“What would it be doing back there? Here, let me move this chest out.” Grant gave a tug, and the heavy chest shifted enough for Superintendent Winters to pull out a garment. “It’s a handkerchief,” he said.
Grant leaned forward and took a short breath. “It’s got blood all over it, sir. He wasn’t very careful, was he?”
“We don’t know that it’s his.”
“Why, of course we do, Superintendent. It’s in his room. I just don’t know why a man would be so careless as to leave a bloodstained handkerchief to be found.”
Winters stood there holding the handkerchief. “It seems we have little choice.”
“Well, we have more than feelings here, don’t we, Superintendent?”
Winters nodded slowly. “I believe we do, Grant. I’m sorry for the family.”
Grant shrugged. “There’s always a family who gets hurt. Every criminal has some family who has to suffer.”
“I suppose you’re right.” He gave the room a regretful look, then sighed deeply. “Well, Grant, let’s go give the family the bad news.” He stood still for a moment, then gave Grant a strange look. “I hate this part of our job.”
“It’s never easy, sir.” The two went downstairs, and as soon as they entered the room, Clive stood to his feet. “Is this yours, sir?”Grant asked, holding up the bloodstained handkerchief.
“I—I never saw that handkerchief!”
“It has blood all over it,” Superintendent Winters said quietly. “How do you account for that?”
Clive shook his head. “I don’t know. I—I think I had a nosebleed.”
“Well, why did you hide it behind the chest in your room?”
“I don’t know. I was drunk when I got in. I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“We also found this in your room, hidden behind a drawer in your armoire,” Grant said. He held up the leather bag, opened it, and poured out some of the jewels. “You recognise these?”
“No,” Clive gasped, “I don’t!”
“They were in your armoire,” Grant said relentlessly.
“I’m afraid they’re the jewels that were stolen from Miss Fairfield’s apartment,”Winters said.
Suddenly Septimus said, “Wait, let me see that.”
“See what, sir?”
“Those jewels. Let me see them.”
Grant looked at Winters, who shrugged and nodded. Grant poured out the jewels on top of the library table, and at once Septimus reached out and said, “This is my wife’s ring.”
“Your wife’s ring? Are you certain, Mr. Newton?”Winters said.
“Yes, it’s a family heirloom.”
“How do you account for that, Mr. Newton?”Winters asked Clive.
“I gave that ring to Miss Fairfield as a gift.”
“It was your personal possession?” Grant demanded.
“Actually, it belonged to the family.”
“Did you give permission for your son to give this ring to Kate Fairfield, sir?” Winters put the question to Septimus, but he knew the answer before the older man spoke.
Septimus hesitated but answered truthfully, “I’m afraid not.”
“So you stole the ring and gave it to Miss Fairfield?” Grant spoke harshly.
Everyone in the room saw the guilt on Clive’s face. He tried to speak, and his voice was unsteady when he replied, “All right, I took the ring—but I didn’t kill her.”
“We have many witnesses who will testify that you demanded the ring back.When she refused to give it to you, you made threats. You said you’d kill her if she refused to give the ring back.”
Clive’s face was pale, and his hands trembled as he said, “I was drinking—but I didn’t kill her.”
Serafina went to Clive and put her arms around him. He was the picture of a guilty man, and the evidence was overwhelming—but she was a loyal woman. Clive had accused her of having no feelings, but he’d been wrong about that. As she held him, a well of compassion opened up, and she whispered, “Clive, it will be all right.”
Septimus came then and put his hands on his son’s shoulders. His voice was thin and filled with uncertainty as he said, “Of course it will be all right, Son.”
Silence fell across the room, and finally Superintendent Winters took a deep breath. Regret touched his voice and was in his face as he said, “Clive Newton, I place you under arrest. The charge is suspicion of murder.” Winters turned and faced Serafina. “I’m sorry,Viscountess.”His eyes went to Septimus, who seemed stricken dumb. “I’m sorry, indeed, Mr. Newton.”
“I didn’t do it!” Clive whispered. “I swear I didn’t do it!”
“You’ll have a chance to prove that,” Grant said. “Take him away, Sergeant Kenzie.”
Kenzie came to stand beside Clive.As he did, however, Serafina reached up and put her hands on Clive’s cheeks. “I know you didn’t do it, Clive.”
“I didn’t, Serafina. I swear! I’ve done a lot of things wrong, but I did not kill anyone.”
“You’ll have to go with them,” Serafina whispered, “but I promise you I’ll find the real murderer. I’ll find the one who killed that woman.”
Kenzie held pressure on to Clive’s arm firmly as Clive stumbled out the door.
Grant followed, but Superintendent Winters stopped and turned to face them. “I regret very much that this has come to you, Mr. Newton. Viscountess, I have heard your reputation of being a woman of great determination. I’ve even heard the story about how you solved the robbery at Sir Osric Wallace’s house, but I strongly advise you not to get involved with police business.”
Serafina raised her head, and her eyes flashed. “And I promise you, Superintendent, I’m going to do everything I can to bring the real murderer to justice.”
Winters shook his head but said no more. He turned and left the room, and Serafina turned at once to her father. “We’ve got to tell the family. Shall you do it?”
“Yes, it’s my responsibility. I—I didn’t raise the boy right, Serafina.”
“You can’t blame yourself, Father.”
“Do you believe he’s innocent?”
“He has to be,” Serafina whispered. “He just has to be!”
SIX
Dread crawled along Clive’s nerves as he sat in the darkness. The cell into which he had been thrust was no more than ten feet square. He had never been fettered in any way, and with each passing moment, the room seemed more and more like a square coffin. He had paced the rough stone floor for what seemed like hours, and time seemed to move slower than on the outside. Clive stopped, looked about the room wildly, and felt fear clawing at him like a live thing. The walls, made of uneven bricks, radiated a nigrescent gloom, illuminated only by a stub of a candle with less than an inch left. The pale flickering light did not even lighten the ceiling, which was some ten feet high.
Clive leaned against the rough wall and tried to stop the trembling in his limbs. The cell was bare except for a single cot with a fetid straw pallet and a single worn grey blanket. On one side was a wooden bench with a hole in it that obviously served the calls of nature. Beside the cot was a pitcher that held tepid water. The whole cell was rank, and Clive, who had always been hypersensitive to bad odors, had been almost overcome during his first hours there. The bucket that held waste had obviously not been emptied, and the cell was clammy with dampness and mold. Clive suddenly stepped up on the cot. It sagged under his feet, but he was able to reach the solid steel bars on the single window no more than eighteen inches square. A tiny breath of fresh air came to him, and he inhaled deeply.
Clive hung on to the bars, listening for some sound, but only muffled echoes came through the thick walls.He had put his ear to the single door in the room, but through the thick solid oak he had heard only the cadence of footsteps and nothing more.
Clive had eaten nothing since the previous day and was so weak that his legs trembled. As he tried to step off the cot, it tipped over and threw him on the floor. He fell backward and struck the back
of his head on the hard stone. The world seemed to explode in a display of yellow, red, and green spots that flashed before his eyes. Groaning, he rolled over, straightened the cot, and sat down on it. He wanted to shout, to scream, to beat his hands against the door, but he had already done that, and it had served only to increase his fear. He had slept some in fitful snatches, and he had walked back and forth. The candle had burned down at least two inches, but that gave him no hint of how long he had been encapsuled in the rank cell.
He sat there with his head in his hands, his eyes shut, and a wild concatenation of thoughts raced through him. This is only a dream—I’ll wake up, and I’ll be back in my bed at home. But the rank odors, the feel of the worn blanket, and the dead silence of the cell were reminders of reality.
He sat very still and wondered when his parents would come.He had been thrust into the cell without a word, although he had tried to ask the jailer when he could see visitors. The jailer had simply grunted, thrust him inside, and slammed the door, bolting it with a resounding clang.
Time seemed to crawl, and Clive forced himself to be still. He lay down and pulled the blanket over him. It was rough to the touch and stank of sweat and things even worse. Finally he heard a faint sound, and then the clang of the bolt outside. Eagerly he threw the blanket aside and stood to his feet. The door opened, and he was blinded by even the feeble light. “Bang on the door when you want out, sir.”
“Thank you.”
Clive blinked and stared at the man who had entered, then he whispered hoarsely, “Dylan, it’s you!”
“Yes, Clive.” Dylan came forward and put his arm around Clive’s shoulder. Clive had never been one for giving or receiving this kind of salute from his male friends, but the strong form of Dylan Tremayne was all that was real in his world. “Dylan, I’m—I’m glad you came. I’m losing my mind!”
“I don’t doubt it. It’s an awful place, this. I’ve been in a jail or two myself, and this is about as bad as any. Maybe your parents can use their influence to get you a better place.”
“You’ve got to talk to them, Dylan. I’ve got to get out of this place. I’m losing my mind!”
Dylan said, “Of course I will. As soon as I leave here, I’ll go to them. I’m sure they can do something.”
“It’s all a terrible mistake. I didn’t kill Kate! I swear I didn’t!”
“I want you to tell me everything that you can remember about what happened after you left the theatre. Everything, Clive. Don’t leave anything out.”
Clive felt so weak he couldn’t stand. “I’ve got to sit down,” he gasped. He sat on the cot, and Dylan sat down beside him, keeping his arm on the young man’s shoulder. “It’s all like a bad dream. I was so drunk. I was drunk when I got to the theatre, and when I left there I went into a public house. I think the White Elephant was the name of it, but I’m not even sure about that. The White something.”
“How long did you stay there?”
“I don’t know. I stayed there until I was pretty drunk, then I got up, left there. All I could think of was what Kate had done to me. How she had led me on and made a fool out of me.”
“Where did you go next?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I just walked and walked. I thought I’d sober up and go find her again. That was the crazy thought that was in my mind.”
“Did you go to her house?”
“No, I didn’t. I’m sure of that.” Suddenly he looked at Dylan and said, “Do you think I killed her, Dylan?”
Dylan hesitated. “I’ll tell you this, Clive. I don’t think you have it in you to murder a woman, but even if you did, it’s your friend I am.” The words came as a welcome relief to Clive. He felt the tears run down his cheeks and whispered, “I haven’t cried since I was six years old.”
“It’s not wrong to cry. I do it myself sometimes.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Then you don’t know me.Welshmen are pretty emotional, see? We laugh and we cry quite a bit. Now what about this woman? Do you remember anything about the district?”
“I walked a long time. I think it was Seven Dials, but I’m not sure. I do remember passing a public house with some kind of a bird out on the sign. I don’t know whether it was a hawk or an eagle. It was a badly painted sign, but it was right about there I was so drunk I couldn’t see straight and this woman came out and—I know it sounds crazy, Dylan, but I thought if I went with her it would somehow get me even with Kate.
Stupid, isn’t it?”
“We all do stupid things. This is very important. I’ve got to find that woman. She’s got to testify that you spent the night with her.”
“I wasn’t there all night.”
“Where did you go with her?”
“She had rooms. They were upstairs somewhere. She had more whiskey, and I drank it. I was about to pass out, but I found her going through my clothes, taking the money I had.”
“What did you do then?”
“I hit out at her, and she came at me with her claws out. That’s where I got my face all clawed up. The police didn’t believe me, but that’s the way it was.”
“All right, Clive. Now tell me everything you can remember about this woman.”
Clive was silent. He shut his eyes, and his face twisted in a grimace.
“It’s like trying to go back into a nightmare. I remember she was tall, nearly as tall as me, and she was built strongly.”
“What colour was her hair?”
“It was—it was light-coloured hair, but I don’t know if it was dyed or not.”
“Can you remember anything about her face?”
“No. She wasn’t beautiful. I know that. I thought she was ugly at the time.”
“Was she wearing any jewellery?”
“She had on some kind of necklace. I remember it glittered in the gaslight, but I don’t know what it was. Probably some cheap jewellery.”
For some time Dylan persisted in his questioning, and finally he said, “I found out, Clive, that if you think on something long enough, your memory is like a deep well.You try to scoop something up on the surface, and it isn’t there because it’s sunk to the bottom. But it’s still there, my boy; it’s still there. You think on this, and maybe you can think of more details of where the woman’s room was, what was outside. Did you see anyone? Did you pass anybody? Or remember something that you saw in the room itself?”
“I don’t think I can remember.”
“You’ve probably not been trying to. You’ve probably been trying to forget, but that’s exactly what you must not do. I’m going to help you, Clive. I know that part of London pretty well, and I’m going to hunt for that woman. But I don’t have much to go on.”
“You can’t help me, Dylan. No one can help me.”
“The good God can help you,” Dylan said simply.
But Clive had been too strongly taught by his father and by his sister. “I don’t believe in God,” he said, bitterness in his voice.
“Well, He believes in you, and I believe in you, Brother. I’m going to leave now. I’ll go tell your parents to get you into a better place. I’m sure your father has some kind of influence.”
“I remember my mother’s a good friend of the superintendent that arrested me.His name is Winters.Maybe Mother can talk to Mrs.Winters and get her husband to get me a better place.”
“I have no doubt that will happen. Good-bye for now.”Dylan walked over and banged on the door and called out loudly. In a few moments the bar rattled. Dylan turned and said, “God hasn’t forgotten you, boy. Not one to forget, the Lord God. He’ll not see you perish.”
The door opened then, and Dylan passed through it. As it shut, Clive sank back onto the cot. He thought of what Dylan had said, and he gritted his teeth.He began going back over his murky memories, trying to remember some detail that would help.Dylan’s visit had brought a moment’s hope, but now in the gloom of the cell it seemed to be slowly fading.
Dylan left the prison and hail
ed a hansom cab.
“Where to, sir?”
“The east side. I’ll have to direct you when we get there. Drive as fast as you can.”
“That I will, sir.”
Dylan settled back, but his jaw was tense. He began to pray for guidance. His favourite Scripture had long been “Do any of you lack wisdom? Let him ask of God who giveth to all men liberally and upbraideth not.” He shook his head and thought,Well, Lord, it’s wisdom I need. Help me to help that poor fellow. He’s not one of Yours, Lord, not yet. But he’s badly in need of Your love and mercy. So use me as Your instrument to bring him out of that prison.
The household had been humming with the news. The servants, of course, knew more about the Newtons and the viscountess than anyone else. They sat in the kitchen eating the evening meal, and Albert Givins, the coachman, was holding forth. “I tell yer it’s a terrible thing when a man gets accused of murder.” He was a small Cockney with sandy hair and blue eyes, and when he ate he tasted nothing, as if he were storing food in his mouth for further use.
Mrs. Rachel Fielding, the housekeeper, shook her head. “It’s a sad thing, but he’s always been a wild young man.”
Danny Spears was eating the lamb that was set before him, hacking it into pieces with a knife and stuffing it into his mouth.“Aw, ’e ain’t killed nobody. ’E ain’t no murderer.”
“The police think he is.” James sat at the head of the table. He was in charge of the male servants while Mrs. Fielding was in charge of the maids. “You should have seen him when they took him away. He looked guilty if ever a man did.”
Nessa, the cook, sat next to Ellie, the tweeny housemaid. They made quite a contrast, Nessa large and fat and Ellie thin as a splinter. “I’ll never believe it of the young man.He’s got a good heart, he has, just a bit wild.”
Albert glared at James. No love was lost between the two, and Albert said, “You don’t know nuffin’ about it, Mr. Barden. The police make mistakes all the time.”
“This was Scotland Yard, not just the police, and they had all the evidence.”
“Wot kind of evidence?” Peter Grimes asked. He was a tall, handsome man, as footmen should be, with black hair and brown eyes, and sturdily built. “What did they say?”
The Mermaid in the Basement Page 7