“Inspector Grant, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. Can I get you a carriage?”
“No, thank you, Inspector. I’m just waiting until the rain slackens a little bit. My carriage is just down the street.”
“Well, you don’t need to sit here. That rain might be coming down for quite a while.” The impulse grew stronger in Grant, and he said, “Come along.”
“Where?” Dora asked, giving him a startled look.
“To a room where you can have a little more privacy.”
Dora rose and followed him as he walked through a door and down a hallway. He opened another door and said, “Come in,Miss Newton.”
Dora entered and saw that it was a rather well-furnished room with tables, chairs, and best of all, a kettle on a gas fire.
“We sometimes take a little refreshment in here when we need to talk to one of the inmates. Look, let me make you some tea.”
Dora whispered, “Thank you.”
Grant made the tea with quick, efficient movements. He poured it into the kettle to steep, got two cups from the shelf on the wall, and said, “There. I’m not much of a cook, but I suppose anybody can make tea.”
Dora said nothing. She was intimidated by Grant, and he knew it. It was something he was used to. Part of his job was to intimidate people, and he did it very well. He wondered now at himself as he looked at the young woman. He was not known for his softness, but he saw something in the young woman that stirred an old memory of some kind. He could not put his finger on it, but he had seen a young woman like this somewhere who had touched his heart. He tried to think of it, and finally it came to him. She had been a young girl, no older than Dora Newton, whose mother had committed suicide. Grant had been there to investigate, and the helplessness of the girl had touched even his hard spirit, and he had done his best to comfort her.
The tea was ready, and he poured it, saying, “How is your brother, Miss Newton?”
She took the cup and held it, and when she looked at him, he saw the sorrow and the grief that had marred her smooth features. Her dress was simple, well chosen, and he could not help but note the clean-running physical lines of the young woman. She seemed as thoroughly alone as if there were no other being alive on the planet. He had often seen this on the faces of those who came to visit family members sealed up in this prison.He studied her face as she drank her tea. He had noted before that she had a quality he could not name. It had something to do with the gravity that comes when someone has seen too much or has been given too much to bear—a shadow of a hidden sadness. There was a fragility about Dora Newton that pulled at Grant.Hardened as he was to most things, from time to time, he felt a love for fragile, beautiful things that he never spoke of to anyone.He had a few ceramics that he took out and examined from time to time, and this young woman had some of the same grace and beauty.
Dora lifted her eyes and whispered, “He’s very well, thank you, Inspector.”
“I know you and your family are worried about him, Miss Newton.” He hesitated and tried to think of something to comfort her, but the man they had in the cell would soon be on trial for his life. A man, Grant knew, who had little chance of hearing a good verdict.
“Do you think there’s any chance my brother will be found innocent?”
Grant ordinarily would have blurted out a resounding “Of course not,” but he found he could not do that with this young woman. His mind raced as he tried to think of an appropriate reply that might give some comfort, and finally he said, with as much as force as he could muster, “I’ve seen men who came out well in situations like this.”This was not altogether true, but Grant had seen a few instances. Grant found himself wishing that this would be one of them.
The two sat there quietly, and he inquired after her family. She was surprised at his interest, surprised indeed that he had stopped to talk to her and that he had shown a kindness. It did not show in his rugged features or in the determined quality of his eyes or the tightness of his mouth. The kindness caught her off guard, and she found herself warming to him. Finally she looked out the window and said, “I think it’s slackened now.”
“Yes, it has. I’ll take you to your carriage.” The two went out, and as they did, he picked up an umbrella from a stand. He opened the door, and when she stepped out, he opened the umbrella and put it over her.
“Which way is your carriage?”
“That’s it down there.”
The two moved out into the rain. It had almost stopped, but it was still enough to ruin Dora’s hat, so Grant kept the umbrella over her in a protective gesture. As they moved, he was aware that she was touching him, leaning against him slightly as if for protection. In another kind of woman he would have taken this as an invitation, but one glance at her face, and he knew that she was totally unconscious of the touch. She was the kind of woman Grant did not see often, and he knew that to her he was like an exotic specimen found in a museum.When they reached the carriage, he opened the door, and the coachman looked down. “Are you all right,Miss Dora?”
“Yes, thank you, Albert.”
Grant helped her into the coach and then closed the door. Suddenly she turned and held her hand out, whispering, “Thank you so much, Inspector Grant.” He had one hand free, and as he reached out awkwardly, he felt the fineness of her bones and the grace of her hand. For one moment he had the absurd impulse to bend over and kiss it. He had never done such a thing in his life, and he was stunned at his own thoughts. “Good day,Miss Newton.”
He felt her squeeze his hand slightly, and when he looked at her, he saw that there was a tiny smile on her face. He nodded to the coachman, and the coach moved away. Inspector Matthew Grant watched it go. He had a low opinion of the aristocracy, but Dora Newton had shaken some of his preconceived and firmly rooted ideas of how selfish they all were.He shook his head, then turned and walked quickly away in the gentle rain.
Dylan’s performance had been poor that evening. He’d missed two cues, and his speeches lacked fire. Laertes, the role he played, was all fire, and when that was left out, he knew the performance was wooden and artificial.
As the cast took their bows, his mind was elsewhere. He ran his eyes down the members of the cast and could not get away from the fact that any one of them could have killed Kate Fairfield. It was a sobering and depressing thought. He had never been intimately close to any of them, but had considered them as benevolently as he could.
Finally he turned and walked away, and he was joined by Ashley Hamilton. “Well, Tremayne, thank you very much.”
“What for, Ashley?”
“For not showing me up in the play.What’s wrong with you?”
Dylan shook his head. “An ‘off ’ night, I suppose.”
“Must be that viscountess that’s got you on the ropes.Well, good for her.” Ashley was feeling good because he had performed well, and the bulk of the applause and the accolades had been for him. “Good for you. Marry her, and you’ll be set for life.”
“I just want to help her, Ash.”
“Fine.”Ashley grinned broadly. “She’ll be so grateful she’ll marry you. Then you can spend your life helping her—and spending her money, of course.”He shook his head in mock sadness. “I wish I had a rich viscount-ess to set me up!”He laughed and turned away.Dylan watched him go and thought, He’s too lightweight to be a murderer, I think.
Dylan stepped out the door still thinking about Clive, as he usually was these days. He found Elise exiting her dressing room. She came over and took his arm. She had done well, as she did every night, and now she said, “Come along.We’ll get something to eat.”
Dylan did not want to go, but he was hungry and wanted to be gracious. “Right, you,” he said. “Where shall we go?”
She named a restaurant, and thirty minutes later the two were sitting before a sumptuous repast at one of the better restaurants that kept its doors open late, mostly for the theatre crowd.
Elise had several drinks before the meal a
nd continued to drink in a way that caught Dylan’s attention. He knew she drank, of course, but there seemed to be something driving her toward oblivion.
Her speech grew slurred, and she could not handle her fork very well. “I’m lucky to have this role, Dylan.”
“You’re doing very well in it, Elise.”
She looked at him with an expression he could not interpret. “I hate to tell you this, but I didn’t grieve over Kate’s death. I couldn’t! I didn’t like her, but then no woman ever did.” She picked up her glass, drained the contents, and waved for another. She waited until the waiter had filled it, then said, “Her death was good for me, Dylan, but I didn’t kill her.”
“I’m sure you didn’t, Elise.”
“The police aren’t so sure. They keep questioning me.”
For some time Elise drank steadily, and finally she said, “Take me home.”
Dylan had to support her on the way out. He found a cab, and she was so drunk that he had to almost pick her up to get her inside. He gave the address to the cabby and saw that she was slumped over, half drunk at least.
When they got to her house, an old brownstone used by many of the theatrical people, he had to support her again. He paid the cabby and helped her to the door. She was talking under her breath, and finally she simply collapsed, unable to walk. Dylan searched in her purse, found the key, opened the door, and then gave up on supporting her. He simply swept her into his arms and walked in. He had never been in her house before, but he found the bedroom with no trouble.Her eyes opened as he put her down on the bed. “I need ’nother drink . . .”
“No, you don’t, Elise. You’ve had too much. Here, lie down and go to sleep. You’ll be all right tomorrow.”
But Elise was staring at him, trying to pull herself together. “I know . . . who killed Kate.”
A thrill ran along Dylan’s nerves. Perhaps this was the key they had been looking for. Keeping his voice normal, he said, “Who was it, Elise?”
“Sir William, that’s who did it!”
“How do you know that?”
“He told the police he went home after the performance.”Her speech was so slurred that Dylan had trouble making out the words.“But he lied, Dylan. He lied! He came here. He wanted to make love to me, and I told him no. He swore he was through with Kate. He told me she was doing something he wouldn’t put up with.”
“What was that?”
“He wouldn’t say.We were both drinking, and when he left here . . . you know what he said?”
“What was it, Elise?”
“He said, ‘She won’t get away with it. I’ll kill her first!’”
The words seemed to ring in the silence of the room, and Elise suddenly grew limp. Dylan threw a cover over her and left the house, but he could not get away from the words. A threat to kill, he thought. It may be what we’re looking for!
FIFTEEN
You missed,Mum!” David’s eyes danced as he looked across the table at Serafina. “I beat you again!”
“Yes, you did, David. You’re very good.” Serafina leaned back in her chair and watched as David picked up the ball and a cue.He loved to play bagatelle, and he hit the green ball, sending it skipping along the table. There were nine holes, each one having a different value, and the object of the game was to knock the balls in with a small cue.As David chattered away, banging at the balls, missing some and sinking one now and then, she looked around the nursery and felt a sense of the passage of time.
This room had been the refuge of the Trent children for many years. It was like a world apart from reality.Wide curtains framed the windows, and sunlight caught the walls, highlighting faded patches and a rim of dust on the tops of pictures. Generations of young members of the Trent family were captured in paintings and drawings—little girls in crisp pinafores, two boys in sailor suits. Her eyes fell on one young boy. The artist had caught the gaze of a boy whose mouth showed a hint of an inner smile. She recognised the touch of auburn in his hair, and as she stared at the picture, time seemed to roll backward. In her imagination she saw that boy grow up into the man she had married.
Serafina quickly turned her eyes away, shutting them for a moment, then opened them. She glanced across the room at the dappled rocking horse by the window, its bridle broken and its saddle worn. There was a frilled ottoman in patched pink, and dolls that generations of girls bearing the Trent name had no doubt played with. Over on another table was a massive collection of tin soldiers that Serafina had spent many hours lining up while playing with David. They were now in orderly ranks, as David preferred. Next to the tin soldiers, on a shelf, were coloured bricks, and over to her left a dollhouse that opened up. On another shelf were two music boxes and a kaleidoscope.
From the open window the sound of men working on the lawn floated in to her. One of them had a rich cockney accent so thick she could barely understand him. The other was Peter Grimes, their footman, whose voice she recognised instantly. “It’s your turn, Mum. I missed.”
“You missed several times.” Serafina smiled. She bent over the table and deliberately missed, at which David crowed, “You missed, Mum! I win again!”
“Yes, you do, Son. You’re very good at this.”
David gave her a smile, and she recognised in his features her own. He had the same facial structure, similar strawberry blonde hair, and his eyes were shaped like hers, though they were a deep dark blue instead of the violet tint of her own.
“What toys did you play with when you were a girl,Mum?”
“Oh, I loved dolls like all other girls when I was very small.”
“Are any of them in here?”
“No, I didn’t keep them.”
“I wish I could have seen them. Don’t you have any toys that you played with?”
“I’m afraid not. I wish I’d kept them, but I didn’t.”
David accepted this, then turned and went over to a chest and opened the top drawer. This was his “treasure chest.” Serafina knew he kept all sorts of objects in there, and once she had found a live tortoise and had to admonish him that he couldn’t keep living things in there. She watched as he picked something out and came back. “Look, I found this when Danny and I were digging for fish worms.”
Serafina reached out and took the object. It was an ancient horseshoe that had evidently been in the earth for a long time. It had rusted down until it had lost its heft, and as she handled it, David said, “Danny said it would bring good luck. Do you think it will?”
“Mostly, Son, people make their own luck.”
“I thought—” David hesitated, then broke off his speech.
“You thought what, Son?”
“I thought it might get Uncle Clive out of jail.”
He bit his lower lip, a familiar gesture when he was troubled, and Serafina said, “You mustn’t worry about your Uncle Clive.”
“But,Mum, I heard Albert say that he could be hanged. He won’t be, will he,Mum?”
Serafina’s mind raced quickly. She tried to reassure him that there was every reason to hope that Clive would be found innocent. She watched his youthful face and saw that something was being formed in his mind. He had a mind different from hers, imaginative, quick to grasp at anything strange or unusual. Serafina remembered vaguely that she had had this kind of mind, though her father had managed to remove most of that sort of thinking.
“Dylan told me when he was a boy that there was an accident in the mine. He said it caved in, and some of the miners were trapped. His father was there.”
“Is that right? What happened?”
“He said he prayed, and the men got out.”David hesitated, then said, “Can’t we do that, Mum?”
Serafina was seldom at a loss for words. She had seen this side of David years ago, when he was barely a toddler; he liked stories of the wonderful, and she had avoided giving him such things. She was not able to answer him, and now put him off and said, “Let’s play another game of bagatelle.”
“All right,M
um.”
She allowed him to beat her again and then said, “I’ve got to go now. I have an errand to run. Give me a hug.”
David was very responsive to such things. He threw his arms around her neck and buried his face against her. “You’re the bestest mum in the whole world!”
His words touched Serafina deeply, and she said huskily, “I’m the bestest mum, and you’re the bestest boy. Now I’ve got to go . . .”
As soon as Albert handed her out of the carriage, Serafina saw Sir Leo Roth waiting for her. He was standing in front of the prison to the left of the entrance, and he came toward her. “Good morning, Viscountess.”He was wearing a velvet frock coat, a white linen shirt, a complicated black cravat with a small diamond stud, a pair of black britches pressed with a knife-edge crease, and black boots that reflected almost like a mirror. His fair hair was groomed carefully, and his classical face was sharply delineated by the bright morning sunshine.
“Good morning, Sir Leo. I’m a little late.”
“That’s the prerogative of a woman, isn’t it?” He smiled at her, took the basket of food she had brought, then offered his free arm.
As they mounted the steps, she asked, “Have you been able to make any progress on a defense?”
Sir Leo opened the door, but before she went in, he said quietly, “Not a great deal.” Something was on his mind, and he hesitated, then said gently, “Try not to hope too much, Viscountess. The odds are against us.”
The Mermaid in the Basement Page 21