“Come along, Dylan,” Gervase said, “I want you to meet my father.”
Irene stared at her coldly. “We’re about to dance.”
“Well, you can dance later. I want Mr. Tremayne to meet my father.”
Dylan said, “We’ll have our dance later, Miss Irene. I wouldn’t miss it.”
He followed Gervase across the room, and she introduced her father. Arthur Hayden was not tall and seemed almost fragile. He had delicate features, fine blond hair, and unusual green eyes. He smiled when he was introduced to Dylan.
“My daughter has told me you are a wonderful actor. I’m sorry I missed you. What are you in right now?”
“At the moment I’m unemployed and enjoying it thoroughly. Sponging off of good people like the Newtons.”
“Well, I’m sponging off of the Haydens, so I suppose we have a lot in common.” The two men laughed aloud.
“I would very much like to see some of your paintings, sir.”
Arthur was pleased at this. “I’d be happy to show you my little efforts tomorrow morning if you would.”
“You may count on it.”
They were suddenly interrupted when Bramwell came lurching toward them. He obviously was in the last stages of intoxication and apparently had decided to become obnoxious. He glared at Dylan and said, “Well, Actor, are you still here?”
“Still here, Mr. St. John,” Dylan said, eyeing the man carefully. He had not offended St. John in any way that he knew of, but there was a belligerence in the younger man’s eyes.
“You ought to stop using the Newtons for your personal gain.”
Gervase said, “St. John, that’s no way to speak to a guest!”
“I’ll speak to him any way I please! I’ll even give him a cuff, and he can challenge me to a duel.” He made a wild swing that missed Dylan’s face by a foot. Leah suddenly was there.
“Come, Bramwell, it’s time for you to leave.” St. John grew quiet at her touch, glared at Dylan one more time, then was led off.
Gervase expelled the breath she was holding. “I’m glad you didn’t take offense. He’s an unhappy man.”
“He has no prospects,” Arthur said. “He’s like me, a parasite.”
“Don’t talk like that, Father.”
But Arthur Hayden had been drinking heavily himself. His eyes were red-rimmed, and his speech was slurred. “I should have left this place years ago, Gervase, and made a life for myself and for you, but I was afraid.”
Gervase took her father by the arm. “Come along, Father. The party is over.”
Serafina had joined the group just as St. John had been led away. She turned to Dylan. “I’m glad you didn’t take offense. I feel sorry for the young man. He has a hard way to go. It’s never pleasant when you’re a dependent.”
“How would you know that, Lady Trent? You’ve never been a dependent.”
“No, but I’ve seen it in others.”
“This isn’t a very happy household, is it? I can see unhappiness in the face of St. John’s mother, and as for Rupert, nobody as harsh as he is happy.”
“You’re very quick, Dylan.”
“Well, Gervase seems to be quite happy.”
“Yes, I think she is. She’s a sweet young woman.”
Glancing up, Serafina saw Irene Tillerman headed straight for them. “Watch out for Irene. She’s ruined two men already.”
“I doubt she’d want me, an unemployed actor.”
“Don’t let her get her claws into you. You’re rather weak where women are concerned.”
“Now who has given me that reputation? As for this whole ball, I’d rather be at home playing draughts with David.”
“So would I,” Serafina said. “It would be much more pleasant.”
SIX
Have you ever ridden to the hounds, Mr. Tremayne?” Dylan had joined the guests out near the stables. He had been invited to take part in the fox hunt, but now a dubious look crossed his face. His ears were filled with the yapping of some forty dogs kept in check by Rupert, and he shook his head, “No, sir, I have ridden but never chasing a fox.”
“An exciting sport, sir. Very exciting.” Lord Edward’s eyes were bright, and he touched the tall top hat that all the hunters wore, men and women. “I love to hunt the partridge in September and pheasants in October, but when November rolls around I’m ready to mount my favourite steed and make a dash across the fields after the sly foxes.”
Dylan rubbed his chin hesitantly. “I’m afraid I’ve got too much of the peasant in me, Lord Darby. When I hunted as a boy with my father, it was always something to eat, a rabbit or even a wild pig, but never a fox.”
Lord Darby found this amusing. “Really? I’m not interested in catching the fox. It’s just the chase. As a matter of fact, hunting foxes wasn’t a sport at all for many years. Foxes were regarded as vermin who destroyed livestock, and a bounty was put on their heads in Elizabethan days. But the deer became scarce and trees were felled for fuel and there weren’t enough deer to hunt. So, the aristocracy decided to hunt foxes instead.” He glanced over the crowd with a look of satisfaction. “Foxes are fast as well as tricky. We’ve had to breed new hounds to track them for sport.”
“It seems quite exciting,” Dylan said. “I don’t quite understand how it works.”
“Oh, it’s simple enough. Early in the morning we send people out to block the holes in the hunt area. That’s to stop them from returning to their dens. They’re nocturnal animals, you understand. Then the next step is what we’re doing right now. All of the sportsmen, plus the hounds, are gathered together to meet under the supervision of the master. That’s me in this case. The next thing is to locate a fox. Usually someone will find one hidden in a thicket, and the hounds are sent in to flush him out into the open. Then we’ll all call out, ‘Tally ho!’ And off we go.”
“Sounds like jolly good fun.”
“Well, the idea is simply to gallop across country and have a good time. It’s a little dangerous. The horses have to jump fences and streams. People have been seriously hurt, but you can’t live in a cave and be small.”
“What happens when you catch the fox?”
“Oh, the hounds kill him. They customarily devour him except for his tail, which we call his brush, and his mask, which is his head and the paws. They’re awarded as trophies.” Rupert approached and said, “The dogs are getting nervous, Edward. Are you about ready?”
“Is everyone here, Rupert?”
“All except St. John. He got drunk last night and probably has a hangover. He and Arthur, I think, got drunk together. I think you ought to crack down on both of them. They need to show more respect for the family.”
Edward suddenly frowned and turned to face Rupert. “I know they’re weak, both of them, Rupert, but I think it would be a good thing if you showed a little more compassion to your brother and your nephew.”
Rupert frowned, and the scowl marred his face. “They get the compassion they deserve.”
Rupert turned away, and Gervase and Serafina arrived, Serafina riding a pretty little high-bred chestnut mare and Gervase a bay mare of about the same size. Gervase glanced at Dylan and moved her horse closer.
“Are you ready for the hunt, Dylan?” She was, indeed, a pretty thing. Her colour was heightened, and her back was fine and straight. She sat on her horse with unconscious grace. Her dress was a blue habit with white cuffs and lapels, and in some ingenious way, she had drawn her hair up under a dashing tricorne with a tight curl of oyster feathers.
“I don’t know if I belong in this particular activity.” Dylan smiled. “I’ll probably fall off.”
“You wouldn’t be the first one,” Serafina said. “Just hang on.”
Edward nudged his horse closer and began speaking to Serafina. “I understand you are being courted by Sir Alex Bolton.”
“Oh, yes, he’s going through all his potential wives in alphabetical order to find what suits his taste. It’s not serious.”
Edward
drew closer still. He put his hand out and touched her arm with affection. “I wish you would marry, Serafina. You’re young enough to have more children.”
Dylan was watching the earl’s face and saw sadness in it. It came to Dylan that the nobleman was grieving over his own childless condition. He moved away so that he would not hear the rest of the conversation. If he had remained, he would have heard Lord Darby say, “What about Tremayne?”
“Well, what about him?”
“Well, I saw how you were jealous of the attention Irene Tiller-man paid to him at the ball. You had a proprietary air.”
“Nonsense! He can take care of himself with women like that. I think it’s disgraceful the way women pursue him.”
“Even you?”
“Certainly not me! He’s been good to David. He saved his life, as I’ve told you.”
“Well, Serafina, marriages have been made on worse grounds than that.”
“Don’t be silly, Sir Edward. I’m not interested in anything like that.”
“Well then . . . let’s begin.”
The hounds located a fox almost immediately, and the action began at once. Serafina stayed beside Edward while Dylan fell back, and Gervase rode beside him. It was an exciting chase, sure enough. Dylan was not used to such a spirited horse, and it was all he could do to keep his seat. Finally he slowed down, and Gervase slowed with him. “Do you like this sort of thing, Gervase?”
“Oh, I love riding. I don’t need a fox to make it worth my while. I come out almost every day for a nice ride.” She looked at him and said, “I’ve decided I like you very much, Tremayne.”
Dylan was taken off guard by her frankness. He turned and asked with some alarm, “You’re not falling in love with me, are you?”
“Not a bit of it, but you’re fun to be with.”
“I’m glad you find me fun, but you need to find a nice earl and marry him.”
“It would be boring, Dylan. All the earls I’ve known have been boring.”
Dylan thought about that and then turned to face her, admiring the colour in her cheeks and her bright eyes. “What about Lady Trent’s former husband?”
Gervase was silent, and the excitement seemed to fade. “He was . . . frightening to me.”
“You were afraid of him?”
“Oh, he never threatened me or anything like that, but there was a dark side to him. I don’t think anyone’s ever found out what went on in their marriage, but Serafina was very unhappy.”
“Yes, I’ve heard a little about that. Well, forget that.” A shout interrupted their talk.
“Here we go. Stay up with me if you can!”
Edward and Serafina led the pack, and they reached a fence. It was not a particularly high fence, and Serafina moved her weight forward to make the jump easier for the horse. She was slightly ahead of Sir Edward, but she heard a muffled cry. She turned around to see that his saddle had slipped, and he was falling. “Sir Edward!” she called out and pulled her horse up beside him, afraid someone would jump the fence and land on him now that his horse had wandered away, stripped of his saddle. Once Serafina saw that the other riders were stopping, she jumped off her horse and ran to him.
Sir Edward was lying on his face, and carefully she rolled him over. He had a terrible bruise on his head; part of the fence, evidently, had struck him on the neck and raked down across his shoulders, tearing his clothing. His eyes were closed, and she took his pulse.
“Is he all right? Is he hurt?” Dismounted riders came crowding around, and Serafina said, “He’s unconscious, but his pulse is strong. I don’t think he’s badly hurt, but we need to get him back to the house and have my father look at him.”
“I’ll go get a wagon,” one of the younger men said and kicked his horse into a dead run.
The hunters all crowded around, and Serafina, still holding his head, said, “Please don’t crowd so close.”
Dylan, however, knelt down on the other side. “What happened?”
“His saddle slipped, I think.”
Gervase joined them and asked, “Is there anything we can do?”
“No, my father will have to look at him.” She held the man’s head tenderly. “Someone go warn Heather, but be calm. He’s not badly hurt.”
Lord Darby was placed on his bed in his room, and Septimus examined him carefully. He looked up with some irritation at the crowd and shooed them out as if they were chickens. “Everyone out,” he said. “Lord Edward is going to be all right.”
Dylan asked, “Do you think he has a concussion?”
“No, I don’t think so. Look, he’s waking up. See his eyes?”
Serafina moved to the other side of the bed, and Dylan and Gervase stayed down at the foot.
“Can you hear me, Lord Darby?” Septimus asked loudly.
Lord Darby moved his head and winced. He reached up, and his eyes opened. He looked confused and said, “I . . . had an accident.”
“Yes, your saddle gave way when you went over the fence. You took quite a fall,” Serafina said. She came over and took his hand, putting her own on his head. “But you’re all right now.”
“I’ll stay with him for a while,” Septimus said. “The rest of you go away, please. He needs the rest.”
Serafina left the room and stood there for a moment thinking. Something troubled her, and she said, “Excuse me, Dylan, I have an errand to run.”
“Of course, Lady Trent.”
Gervase looked after her. “Where is she going?”
“I never know what that woman’s going to do next.”
Serafina left the house and went to the stables. She hailed one of the stablehands and said, “Did you bring Lord Darby’s saddle back?”
“Yes, ma’am, it’s over there. The horse wasn’t hurt badly.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Serafina walked over and took one look at the girth. Her eyes narrowed, and she took a deep breath.
The girth had been cut halfway through, and the other part was ragged where it had not been able to bear the weight of the rider. “Someone cut this on purpose,” Serafina murmured aloud. “Someone tried to kill Lord Darby.”
Slowly she turned and picked up the saddle. It was very light. She carried it away and put it in the carriage that she arrived in. She put it in the baggage section, and then a grim tension came to her mouth as she turned back toward the house.
The guests had all departed by the next day, except Serafina, Matthew, and Dylan. Serafina joined Heather in Edward’s room and inspected the bandage on his neck and the blue bruise on the side of his head. She waited until Heather left, then motioned Inspector Grant over.
“Edward,” she said, “I have some alarming news.”
Edward stared at her. “What sort of news?”
“The fall you had wasn’t an accident.”
“Why, of course it was. The saddle slipped.”
“I found your saddle. The girth was cut in two places. There was just enough of it left intact that it wouldn’t part until a strain was put on it. When you went over the fence, your weight came down and the saddle came off.”
“Oh, I say,” Matthew Grant exclaimed. “That’s bad.”
“I can’t believe it. It was an accident,” Edward insisted.
Serafina started to argue, but she saw that it would be useless. “Be very careful. This is two times that attempts have been made on your life.”
“Oh, you and Heather worry too much, dear. You be off now. I’ll be riding over to see you in the next week or so.”
They left, and Crinshaw, the butler, came to stand beside Lord Darby’s bedside. “You look tired, sir. Let me bring you your drink.” He was a tall, gaunt man with a gentle manner. He had been with the Haydens for fifteen years and was always aware of the earl’s well-being.
“No, not now, Crinshaw. I’m fine. Just bring it to me tonight at the usual time.”
“You need to rest, sir, and your wine always makes you rest.”
It was Crinshaw’s dut
y to bring Lord Darby a special drink at bedtime. Only the two of them knew the formula that had been passed down from Edward’s father. It was composed of a rare and expensive wine mixed with several strong spices.
“I’ll be fine, Charles. I think I can sleep now.”
“Very good, sir.”
He moved out of the room and descended to the kitchen where he was questioned at once by the housekeeper, Mrs. Swifton. “How is he, Mr. Crinshaw?”
“Not well, if you ask me.” He sat down and she poured him a cup of tea and one for herself. He sipped at it and shook his head. “Lady Trent says that the master’s fall was no accident. The girth of his saddle was cut.”
“Do you tell me that?” Mrs. Swifton exclaimed. “Who would do such a thing?”
“The man who shot at him last month.” Crinshaw nodded. “I hope Lady Trent will use her gifts as a detective to find out who’s behind all this.”
The two sat at the table, old friends, and finally he got up. “Keep your eyes open, Mrs. Swifton. There’s some evil in all this, and I fear we’re not done with it yet!”
Dylan saw that Serafina was worried. Matthew had left them to ride in the carriage, and the two of them were on horses borrowed from Sir Edward’s stable. “You’re worried about Lord Darby, yes?” Dylan said.
“That was no accident, Dylan.”
Dylan did not answer, but he cast a curious glance at her. “It doesn’t sound like it.”
They had not ridden far when they passed a field. Suddenly some dozen ravens rose into the sky. Dylan watched the huge black forms rise and muttered, “My grandmother would have called that an omen.”
“Would she? She believed in things like that?”
“Oh, yes, we all did. Ravens are sinister birds. Mr. Edgar Allen Poe, the American, has written a rather marvelous poem called ‘The Raven.’ A rather disturbing poem. You must read it sometime.”
“I don’t believe in things such as that.”
A Conspiracy of Ravens Page 8
