Sonnet to a Dead Contessa (18 page)

Serafina looked around the table. She was seated next to Matthew, and she saw that he was stricken silent by the ornate dinner that was being served. It had been almost overwhelming. The first course had been a bisque. This was followed by salmon or deviled whitebait. The fish was followed by entrées of curried eggs, sweet-breads, and mushrooms, and when the entrée plates were cleared away, they were served iced asparagus. There was other food that flowed steadily past them, including seven cheeses, Neapolitan cream, and raspberry water. There were pineapples, strawberries, apricots, cherries, and melons.

By the time the meal was half-over, Serafina was tired of food. It was ostentatious and gaudy and showed poor taste. She studied Gerhard Von Ritter, who sat at the head of the table. He was a tall man, lean, with blond hair and piercing blue eyes—rather the ideal dramatic superhero. His eyes glittered at times, and while he was handsome, there was a chiselled hardness about his face that made Serafina realise she would never trust this man with anything important. Her eyes went around the table, and she was impressed with the audience. Marquis Jacob Reis was there with his wife, Marchioness Rachel Reis. Across from the marquis were Baron Jacques DeMain, the French ambassador, and his wife, Baroness Danielle DeMain.

There were several other titled guests, but the surprise of the evening for Serafina was to discover that Martha Bingham was there. She knew that the philosophies of Von Ritter and Martha Bingham were light-years apart, and she suspected that he had invited her to have a target for his philosophy. Next to Martha was Jeanne St. Clair, the young woman who worked with Mr. Henley at the circus. Violet Bates, Martha Bingham’s secretary, was there also, looking very uncomfortable. She fluttered her hands and wore a timid expression on her face continually. From time to time Martha Bingham would put her arm around the young woman’s shoulders and whisper in her ear—which seemed to annoy Jeanne St. Clair a great deal, for she shot angry glances at Violet.

“I think we’re going to see some fireworks pretty soon,” she whispered to Grant.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s invited the women that he probably despises most. Any man who holds his views on the inferiority of women would despise Martha Bingham and her group. Just wait. It’s going to be like a war. Explosions and death, at least the death that words bring.”

“I think you’re right,” Matthew agreed.

Her prophesy proved to be true. As soon as the table was cleared away, Von Ritter began to speak. “I am glad you are all here,” he said. “I wanted to share a few items of interest. One is the fact that interest in women’s rights is dying.”

Instantly Martha Bingham spoke up. “That is not true, sir. It is going well.”

“You would think so, of course, Miss Bingham. But then, you are a leader of that group, and you have given yourself to this lost cause. Do you not see, my dear Miss Bingham, that a woman is inferior in every respect? Do you know a woman who can run as fast as the fastest
man? Or a woman who can lift the weight of a strong man? How many inventions have been thought up by women? All by men.”

Martha Bingham’s face flamed, and her friend Miss St. Clair gave Von Ritter a look that would have killed, if looks could kill.

Both Grant and Serafina sat there for the next forty-five minutes. Von Ritter never lost his calm demeanour. His words were cutting and sharp, and he, at times, would glance around the table to see the effect he was having.

Martha Bingham and Jeanne St. Clair were no match for Von Ritter. At first they deteriorated to screaming rebuttals and then were silenced by his array of facts.

Von Ritter turned and said, “Lady Reis, what is your opinion of my theories?”

“I think you know,” she said. “I think there are superior women and inferior women, but to give women the vote would be futile and even stupid.”

“You say that, a woman, and you deny your own sex!” Martha Bingham cried out.

“Women are not constituted for such things—except for a few.”

“Oh, women like yourself.”

“Exactly, and like Lady Trent there. She is a scientific person. Not at all like the women you find on the streets or washing dishes in a brothel. No, Miss Bingham, I’m sorry, but few women are the equal of men.”

Lady DeMain said, more or less, the same. Her husband, Jacques DeMain, said almost nothing, and in the end Martha Bingham got up and left the room, followed by her two disciples.

“I apologise for my guests’ sudden departure,” Von Ritter said. “But, after all, what can you expect?”

After the meal Matthew and Serafina got into their carriage, and Matthew said, “He’s a snake, Lady Trent.”

“Yes, he is. I’ve never seen such cold eyes.”

ELEVEN

O
ne room of the Trent mansion had become a longtime favourite of Serafina’s. It was more or less concealed behind several other rooms as if it had been added as a hiding place for someone seeking quietness and seclusion. Perhaps it had been originally a bedroom, and as Serafina sat in a horsehide chair, she let her eyes run around it, thinking of the many hours she had spent in this place.

The room was an interesting mixture of styles. On one side stood an old Chinese silk screen that had once been a great beauty but was now faded, and its wooden frame was scratched in places. She let her eyes rest on it, finding in its aged beauty an elegance that gave it a charm and comfortable grace. Across from the screen against the wall was a Russian samovar on a side table. A collection of Venetian glass gleamed in a cabinet, and a French clock ticked on the mantel shelf above the fireplace. In all of the furniture there was a suggestion of great age and yet of beauty that, for some reason, Serafina treasured.

With a sigh she looked down at the papers she had scattered on the mahogany desk, and for a moment a wave of sadness came to her. “I miss Margaret,” she whispered aloud, and the sound of her own voice increased her sadness. Serafina did not have many close friends, and Margaret Acton had played a larger role in her life than she had realised. Now memories came trooping through Serafina’s mind of Margaret in her lively, vivacious way, and her love of humour, her kindness, her generosity—all the things Serafina had treasured in this woman, this friend she had lost in such a horrible fashion.

A cuckoo clock against the wall announced the passing of the hour. “Ten o’clock,” Serafina murmured and forced herself to look down at the papers. They were the history she had collected from Matthew of the known facts of the Slasher’s trail of blood. She had read them over and over, and with her phenomenal memory she had no need to see the facts on paper, but still, trying to organise them into some meaningful solution had proven impossible.
Maybe I’m too close to the thing. I loved Margaret so much, and perhaps my logic has given way to sentiment
. The thought passed through Serafina’s mind, but she shook her head, and stubbornness appeared in her broad mouth as she straightened up and said, “There’s got to be an answer here, and we’ll find it somehow.”

A tap at the door caught Serafina’s attention, and she called out at once, “Come in.” Louisa Toft opened the door and stepped inside. She had been Serafina’s maid for a short period of time but had proven herself invaluable. She was a beautiful young woman of twenty-three with red hair and green eyes and a rather spectacular figure. Her eyes sparkled now as she said, “Lady Trent, Mr. Tremayne is here.”

“Oh, thank you, Louisa. I’ll be right down. Show him to the small parlour, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Serafina got up, arranged the papers, and slipped them into a folder. She was encouraged by Dylan’s arrival, and she knew that David would be ecstatic. Dylan had a day off, and there was no performance on this particular Saturday, it being a national holiday. She found herself hurrying along and wondered as she moved toward the stairs why she was acting so.
It’s like I am a teenage girl with some sort of a wild attraction for a man,
she scolded herself.

Descending the stairway, she met Ellie coming out, and Ellie said, “I’ll fix tea if you like, Lady Trent.”

“Yes, and bring some of those fairy cakes that Cook made earlier today.”

“Yes, ma’am, I will.” She sighed, her bosom rising and falling with some sort of passion. “Mr. Dylan, he don’t look half fine! You’ll see,” she said. “Them britches he’s got on is a dream!”

Serafina could not help being irritated but, at the same time, amused. “Never mind Mr. Tremayne’s britches. Go get the tea and fairy cakes.”

“I’ll be right back with all the fixin’s, ma’am.”

Serafina entered the parlour, which was often used to entertain a small number of guests. It was decorated discreetly with green velvet and rosewood furniture. There was a comfort in the space, and sunlight streamed in through the windows, lending a cheerful air to the room.

“Good morning, Dylan—,” Serafina said and then broke off, for there beside Dylan was Meredith Brice, and in Dylan’s arms was the two-year-old Guinivere, who turned to stare at Serafina with wide blue eyes.

“Good morning, Lady Trent,” Dylan said cheerfully. He was a sight to behold. He always looked well in his clothing, and this morning he seemed to be dressed in an extra fine fashion. He wore a soft silk shirt with a meticulous, widely flowing cravat and a lightweight, casual jacket. The britches were a light fawn colour, and indeed, Dylan Tremayne was the man to wear the trousers of the period, which fit him like a second set of skin.

“I brought Meredith and Guinivere along with me this morning. I thought you two could get to know each other.”

“I told Dylan it was not proper to come uninvited,” Meredith said at once. “But he insisted.”

“I’m happy to have you, Mrs. Brice.”

“Oh, please call me Meredith.” She was wearing, Serafina noticed, an outfit that looked familiar, and she suspected it was one of her own.

“I’m glad to have you,” Serafina said. “Won’t you sit down? My maid is bringing tea and some excellent fairy cakes.”

Dylan sat down, still holding Guinivere in his lap. “I’m teaching Guinivere some nursery rhymes,” he said. “She’s a bright girl.”

“I’m sure she is, and very attractive too, Mrs. Brice.”

“Please just call me Meredith. Oh yes, these two are inseparable. I never saw a man so able to gain the confidence of a child.”

Serafina looked at Guinivere and saw that she had dark hair and large brown eyes, well shaped, and very intelligent. “She must take after her father.”

“Why, yes, she does.”

“I must admit I can’t see much of old Lewis in her, but sometimes genes jump back,” Dylan said cheerfully. “Probably takes after her grandmother.”

“Yes, Lewis’s mother did have dark hair and brown eyes.”

The door suddenly burst open and David came flying in. “Hello, Mr. Dylan.”

“Well, hello, David. Look who I’ve got—Miss Guinivere here. Do you suppose we could take her with us while we play soldiers?”

“Yes, let her come,” David said. “Guinivere? That’s the name of King Arthur’s wife.”

“That’s right. So she’s actually a princess. Come along. If you ladies will excuse us.”

“What about your tea and fairy cakes?” Serafina said.

“Have Ellie bring them up to the playroom, if you will, and lots of them. We’re going to be hungry with all the battles we’re going to have with those men of yours, David.”

Dylan left, holding Guinivere in the crook of one arm and towing David along by his free hand.

Meredith Brice sat down and smiled, saying, “He’s wonderful with children.”

“Yes, he certainly is. I’ve noticed that before.”

The two women sat there speaking mostly of the raising of children until finally Ellie brought the tea and the fairy cakes. “Take tea and cakes up to Mr. Dylan and the children, please, Ellie.”

“Yes, ma’am, I will.”

Meredith smiled and said, “Your maid is very attractive. She’s quite taken with Dylan, isn’t she?”

“Why, I think she is attracted to him.”

“Most women are. I’ve seen them at the theatre. I’m not surprised that you would be drawn to him.”

Serafina was taken off guard by this remark. “We’ve become very good friends.”

“I suppose he feels safe around you.”

Serafina blinked with surprise. “What do you mean, ‘feels safe’? Why wouldn’t he feel safe around me?”

“Well, the women that crowd around Dylan at the theatre and even follow him on the street, there’s always a danger he could become—well . . . involved with one and then have to marry her. But that could never be a problem with you.” She laughed suddenly and said, “I can understand your being attracted to him, but then, of course, nothing could ever come of it.”

Serafina felt a bright flicker of anger and could not explain it. “Something has already come of it, Meredith,” she said, deliberately using the woman’s first name.

“I don’t understand you. That sounds almost—”

“We’ve become very close friends. As I told you before, he was highly instrumental in saving my brother when he was falsely charged with a murder. We worked together to get him free, and since then we have worked on other things together. More than that, I depend on Dylan to help with David. Since David lost his father, Dylan has almost become a second father.”

“Well, I know that’s been good for your son. I simply meant that you have a title, and Dylan is a commoner. That nothing could ever come of your relationship.”

“You mean marriage?” Serafina asked directly.

Meredith was taken off guard. “Yes, I was thinking that.”

“This is the nineteenth century, not the sixteenth. People with titles do pretty much as they please, and I would pay no attention to a man’s social standing if I loved him.”

Meredith stared at Serafina and quickly changed the subject. “I was very happy in my marriage. I was married by Rev. Clive Alridge. I suppose you’ve heard of him.”

“Yes, I have. He became quite a famous man among Evangelicals.”

“He married Lewis and me. Oh, it was a beautiful wedding. Not like any one you would enjoy.”

“I don’t see why you would say that.”

“I mean it wasn’t at Buckingham Palace or St. Paul’s. It was just in a very small church, very plain, but Rev. Alridge made it so real.”