“Something—something happened in their marriage, Septimus. She won’t even speak of it, but she lost the joy of life somehow.”
“I’ve never had the courage to try to ask her what went wrong with the marriage. Perhaps you have?”
“I’ve tried, but she cuts me off. But she must marry again.” She straightened up and said firmly, “Many women who’ve had difficulties with their first marriages take a second husband.”
“Most of those women have romantic notions. They’ve read novels and love stories mostly written by Frenchmen and other perverts. Serafina is not guilty of that!” Septimus paused. “All she really cares about is David.”
“Septimus, I sometimes think we didn’t give Serafina the right education.”
“Why, I educated her myself. I’ve taught her since she was a child.”
“I know, dear. You filled her with your scientific notions. You’re a good man, but you have no romance, and you’ve robbed your daughter of what a woman ought to have.”
“Would you like for her to go around quoting poetry and falling in love at the drop of a hat?”
“No, of course not, but . . . well, she seems so cold. None of our children have any religion.”
Septimus fell silent. Indeed, he had no religion himself.He was a pure scientist, and he passed this feeling along to all of his children. It had been a delight to teach Serafina, for she had the same type of mind as he, and now she was as much a scientist as he.
“I—I thought it was for the best, my dear.” He closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the antimacassar. “But I sometimes think—”
Whatever it was that Septimus thought, Alberta was never to find out, for a muffled explosive sound interrupted his words, bringing them both to their feet. “What on earth was that?” Alberta cried.
“The laboratory! It sounded like an explosion.” For all his awkwardness, Septimus was quick. He ran toward the stairs, followed by Alberta. He took the stairs two, three, and even four at a time while she was crying, “Wait for me, Septimus!”
He turned, and his face was pale. “D-d-d-” He tried to speak, but as always during times of crisis, a terrible stutter overtook him. “C-c-come on,Wife.”
The two raced up to the third floor, and Septimus burst through the door to the room that housed the spacious laboratory where he did his work. He stopped dead still and put his arm around Alberta to support her. “Serafina, what happened?”
Elizabeth Serafina Trent, Viscountess of Radnor, was standing in the midst of a wrecked room.Her face was blackened with some sort of powder, and her eyes looked enormous.Her white apron also showed signs of the explosion.
“Are you all right, Serafina?” Alberta rushed to her.
Serafina raised her hand to push her hair away from her eyes. “Oh yes,Mother. I’m fine.”
“What happened, Daughter?” Septimus asked.
Serafina turned to look at the laboratory. The shock of the explosion had not harmed her particularly, but her ears were still ringing with the blast. “I finished designing my gas oven.”
“A gas oven! What in the world for?” Alberta demanded. She had little patience with the scientific work that went on in the laboratory, though her husband had grown wealthy by such inventions.
“Mother,” Serafina said patiently, “you know all over England people are cooking with coal or wood. It’s expensive, and England’s running out of wood at least. The obvious thing is to design a stove that runs on gas. Well, that’s what I’ve been making. Gas is the answer.”
Alberta put her hand over her heart. “You look terrible,” she moaned. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
“Oh no,” Serafina said. “I’m fine.”
“Well, you won’t be going to that dinner tonight,” Alberta said.
“Why, of course I will. This is one dinner I won’t miss.”
Septimus shook his head in disbelief. “You hate formal dinners like this, Daughter.”
“Not this one, Father. I’m going to meet the man I’ve admired for so long.”
Alberta’s eyes glowed, and she was smiling. “Is he . . . eligible?” she asked, hopeful that some man had created an interest in her older daughter’s heart.
“He’s a genius, Mother. It’s Mr. Charles Darwin.”
“Who is he?” Alberta frowned.
“He’s the most brilliant scientist in the world—next to my own father, of course.”
“Well, if I had known he was going to be there, I would have invited myself,” Septimus said. “Perhaps you can invite him here.”
The Viscountess of Radnor smiled. “I will certainly try, Father.” She turned to her mother and shook her head. “But Mr. Darwin is married, I believe, so he’s not eligible.”
Septimus suddenly laughed, his face crinkled with fine lines. “Well, my dear, you go to your dinner and your Mr. Darwin, and I’ll see what I can do with the mess you’ve made.”
Alberta did not give up easily. “There’ll probably be other gentlemen at the dinner. Maybe one of them would be a likely suitor for you.”
Serafina came over and gave her mother an affectionate embrace. “If I find any man as brilliant as my father, I promise you, I’ll marry him. Now—I must get cleaned up for Mr. Darwin!”
THREE
Oh, it’s a beautiful dress, Viscountess!”
Louisa Toft, Serafina’s maid, stepped back, her green eyes glowing with admiration. She was a beautiful girl with red hair and skin like cream. “Don’t you just love it, ma’am?”
“I suppose it’s all right, Louisa.”
Louisa shook her head. “You think less of clothes than any high society woman I ever saw.”
“Clothes are to cover one up.”
Louisa laughed with delight. “That’s exactly the sort of thing you say that no other woman would say. All the other women I ever served saw clothes as much more than that, not just to cover up but to decorate, to entice, to allure.” Her eyes ran up and down Serafina’s figure. “And that dress will certainly do it.”
Serafina indeed was dressed magnificently. The gown was a Nile green, elegant as water in the sun and stitched with silver beading and seed pearls. The waist was tiny and less than comfortable. The bodice crossed over at the front with the bosom low cut. The crinoline skirt formed the shape of a big dome, flowing from the waist to a wide hemline.
“You’ll be the most beautiful woman at the dinner.”
“I think I may be the only one.”
Louisa stared with astonishment. “You’ll be the only woman there! I don’t believe it.”
“It’s a group of prominent men.When I heard that Charles Darwin would be there, I simply had to invite myself.” Serafina smiled and turned to study herself carefully in the mirror. She was a tall woman, and at twenty-seven years still had the curves of a girl of eighteen. Her hair was an unusual strawberry blonde, and her eyes were her best feature. They were large, well spaced, and of an unusual violet tinge. Her face was too square for real beauty, but her wide, sensuous mouth made up for that. She touched her hair and said, “You’ve done a beautiful job on my hair, Louisa. You really deserve to have a more discerning mistress.”
“Oh no, I only want to serve you, Viscountess,” Louisa said quickly. “I am so glad that you are going out into society more.”
Serafina shrugged. “This isn’t really a social visit. As I said, I want to meet Charles Darwin.”
“But you need a social life, my lady.”
Serafina turned slightly and studied her maid. Her lips seemed to tighten, and she said, “A social life? Why would I need that? I have everything I want right here at Trentwood. My parents, my son, a fine home, and I have you to take care of me.”
“But that’s not all there is to life. There are other things.”
Serafina knew that Louisa was carefully refraining from mentioning a husband. When the girl had first come to serve Serafina, she had said something about Serafina’s remarrying, and Serafina had cut her off so
shortly that the subject had never come up again.
“Society is nothing but vanity. It is seeing who can spend the most money on the most ridiculous fashions. Look at this skirt.” She turned and looked at the huge diameter spin around. “What a ridiculous thing to put on a woman’s body!”
“I suppose some fashions are a little strange.”
“Society itself is more than just a little strange. Just look at the way we auction off young girls for marriage.”
“Auction girls? What do you mean, Viscountess?”
“In America they have slave markets where they take young black women and sell them to men ostensibly to be servants, but everyone knows what they’re to be used for.”
“But we don’t have slavery in England.”
“No, not of that variety, but every year young girls are put on the market. They are paraded around at teas and parties, they attend the races, they go to as many balls as possible, and for what reason? For enjoyment? Not at all! Most of the time they are miserable, afraid they will never catch a man, or not one who is suitable anyway. In the end the men look them over as if they were brood stock, able to produce a satisfactory heir.No, thank you, Louisa. I went through that once, and I would hope never to be again in such a position.” Serafina suddenly saw that Louisa was disturbed.Her lips were trembling, and she said, “Why, what’s wrong, Louisa? I haven’t hurt your feelings?”
“No, my lady, but it’s just that—well, ma’am, I’ve told you about Robert and how I love him.We’re going to the park today. I think he’s in love with me.”
“And what about you?”
“Oh, Lady Serafina, I tremble all over when I think of him!”
Serafina opened her lips to make some cutting remark, for she had no use for such romantic notions. It was exactly this sort of thing that disgusted her, but when she saw the dewy-eyed young woman’s trembling lips, she said merely, “Well, you go and have a good day, but be careful, Louisa. Don’t expect too much out of married life.” She turned to the door. “I’ll go say good-bye to David.”
Serafina descended the winding staircase and stepped out of the side entrance of the house. She went at once to David, who was playing some kind of a game with Danny.Her son’s face was streaked with dirt.“David, what in the world?”
“It’s my war paint. I’m a savage Indian.”
“I’m sorry, Viscountess,” Danny said. “’E got all dirty afore I could stop ’im.”
“Danny’s been reading me a book about wild Indians.”
“One of Cooper’s books, the American. You know, Viscountess?”
Danny said.
“I know the books, and I wish you wouldn’t read them to David.”
Danny’s eyes flew open. “Why, I fink they’re a sight of fun. Nothin’ immoral in ’em.”
“I know, but make-believe games aren’t good for young boys.”
Serafina turned and saw that David was staring at her with something like fear in his eyes. She went over and put her arm around him.
“Don’t be ’ard on the boy. ’E’s got a wunnerful imagination.”
This, although Danny Spears did not know it, was exactly the thing that Serafina feared most. She believed in clinical logic and clear linear thinking, not make-believe stories.“Well, don’t be upset, David.Why don’t you take him fishing for trout, Danny? You’d like that,wouldn’t you, Son?”
“Oh yes,Mum!”
She kissed him, and despite the dirt, she smiled and said, “You’ll be asleep when I come home, but tomorrow you and I will go for a ride.”
“Can I ride Patches all by myself,Mum?”
“Yes, indeed.” She turned and said, “Danny, give this young man a lesson on Patches.” Serafina had given the multicoloured pony to David for his sixth birthday.
As the two walked toward the stream, David talked a mile a minute. Serafina worried, He has too much imagination—just as I once had. As she turned to leave for the dinner, she thought of the girl she had once been. There was once a girl full of joy and imagination and notions and romance. She loved fairy tales and high tales of romance. The thought saddened her, and she whispered, “I wonder where that girl is now.”
Albert Givins, the coachman, pulled the landau up in front of the imposing mansion. It was indeed a spectacular home; it had once belonged to John Churchill, who later became the Duke of Wellington. The duke had moved to Blenhim, the most ornate and fabulous private home in all of England, and Sir Osric Wallace now resided in his mansion.
As Givins handed her down, Serafina thought about her host.Wallace had been a poor boy who made a fortune in coal mining. He had recently returned from America, where he had studied their coal mining methods. He had also carefully given large sums of money to the crown, for which Queen Victoria had knighted him as Sir Osric Wallace.
“It will be a rather long wait for you, Givins.”
“That’s all right, ma’am. Don’t trouble yourself about that.”
“If you go around to the kitchen, I’ll have them fix you a nice supper.”
“That’s kind of you, ma’am. Indeed, it is.”
The door was opened by a fine-looking footman, and Serafina was greeted at once by Lady Wallace, a dumpy, rather homely, but cheerful woman. She reminded Serafina of her own mother.
“Come into the reception room, my dear. You are the last to arrive.”
“I didn’t mean to be late.”
“Oh, you’re not late. It will be rather an odd affair. Just three of us women and the rest gentlemen.”
Serafina wanted to say, That’s the way I like it, but she merely said, “I’m sure it will be an enjoyable evening.”
They passed down a hallway, the walls covered with paintings and sculptures of various kinds on shelves. They passed into a large open room with an interesting mixture of styles. On one side sat an old Chinese silk screen that had once been of great beauty but was now faded. Still, it held an elegance that gave the room charm and a comfortable grace. There was a Russian samovar on a side table, Venetian glass in a cabinet, a French ormolu clock on the mantel shelf above the fireplace, and a late Georgian mahogany table of total simplicity and cleanness of line that, to Serafina, was the loveliest thing in the room. Lady Wallace said, “Our last guest has arrived, the Viscountess Serafina Trent. Viscountess, let me introduce you to our guests. This, of course, is Mr. Charles Dickens.”
Dickens stepped forward, a rather short man with a neatly trimmed beard, observant eyes, and a friendly demeanor. He smiled, took Serafina’s hand, and bent over and kissed it. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Viscountess.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dickens. Might I say how much I enjoyed your book on the rulers of England.”
“Very kind of you to say so.Which of my novels have you read?”
“Oh, I never read fiction.”
A silence fell on the room, and Dickens seemed stunned. “And why not, may I ask?”
“I prefer reality to make-believe.”
“That must cut you off from a great deal of pleasure. I find the world of art and literature invigorates me and amplifies reality.”
“I’m sure it does for many people. Your success as a writer proves that. It’s just that my father educated me to be a scientific thinker, and I find it difficult to move in other realms. But I congratulate you on the success of your latest book, David Copperfield. Everyone is talking about it.”
“I wish you would try it, Lady Trent. I’ll send you a copy.”
“So kind of you, Mr. Dickens.”
“And this is Mr. John Ruskin. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”
Ruskin was a man of medium height with mild blue eyes and an air of attentiveness.He kissed Serafina’s hand and then said, “I’m very happy to meet you, Lady Trent.”
“I must confess I haven’t read your book, Mr. Ruskin. I have so many scientific books to read, I have little time for other areas.”
“I assure you, you wouldn’t like it.” The speaker was a sma
ll man with quick black eyes and black hair to match.
“This is Mr. Clarence Morton, the reporter for the London News,” Sir Osric Wallace explained.
“Why is it you think, sir, that I wouldn’t like Mr. Ruskin’s book?”
“Because he likes the old and hates the new, and I think you are just the opposite.”
“I don’t hate the new,” Ruskin said quickly. “I just think it’s ugly.”
“You see, Viscountess? You like new inventions. Mr. Ruskin thinks that the older art was better because it was all done by hand. For example, he thinks the gargoyles on the Cathedral of Notre Dame are better because they were done by individual artists. Nowadays a factory would turn them out, and they would be exactly alike.”
“And they would not be art,” Ruskin said, his eyes glowing with something like anger.
Serafina stared at the man. “I see no value in badly made artifacts.”
Ruskin was displeased. “It’s your privilege to think so, madam. I see art as a product of the human imagination, not the result of a machine.”
“I’m afraid we will never agree, Mr. Ruskin. I believe in intellect and the machine.”
Sir Osric was disturbed at the conflict and said quickly, “This is Lord Milburn, a leader in the House of Lords.”
“I’m glad to meet you, Lord Milburn.”
“And I you, Lady Trent.”
“I’ve been reading about the Indian mutiny.”
“Ah, yes, it’s a sad thing.”
The papers had been full of the news of the Indian mutiny.Many of the native troops had rebelled against their British masters, and all of England was buzzing with ideas about what should be done.
“It seems to me, if what I read is true,” Serafina said, “that the solution should be fairly simple.”
“Politics are never simple,” Lord Milburn said rather stiffly.
“In this case I must disagree. If I understand it correctly, the trouble began over the cartridges for the new infield rifle.”
Lord Milburn stared at her. “That is true.”
The Mermaid in the Basement Page 3