Sonnet to a Dead Contessa

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Stories! More stories!” the child cried.

  “Oh, you want more stories, do you? Well, you’ll have to give me a token of your affection. Here, give me a kiss right here.” He touched his cheek, and Guin threw her arms around him and kissed him.

  “Now, more stories,” she commanded.

  Dylan plopped himself down in a chair and began telling some wild, outrageous story. He had discovered that the child loved stories of any kind, and at the age of two, he soaked them in. He found it was impossible to shock her, for when he told stories of ogres who devoured little children in the woods, that was no more shocking to her than the Little Red Riding Hood tale that she demanded very often.

  Meredith had been making tea, and she said, “Put that child down and talk to me.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t do it. I have a previous engagement.”

  Meredith pouted. “I declare. I believe you think more of Guin than you do of me. I’m absolutely jealous.”

  “Well, she’s prettier than you are.”

  Meredith glared at him for a moment and then burst out in laughter. “You’re a fool, Dylan! You say the wildest things I ever heard.”

  “Well, I like younger women, you see.”

  Meredith came over and tugged at his hair and brought a cry from him. “You behave yourself or I’ll pull all your gorgeous hair out. Then where would you be? A bald-headed Macbeth? I don’t think it would work.

  “It’s time for your nap, Guin.” Meredith ignored the protest of her daughter, picked her up, and disappeared. She came back soon smiling and saying, “She wants more stories, but she’s so sleepy she’ll go right off.”

  “She’s a beautiful girl. Going to be a beautiful woman just like her mother.”

  “Don’t try your wiles on me,” Meredith said. “I’m so excited, Dylan.” She pulled him over to the couch and was now pressing against him. He was extremely conscious of the scent that she always used in her hair and in her clothes. She was giddy, for she had been given a larger role in a playhouse down the street from the theatre where Dylan was performing. Dylan had felt somewhat guilty about introducing her to the acting profession, for he was not an advocate of women actresses. He knew too many of them for that. But he had been instrumental in finding her this new role, and she had done well in the rehearsals.

  “It’s so exciting!” she exclaimed, and her eyes were sparkling. “Just think, I could be a star one day!”

  “You could, but I’m not sure you’d like it.”

  “Not like it?” Meredith stared at him. “I would love it. You just don’t appreciate what you have, Dylan. I can’t understand it. You know what it’s like to be poor, and now you’re making lots of money, and people admire you. I just don’t see how you can say it wouldn’t be the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  “I’ve seen too many actors and actresses go wrong, and sometimes the more success you have, the easier it is to stray. That’s why I’m a little bit afraid of success. It takes your mind off important things.”

  Meredith stared at him in disbelief. “Important things? What could be more important than having a successful career?”

  “God.” Dylan spoke at once and shrugged his shoulders. “If we don’t love God and give him first place, all the success in the world will turn to ashes. I’ve seen it happen.”

  Meredith smiled and moved closer to him, and Dylan was well aware of her touch. She was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, and he noticed the smooth ivory shade of her skin where her blouse fell away from her throat. Her eyes were wide and coloured a blue shade of grey. They seemed to have no bottom, and her black hair lay rolled and heavy on her head. Her best feature was the curve of her mouth, which was ripe and self-possessed. Her figure as good as any woman’s in England. He was well aware of the way the light from the window touched her and ran over the curve of her shoulders, deepening her breast.

  Suddenly her nearness within him set off shocks, and his vision was narrowed down until he saw only the full swell of her lips and their increasing heaviness. Her breath quickened, he saw, and her lips made a small change and became soft with the caught interest of a woman. Her delicate fragrance slid through the armour of Dylan’s self-sufficiency, and Meredith sensed it at once. She turned toward him, putting herself against him, and her hand went up behind his neck. She pulled his head down, and without meaning to he laid his lips on hers. The kiss affected Dylan powerfully. It seemed to fan close-up hungers that had been in him many years. He knew he would remember, for a long time, how soft and sweet her lips were, and the vibration of her voice as she whispered his name. She whispered, “Do you care for me at all, Dylan?”

  The question caught Dylan off guard. She was nestled within his arms, and her eyes had caught his.

  “I’ve always thought you were a sweet and beautiful child, and you haven’t lost that.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “I don’t know how I feel. We’re going in different directions. You want to get into the theatre, and I want to get out.”

  “But if we care for each other, that wouldn’t matter, would it?”

  “I don’t know, Meredith. You’re tempting to any man. Certainly I know that.” All at once Dylan recognised that he was falling under her spell in a way that he had not responded to a woman in years. It frightened him, and he did not know why. He suddenly moved and got to his feet. “I think I’ll have to go. I have to be at the theatre in an hour.”

  “Stay awhile longer.” The invitation was clear in her voice and in the set of her lips and the glint of her eyes.

  “I’d better not, Meredith. I’m happy you got the part. We’ll talk about this some other time.” He turned quickly and left the house. As soon as he was outside, he took a deep breath. He felt as if he had just had a close escape. She was a very tempting woman, and he knew she had opened a door of invitation to him. He had almost walked through it, and now he felt like a man who had just escaped falling into a trap. It troubled him, and he could not get it out of his mind as he turned and hurried down the street.

  “I don’t know why you’re fussing so much, Dylan. After all, it’s only an art exhibit.”

  The two had turned and were headed into a large public building. On the outside was a sign that proclaimed an art exhibit was being held. Dylan stared at it moodily. He still was troubled over the scene with Meredith. Of course, he had not mentioned this to Serafina.

  “We’ve got to get Matthew and Dora some wedding presents, and I would like to get them a picture for their new place together, whenever they get one.”

  “I don’t know anything about art.”

  “Well, I don’t know much, but I know when I like a painting. Come along and don’t argue with me.”

  “You’re getting to be a bossy woman.”

  “I always was. You just never noticed.”

  Suddenly Dylan laughed. “I noticed, all right. It was one of the first things that I noticed about you.”

  They entered the art gallery, and Dylan felt out of place. There were pictures on the wall that he didn’t understand and people he didn’t know, and he stayed by Serafina’s side. She knew many people and stopped once to introduce him to a couple. “Baron DeMain and Lady DeMain, may I introduce you to my friend Mr. Dylan Tremayne.”

  “Oh, I’ve seen Mr. Tremayne on the stage.” Lady DeMain’s French descent showed itself in her accent.

  Her husband, the French ambassador, smiled as he nodded toward Dylan. “I’m not happy to meet you, sir.”

  Dylan and Serafina stared at the baron, and Serafina asked, “Why do you say that, Baron?”

  “She insisted on going back and seeing that play three times.” The baron chuckled. “I must admit it was not a painful duty. I admire your interpretation of Macbeth very much.”

  “Thank you, Baron,” Dylan said. He never knew exactly how to talk to nobility, so he let Serafina and the baroness do most of the conversing. He suddenly looked across
the room and said, “Look, there’s Martha Bingham and that protégée of hers, Jeanne St. Clair.”

  “You’re acquainted with them, right?” the baroness asked at once, speaking to Serafina.

  “We’ve had dinner recently. She has been after me for some time to join her crusade ‘to set women free,’ as she puts it.”

  “She is a nuisance, isn’t she? Oh, dear me, here she comes, along with her two followers! We’ll have to listen to her views again on the superiority of women and the inferiority of men.”

  Martha Bingham was, indeed, set on a mission. “How do you do, Baroness and Baron, and you, Lady Trent.” She paid no attention whatsoever to Dylan, which amused him.

  “I didn’t know you were an art fancier, Miss Bingham.”

  “Oh, she is!” Jeanne St. Clair spoke up quickly. She moved closer to her employer and took her by the arm as Violet moved aside to stand by the wall. “She loves beautiful paintings.” Serafina had noted that Jeanne and Violet were never far from their leader.

  “Yes, I do,” Martha Bingham said, “but I’m here to do more than look at paintings. I want to ask you two again to join me in my crusade to set womanhood free in England.”

  Serafina knew this was coming. She stood there as Miss Bingham presented the entire case for the emancipation of women, and her eyes met those of Lady DeMain. The baroness just rolled her eyes upward in despair—a gesture Martha Bingham caught at once. “I can see,” she said, “that you are still determined to live in the Dark Ages. Now, come along, Jeanne. Come along, Violet. If you ladies change your mind, please let me know.” Martha strode away, with Jeanne by her side and Violet bringing up the rear.

  “What a bore,” Baron DeMain said after the two had left. “Are there many of her kind in England?”

  “A few,” Serafina said. “Come. Let’s select a picture. We’re buying a painting for my sister, who is going to marry Matthew Grant, the superintendent of Scotland Yard.”

  “Oh, you’ll have a policeman in your family.”

  “More than that, dear.” The baron smiled at his wife. “The superintendent of Scotland Yard. You’ll have to be on your best behaviour, Lady Trent. And you, sir, must be careful too.”

  They left the two, and Dylan said, “They’re a lovely couple, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, they are. Very popular for the French. They have a hard time since we’ve had so many wars with them, but I like them both very much indeed.”

  They circulated and found General Leo Hunter speaking with Gerhard Von Ritter. “Look at those two,” Serafina said. “Two of the biggest egos in the world, I suppose. I don’t know which one is the worst.”

  “Both suspects in the murders, aren’t they?”

  “I’m not sure. Some of the effects were theirs, but there were so many others involved that it would be hard to say. Come. I like that picture over there.” They stopped before a canvas of horses jumping over a fence chasing a fox.

  “Does Dora like foxhunting?”

  “She hates it. She always feels sorry for the fox.”

  “So do I.” Dylan grinned. “I’m for the underdog.”

  “Come along. We’ll find something else . . .”

  The two had looked at every painting at the exhibit when suddenly Dylan said, “Look, there’s Matthew.”

  “Oh, he mustn’t know why we’re here. Don’t say anything about buying them a gift.”

  “He looks excited.” The two waited, and Matthew came toward them at once. His eyes were flashing, and he said, “Well, we’ve made an arrest.”

  “You’ve found the murderer?” Dylan said.

  “We think so. He killed a woman a few years ago in exactly the same manner.”

  “Who is it? Anybody that we’ve been suspecting all along?”

  “No, someone you may never have heard of,” Matthew said. He was excited, and his eyes glowed as he said, “Did you ever hear of Rian Felan?”

  “I don’t believe I ever have,” Serafina said.

  “Nor have I. Who is he?” Dylan asked.

  “He’s a criminal, and he was arrested and tried for slashing a woman. He was convicted, but it was later overturned. Some irregularity.”

  “Has he been out of prison long enough to have done the murders?”

  “Indeed, he has, and we found him in the same block where the latest murder was committed. We can put Rian in the area at the same time she was killed.”

  “At the right time?” Serafina asked quickly.

  “Yes, at exactly the right time. We need you to look at him.”

  “You mean to identify him as the one I saw at the Reis mansion?”

  “Yes. That would be the clincher.”

  “But I’ve told you, Matthew, it was so dark I couldn’t see anything.”

  “Come and take a look at him anyway. Maybe something will come back to you, something about his form, the way he walks, something like that.”

  Serafina shook her head doubtfully. “I’ll be glad to do that, but I doubt that I’ll be of any help.”

  “Good! Come along.” As they left the exhibit, Serafina turned and found Martha Bingham and her followers watching them leave. She did not like the woman and wished that she had no contact with her, but there was something determined about her group. They were standing close together, and she thought, They make a strange trio. I can’t see what they have in common. But she put it out of her mind and looked forward to meeting the man who was possibly the Slasher, who had brought such misery to highborn families.

  SIXTEEN

  Serafina had been in Old Bailey, the most notorious prison in London, before. It had been that time when her brother, Clive, had been under suspicion of murder and had spent the days before his trial here. As she walked down the long corridor following a guard and accompanied by Matthew Grant, she felt the same touch of fear that the prison had given her then. It was like being buried alive, and a shiver went over her as she saw the cells where the men were kept caged in a fashion that would not even be suitable for animals.

  “Right this way, sir,” the guard said. He was a tall, sallow-faced man with a mournful expression. He opened the door and gestured inside. “You and Lady Trent must wait here. I will go bring the prisoner to you.”

  “Thank you very much,” Grant said. He stepped aside and gestured toward the room. Serafina walked in and found it was a bare room with nothing but a table and two chairs, one on each side. “You sit there, Serafina. You’ll get a good look at him, although the light is bad in here.”

  Indeed, the light was bad, a flickering gas lamp that cast shadows of their figures onto the stone floor.

  They waited silently and finally Serafina heard footsteps. The steel door opened, and the guard stepped inside. “Here is the prisoner, sir. I’ll have to lock you in, you understand.”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll be right outside, so just bang on the door when you are ready to leave.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  Serafina looked at the man who stood there. He was not a large man, rather under average height. The prison clothes could not disguise that he was a strongly built individual, and he had a striking face and jet-black hair that set off a pair of yellowish-hazel eyes that gave him a catlike appearance. His mouth was very broad, his chin was stubborn, and his hands looked strong enough to break steel. One chain joined his feet together, allowing him to take only short steps, and another joined his wrists, which in turn were attached to a belt.

  “You can sit here, Felan.”

  The prisoner looked quickly at Grant. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours. Now what do you want with me? You’re not reporters, are you?”

  “I am Superintendent Grant of Scotland Yard. This is Lady Trent.”

  Felan’s yellow eyes went at once to Serafina, and she felt as if he could see straight through her clothing and even deeper than that. He had a penetrating gaze, but he smiled and looked almost gentle for a savage. “Lady Trent, is it? Well, I must be g
oing up in the world to be visited by nobility.”

  “Sit down, Felan,” Grant said sharply. He pulled the chair back, and the chains made a musical tinkling sound as Felan moved forward in short, mincing steps and sat down. The chain that bound his wrists to his waist was too short to allow him to put his hands on the table, so he sat there, leaned back, and studied the two. “Scotland Yard, is it? What is it you want with me?”

  Serafina was studying the criminal’s face carefully. There was something frightening about it. If she had met him alone in an isolated place, she knew she would have been terrified. He had that sort of dangerous look about him.

  “Well, Serafina?”

  “I’m sorry, Superintendent. I can’t help you.”

  “Oh, you’re trying to pick me out for a job, are you? Well, I tell you right now I had nothing to do with it.” He suddenly smiled, and his teeth were surprisingly white against his dark skin.

  “You killed one woman in the same fashion.”

  “Ah, but they reversed the verdict.” He leaned back and said, “Gives me a satisfaction, Superintendent, to talk about my crime. Yes, I killed Lenora Hensley. I enjoyed it too. She was my woman, and she went with another man, so I slashed her to bits.” He looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully, then his eyes locked with Serafina’s. “I enjoyed it. I did. I was ready to swing for it.”

  “I’ve always thought it was one of the greatest miscarriages of justice when you were released on a technicality.”

  “I’m sure you’d think so, but you can’t try a man twice for the same crime, and you can’t prove that I killed anyone, whoever it is.”

  “You were seen in the same vicinity.”

  “So were other people.”

  Matthew Grant leaned forward and said, “You were also seen in the same neighborhood as Countess Margaret Acton, and we’re looking for a witness that will find you outside the residence of Lady Rachel Reis.”

  Suddenly Felan began to laugh. “Oh, you think I’m the Slasher! Is that it?”