“I’ll go get Grant,” Dylan said.
“I’ll go with you,” Trevor said quickly. “I need to be with Gervase. She’s going to take this ’ard. She loved the old woman.”
“Yes, go to her. Help her all you can, Trevor.”
The two men left, and Serafina Trent looked back at the crumpled body. “What a waste,” she murmured. “What a terrible, terrible waste!”
The shock that had gone through the house when Grant had given them the news that Lady Leona Hayden was dead and also that she was responsible for the death of Crinshaw was past description.
Though Serafina had persuaded Grant not to bring up the matter of the deaths of Leslie and Edith Hayden, Edward and Heather had taken the news about Crinshaw and Lady Leona hard, but not so hard as Arthur, of course. He had been terribly shocked at the news that his mother was dead, and even more so at the revelation that she had killed Crinshaw. His mother had been a difficult person in many ways, but he had told Serafina, “I saw this coming, but not like this. I thought she would go insane and have to be committed to Bedlam. She would have hated that.”
“Yes, she would have,” Serafina had replied, “but she won’t have to go there now.”
Trevor had spent most of his time with Gervase, and the two of them had joined to comfort Arthur as best they could. They had encouraged him to go on with his painting after the funeral of his mother, explaining that it would honour her memory if he made a success of his life.
But there was one interview that was kept secret. Grant called Rupert, Leah, and Bramwell into the study that he had been using as an office. They were shaken over the developments—the death of Leona and the revelation that she had murdered Crinshaw.
Grant let them talk, but he finally said, “I must tell you, I have not forgotten the two attempts on Lord Darby’s life.” He stared at Rupert and said with cold words, “I have a witness who saw you cut the girth on Lord Darby’s horse—and if there is any other attempt, I will bring you into the dock. Do you understand me?”
Rupert had turned pale, and for once he was speechless. He nodded and dropped his head to stare at the floor.
“And I have another witness who will testify, Bramwell, that you took a gun and went into the fields on the day a shot came close to killing Lord Darby.”
Leah protested, “He didn’t do it, Superintendent!”
“You, Leah St. John, were overheard having a conversation with your son—and the two of you discussed how the deaths of Lord Darby and Rupert would please you.” He waited for the two to respond, but neither of them spoke a word. “Very well. If there is even a hint of anything irregular, I will have you both brought to trial for attempted murder.” He paused again, and when none of them spoke, he said harshly, “I find you beneath contempt,” and left the room abruptly.
TWENTY-FIVE
It was the last day of the year, and Dylan settled in his room, looking down at the newspapers that lay before him on the table. It was ten o’clock in the morning, and he had fixed himself a breakfast and had read for a time, and now he was feeling, as he usually did on the last day of the year, a sense of frustration. He studied the papers and saw that there was nothing about the death of Lady Leona. There had been nothing in the papers, indeed, except a brief notice of her death. He smiled as he thought of how Lady Serafina Trent had managed things. He had been with her when she had called Matthew into a conference. She had set out to convince him that there would be absolutely nothing to gain in blackening the Hayden name because of one unbalanced old woman.
“What do you want me to do? The woman killed two people.”
“Well, can you put the corpses on trial?” Serafina had demanded.
“Well, of course not.”
“What good would it do to print all the facts? You’re the superintendent.”
“Acting superintendent.”
“Don’t you have a box full of files of unsolved cases?”
Dylan remembered that Matthew had stared at her with sudden comprehension. “You’re asking me to cover this up?”
“She’s dead. The man she killed is dead. He has no relatives. If it comes out she’s a murderess, think what it will do to Arthur and to Gervase.”
“But it’s not justice.”
Dylan remembered then that she had gone to Grant and put her hand on his arm and looked into his face with a gentleness he had rarely seen in her. “It would be a kindness. Isn’t that better than justice?”
Dylan laughed aloud and shook his head. “This woman is dangerous. She shouldn’t be allowed loose,” he muttered. He thought about going out, but he really had no place to go, and finally fifteen minutes later, when a knock sounded on the door, he opened it and was surprised to see Serafina there.
“Good morning, Dylan.”
“Good morning. What are you doing out this morning?”
“I’ve come to kidnap you. Get your things together.”
“Kidnap me? What are you talking about?”
“You’re coming to the house to spend the day with David. Tonight we have our annual New Year’s dinner, which will be very good, and you will be there at midnight with the rest of the family to wish everyone a happy new year.”
“I wouldn’t want to intrude on the family.”
“Matthew is coming, and you’re coming, so let there be no more discussion about it. Get whatever you need. You’ll be staying overnight.”
“You’re a bossy woman,” Dylan muttered, but was quite happy. “Let me get a couple of things, and I’m with you.”
She waited until he had donned his heavy coat and put his hat on, and then they went out and got into the carriage. On the way back to the house they discussed the developments of the day.
“I have some news for you—at least I don’t think you’ve heard it, Serafina.”
“What is it?”
“Grant told me early this morning before he left that he had been appointed superintendent of Scotland Yard.”
“Not just acting?”
“No. Full-fledged superintendent.”
Serafina laughed in delight. “Well, that ought to make him eligible even in Aunt Bertha’s eyes.”
“What about you and Sir Alex Bolton?”
“He’s not an honest man, Dylan. I discovered he’s broke, so he’s looking for a woman with money.”
“Good! I hope he finds an ugly old woman with a pile of money—and that he’s perfectly miserable.”
Serafina laughed then said, “Oh, and tomorrow we’re going over to visit Trevor and Edward. I think we need to keep a close watch on them for a while.”
“I think that’s a fine idea. It’s all worked out, hasn’t it, with Trevor? I never saw how it could, but the Lord is good to manage things.”
“You really believe that,” she marveled. “You look around on a world that’s full of wrong and evil men being exalted and good people going down, and you can still say that it’s a good world?”
“It is a good world, Serafina—at least there’s good in it.” He turned and smiled. “You’re in it, for example, to take a lonely old bachelor out of a gloomy room and put him with a family. You know the Bible says something about that.”
“You always have a Bible quotation. What does it say?”
“It says God sets a solitary in families, and that’s just what you’re doing with me, isn’t it?”
They were lighthearted as they talked all the way to Trentwood House, and as they were mounting the steps, David came out, throwing himself at Dylan, who caught him and tossed him high in the air.
“Well, how’s the old man today?”
“That’s some greeting for Dylan. What about your poor old mother?”
“Mum, I get to see you all the time.”
“Well, I like that!” But Serafina was laughing. “I expect you want Dylan to come and play with you.”
“Yes, I got it all planned. Come on, Dylan.” He grabbed Dylan’s hand, and Dylan allowed himself to be towed along.
The day had been wonderful for Dylan Tremayne. Instead of a lonely day by himself, he had been dragged around by David, playing every game the boy could think of until finally he had protested, “You’re going to put me in the hospital, David. I’m an old man, you know.”
But David had succeeded in wearing himself out too. He had taken a nap almost voluntarily, and then that night at the large banquet with which the Newtons celebrated, he had sat beside Dylan and eaten like a field hand. The supper had been magnificent, and afterward they had gone to the parlour where Dora had played and sung for them.
Finally midnight had come, and when the clock gave the last stroke of twelve, a shout had gone up, and everyone had gone around wishing others well. Dylan saw Matthew do something he had never thought he would see. He had simply put his arms around Dora and kissed her, ignoring Lady Bertha’s glare and everything else.
After that, everyone had gone to their rooms weary and tired, but Dylan had stayed up and sat on a couch that was drawn before the fire. He was almost startled when a voice spoke. “What are you doing up, Dylan?”
Coming to his feet, Dylan said, “I just hate for this day to end.”
“Well, it’s 1858, Dylan. A brand-new year.” She came over and sat down beside him. “We’ve had an eventful time. It’s been a stressful year, what with Clive’s arrest and now with all this trouble over at Edward’s.”
“But it all turned out all right.”
“Yes, it did.”
The two sat there for a time saying nothing, and finally Serafina, with a strange look in her eye, turned to him and said, “I’m a little bit disappointed in you, Dylan.”
“About what?” Dylan asked, genuinely surprised.
“Were you watching Matthew and Dora when the new year came in?”
Dylan laughed. “Yes, I was. I didn’t know Matthew had that kind of boldness in love matters. But he’s bold enough where bullets and things like that are concerned.”
“I was surprised you didn’t give me a greeting.”
Dylan was very rarely at a loss for words, but now he stared at her. “You mean—” He halted, not knowing exactly what she meant. He was very conscious of the difference between his station and that of Viscountess Serafina Trent, and he knew now at this point in his life that he had feelings for her that he had never expressed. He saw that she was watching him. She was half smiling, and there was amusement in her eyes and yet a seriousness also. “I believe I did wish you a happy new year.”
“I like the way Matthew did it better. We’re good friends, aren’t we, Dylan?”
“Yes, we are indeed, Serafina.”
“Then I think good friends should express that friendship physically once in a while, like on New Year’s Eve.”
Dylan saw she was laughing at him, and he suddenly smiled. “Well, let me do it over.” He reached out, took her hand, and squeezed it, pumping it up and down. “There you are, Lady Serafina. A happy new year I wish you.”
Serafina stared at him. “Is that the best you can do? I thought you were romantic. I’m the one that’s supposed to be cold and scientific.”
Suddenly Dylan reached over and pulled her close, turning her toward him. He tightened his embrace, and when she looked up, he saw her lips were soft and receptive. He bent his head and kissed her, and at that moment he realized that this woman had something for him that no other woman had ever had. He lifted his head and said, “Happy New Year, Serafina.”
“Happy New Year.” Her voice was soft and gentle, and he kept his arm around her holding her close.
“You know, I’ve been thinking,” he said. “You’re not getting any younger, Serafina.”
She stared at him with fire in her eyes. “What are you talking about? I’m the same age as you are.”
“Well, women age more quickly than men, you know. But I’ve been worried about you, so I’ve been working on a plan.”
She saw his lips curving in a familiar smile and knew that he was teasing her. “What is this master plan of yours?” she whispered.
“I want you to make me a list.”
“What sort of a list?”
“A list of all the qualities that your husband must have. You know, faithfulness, generosity, goodness. Anything that you can think of.”
“It may be a very long list. My standards are high.”
“Use as many sheets of paper as you need.”
“And what do I do with this list of qualities that I must have in a husband?”
“Well, you give it to me.”
“And what will you do with it?” she prodded.
“Why, I’ll begin to teach you how you can get along without most of them.”
“Why, you—” She struck him on his arm with her free hand, but he tightened his grip. “Be still, woman. I’m trying to make something of you. We Tremaynes are good at taking women and lifting them up to our station.”
She suddenly began to laugh. “You’re a fool, Dylan. Sometimes I think you’re absolutely insane.”
“That’s the way it is, but I’ll begin to grow on you. Just give me five or ten years, and I’ll have you into shape where you’ll be a fit partner for me.”
She laughed then but reached up and touched his cheek. “Thank you, Dylan. I look forward to having you work on me to transform me into what I should be.”
The two sat there laughing, talking, and the fire grew low, but they did not notice.
A Conspiracy of Ravens Page 29
