!”
Serafina looked closely at the small group singing and saw Dylan Tremayne. Curiosity got the best of her, and when David said, “Let’s get closer,” she agreed.
The singing was lusty, and the group sang enthusiastically if not always on key. She could hear Dylan’s clear voice rising slightly above the rest, and she listened carefully to the words of the tune:
All hail the power of Jesus’ name!
Let angels prostrate fall;
Bring forth the royal diadem,
And crown Him Lord of all.
Ye chosen seed of Israel’s race,
Ye ransomed from the fall,
Hail Him who saves you by His grace,
And crown Him Lord of all.
Let every kindred,
every tribe On this terrestrial ball,
To Him all majesty ascribe,
And crown Him Lord of all.
O that with yonder sacred throng
We at His feet may fall,
Join in the everlasting song,
And crown Him Lord of all.
Looking around after the singers had finished, Serafina saw that the crowd was mostly drawn from the poor people of London. A few middle-class observers were standing on the outer ring, but she saw none of whom society would call “quality people.” No high-class folks in this group.
She looked carefully at the two men standing next to Dylan. One was called Yago the Gyp, a lean, dark-complected man—a gypsy really, with a gold ring in his right ear. He was also, she knew, a former safecracker. The other man was Lorenzo Pike. Pike was a huge, burly man with florid, blunt features and a pair of bright, merry blue eyes. Both men, who were plainly dressed, had been helpful in protecting David during the affair of Clive’s trial.
Lorenzo Pike stepped forward and lifted his loud, powerful voice. “Well, beloved, we are here to give honour to Jesus, the King of Kings. He shed His blood on the cross of Cavalry so that an ex-thief and criminal such as myself might be saved and have a place in a heavenly mansion. Glory to God and the Lamb forever!”
Lorenzo preached plainly and obviously enjoyed his own sermon. Serafina listened and was puzzled. She did not understand the religion of Dylan and his fellows. She knew they were Methodists—the bottom of the ecclesiastical ladder in England. They were called “enthusiasts,” and the Anglican leaders made light of them, accusing them of all sorts of misbehaviour.
Finally the sermon ended with a rousing prayer by Lorenzo, and as soon as the amen was said, Serafina saw Dylan come straight toward her. “Well, Lady Trent, it’s good to see you.”
“Hello, Dylan.”
“Hello, Mr. Dylan,” David said. “I could hear you singing above all the rest.”
“Could you now? Well, I sounded like an old crow today, me. Bit of a cold.”
“No, you were the best of all,” David said stoutly.
Serafina was thinking of what had taken place and said, “Dylan, I don’t understand this. Do you think it would help anybody to be at a service like this?”
“Well, Lady Trent, it’s a service for those who probably wouldn’t attend any church, and I’d like to think proclaiming the Gospel to the poor is what Jesus did best.”
“I suppose that’s so.”
“We saw your name on a building, Mr. Dylan,” David piped up.
“Yes, we did.” Serafina nodded. “I see you’ve decided to be in that play you were worried about after all.”
“No, ma’am, not at all. I declined, but the bills were already up.”
Serafina was not too surprised. “I somehow felt you’d do that, but it’ll be quite a sacrifice financially, won’t it?”
“Well, if you are having my opinion, God feeds the sparrows, so He can feed one poor out-of-work actor, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s true.”
“I did have to make a few cuts. I had to leave my rooms, and I’m staying with Matthew now.”
“Matthew Grant?”
“Yes, the inspector himself. He heard about my problem and was kind enough to invite me. There is a kind fellow, he is!”
“Well, I could tell the man had a good heart.”
Dylan hesitated then said, “You know, he’s very sad that he’s not invited to attend the ball.”
Serafina looked troubled. “I didn’t know he was one for such things.”
“Well, he looked forward to dancing with your sister, but I’m sure that’s impossible. After all, he’s merely a policeman, but of course, I’m merely an actor and I’m invited.”
Serafina made her mind up instantly. “I’ll invite him. He’ll be my guest.”
“Do you think that some people might object?”
Serafina well knew that “some people” would be Lady Bertha. “It will be all right,” she said. “How shall I get in touch with him? You know his address, of course.”
“I’ll be glad to deliver the invitation in person, Lady Trent, and a happy man he’ll be.”
“Very well, you and the inspector must come to our house early. We’ll all go together in our carriage.”
“There’s kind you are now! Well, I’ll go tell the inspector the good news. Come, I’ll see you back to your carriage.”
As Dylan turned to lead them to the carriage, Serafina was thinking, This is going to cause difficulty. Bertha will be angry. But Grant was very kind to us during trouble, and it’s little enough to do for him.
FOUR
Banks of dark, glowering clouds had threatened rain all morning, billowing fuliginous shapes like enormous spectres. The family had watched the skies anxiously, dreading a deluge. By one o’clock they were all ready to leave for the ball, though the threat of rain was even more severe than before. The clouds were rolling in from the north, and finally Septimus Newton said, “There’s nothing we can do about the rain, and I’d just as soon call the whole thing off.”
“Now don’t be foolish, Septimus,” Alberta said. “We’ve got to go.”
“Do we have enough umbrellas to go around?” Bertha asked. She had practically invited herself to the ball and had spent the morning harassing all of the servants of Trentwood in her preemptory fashion.
“What good does a parasol do?” Septimus said. “Look at that thing! What possible use could it be in a downpour?”
He gestured at the parasol in his wife’s hands, a flimsy thing made to match her dress. It was small, frilled, and embroidered with joined ivory and wood sticks, designed primarily to protect a lady’s complexion. The one that Bertha carried was ogee-shaped, and neither these two, nor any of the rest, were of any use in rain.
Bertha’s face was twisted with anger as she said loudly, “I think it’s a disgrace that we’re taking that actor and the policeman to the ball.”
“I don’t think that matters, Bertha,” Alberta said, struggling to open the parasol. “The earl said to bring them, and it would be most rude not to pay heed to his words.”
Septimus had listened to Bertha all morning long, it seemed. He had taken refuge in his laboratory on the second floor, and now that it was time to leave for the ball at Lord Darby’s, he spoke in a strained manner. “Come along. The world was drowned by water once, and we may be drowned on the way, but at least let’s make a start.” He led his wife and sister-in-law out of the house, handed them up in the carriage, and then got in and sat down, calling out, “All right, Givins, let’s get this thing over with.” He settled back as if he were embarking on a journey of a thousand miles, even though Silverthorn, the ancestral home of Lord Darby, was only twelve miles away.
“Blasted nuisance,” he muttered under his breath. “Whoever thought up such things as this ought to be made to eat his own head!” With this dire statement he slumped in the corner and began, as usual, carrying on some complicated mathematical problem in his head, ignoring the jabbering of his wife and the complaints of Bertha Mulvane as the carriage moved forward under the darkening sky.
“Do you think my dress is all right, Serafina?”
Dora had joined Serafina in her room as they prepared for the ball. She turned around, and Serafina studied her dress, which was of a bright green satin hue trimmed with glittering black jet and black velvet ribbons. Three black feathers were arranged in Dora’s hair and held in place by a diamond hairpin.
“It looks very well indeed. I’m sure Inspector Grant will like it at least.”
Aldora flushed slightly. “I’m not wearing it just for him,” she said defiantly. “But one must wear something to a ball.”
Serafina laughed. “It would be quite shocking if one wore nothing to a ball.”
“Serafina, what a terrible thing to say!” She giggled. “What a funny sight that would be!”
At that instant David came running in, his mouth twisted with displeasure. “Mum, I want to go with you.”
Serafina knelt down to his level. She took his hands and held them tightly. “You’re too young for such things, David.”
“You could hide me in your carriage. No one would see me.”
Serafina laughed, reached out, and hugged him. “I’m afraid that wouldn’t answer, but remember you’re going to have great fun with Danny. When it stops raining you can ride Patches, and the two of you can go try to find another bird’s egg to add to your collection.”
David brightened up. “That will be fun.” But then he shook his head. “What about when it gets dark?”
“We already talked about that. Ellie is going to read to you after supper, and you can play games with her until bedtime. You know how much fun you have with Ellie.”
“I’d rather go with you.”
“And I’d rather stay here with you, but grown-ups have to do things they don’t want to do.”
A Conspiracy of Ravens Page 5
