“But not one of these.” Grant extracted another item from the envelope and handed it to Henley. He waited with his eyes fixed on the man’s face.
“What is it?” Jeanne demanded.
“One of our pictures we give to people.”
Dora got a glimpse of the picture, which featured Henley and Jeanne in costume. Across the face was written, “To our good friend Lady Acton.”
“Is this your handwriting, sir?”
“No, it is mine,” Jeanne said. “I sign all such publicity material.”
“Do either of you know the victim?”
“No, not at all!” Henley exclaimed. “Jeanne sells them after a performance. But she does not know the people who buy them. There are hundreds of them!”
“Is that so, Miss St. Clair?” Grant asked.
“I sign hundreds of these. Sometimes they ask me to use their name, to make it personal, and I do so. But I do not remember this name.”
Grant stared at the woman, then said, “You and two other women spoke to four women at a restaurant recently. One of them was Lady Acton.”
For the first time Jeanne St. Clair looked startled and made no answer.
“I know you were there, Miss St. Clair. I have witnesses.”
“Oh, I remember! But I didn’t know their names.” She seemed flustered and added, “We of the movement see many women. I can’t remember them all.”
Grant studied her, then said, “I will be asking you a few more questions, but that will be all for now.” He saw that questioning any further was useless. “I’m sorry to have bothered you, Mr. Henley.”
“Not at all. If we could be of any help.”
“Will you stay and see the performance?” Jeanne asked. She turned to Dora and smiled. “I think you would be charmed.”
“I would like to, if you have time, Matthew,” Dora said.
“Of course. Thank you very much for your time, monsieur, and you, Miss St. Clair.”
They did stay for a performance and admired the lithe form of Jeanne St. Clair twisting, balancing, and turning alongside other aerialists. “She must be very strong to flip and tumble through the air like that,” Dora remarked.
“Well, you are right. It takes fine athletes to do that.”
“Do you think either one of them was the Slasher?”
“I doubt it, but I don’t know what to think anymore. It is strange, though, that the young woman is a feminist. She doesn’t seem the type. Well, come along. Let’s go get something to eat.”
Meredith had persuaded Dylan to take her shopping. She was carrying Guin as the two were walking along the street. “How different this is from our little village, Dylan.”
“I liked the village better.”
“I don’t see how you could like it. You nearly worked yourself to death in that mine. And your father almost died in that cave-in.”
“No, I didn’t like the mine, but the village was nice.”
They turned the corner and saw Serafina and Septimus standing in the street and looking at a group that had gathered.
“Look, there’s Serafina and her father,” Dylan said. “Let’s see what’s going on.”
The two moved up, and Serafina started when he touched her arm. “Oh, Dylan, how are you?”
“Fine. Meredith is doing a little shopping. I carry the parcels. How are you, sir?”
Septimus smiled. “Fine, Tremayne. I’m off to a meeting—boring scientists, you know. Good to see you again.”
As they said good-bye to Septimus, Dylan noticed Serafina looking away from them. “What are you doing?”
“Martha Bingham is up there.”
“Do you know her?” Meredith asked.
“Yes, I’ve met her,” Dylan responded. “She didn’t like me much. Hard to believe, isn’t it?” He grinned in a way that set off tingling in women. “What’s she doing?”
“She’s giving a speech, trying to gain adherence to her cause,” Serafina said.
“Who is that young woman with her?” Dylan asked. “I’ve never seen her before.”
“I’m not sure.”
They found out later when Miss Bingham introduced her. “This, my friends, is Miss Jeanne St. Clair. She’s one of the most daring women of our time. She is an aerialist with Mr. Henley. Many of you have seen her at the circus.” Martha Bingham spoke loudly. “She has courage in the physical world, but what we need is women who have spiritual courage. Courage to stand up and demand the same rights as men have.”
They were listening to Martha Bingham speak when suddenly a woman approached.
“Hello, Serafina.”
“Why, Marchioness, it’s you!”
“Yes, I haven’t seen you in a while. How are you?”
“Well, thank you. This is my friend Dylan Tremayne, the actor. This is his friend Mrs. Brice. This is Marchioness Rachel Reis.”
“I have seen you, sir. You make an excellent Macbeth! Most Macbeths are either fat or scrawny, but you fill out a pair of tights quite well, I think.”
Serafina laughed suddenly. “That’s coming right out with it, Marchioness.”
Dylan grinned. He liked the woman. “Did you come to hear Miss Bingham? Maybe you’re one of her team.”
“I think it’s balderdash,” Rachel Reis said bluntly. “The woman is obviously unhinged.” She suddenly turned and called out in a strident voice, “Nonsense! Go home, woman, and do your cooking and washing!”
Martha Bingham stopped only for a moment. “I know you, Marchioness. You’re the enemy of all women everywhere. You would have all of us to be scrubbing some pots when we’re able to do anything a man can do!”
“How many children have you fathered?” Rachel Reis cried out, and a laughter went over the crowd.
“You should not make fun!” Jeanne St. Clair shouted back. “I know you’re royalty, and I’m only a circus performer, but I can do more than flip through the air. I can think, and I can be the equal of a man. Let a man do what I do before you judge.”
Rachel Reis had a sharp mind, and she carried on a rather vicious attack on the women who had come to promote their cause. Finally she said, “This grows tiresome. Where are you going, Dylan?”
“We’re going to a religious meeting.”
“Fine. I’ll go with you.”
“But you’re Jewish, aren’t you, Lady Reis?” Dylan said.
“By blood, but I have no religion at all. Not even Jewish. But I’m always ready for a new experience, so lead on. Serafina, you’ll come with us?” Lady Reis did not wait for a response.
The meeting at Lorenzo’s was quite usual, but Lady Reis found it amusing. She listened to Lorenzo’s sermon and said to him afterward, “I like a man who believes what he says. You’re totally wrong, of course, but you believe it. That is your right and your privilege.”
“Thank you, ma’am, indeed. I trust that you are washed in the blood of the Lamb.”
Rachel Reis blinked. She was not accustomed to being broad-sided. “No, indeed, I am not! I have no religion whatsoever.”
“Oh, come now, Lady. Everyone has something they look up to.”
“I look up to myself.”
“Then that’s your religion. You worship yourself.” Gyp smiled. He made a colourful picture there with his scarlet head cloth, a gold ring in one ear, and his flashing white teeth.
Lady Reis suddenly was amused. “Gypsy, tell my fortune.”
Gyp took her hand and looked at the palm. “Well, what do you see?” she demanded.
“I see a hand that one day will lie in a casket, cold and still.”
Lady Reis flushed and drew her hand back. “That’s the worst fortune I’ve ever had told.”
“And the truest probably,” Gyp said. “I’m sorry if I offended you, Lady.”
They left soon after that, and Serafina spoke earnestly to Dylan. “I wish you’d come and spend some time with David. He misses you.”
“I will. Will this Sunday be all right? It’ll have to be in the afternoo
n, you understand.”
At that moment Lorenzo came to say, “Dylan, brother, come and help us pray for this sick man.”
“Excuse me, ladies.”
Dylan hurried off with Lorenzo, and Meredith came to stand next to Serafina. “I suppose you recognise this dress.”
“Why, it looks like one of mine.”
“It was one of yours. One that you gave to Lorenzo, and he gave me first choice at it. We’re about the same size.”
“You look very well. Better than I did in it.”
“Thank you. That’s kind.” Meredith was studying Serafina closely. “I’m surprised, Lady Trent, that you would let an actor get so close to your family.” Her eyes glinted, and she smiled. “Actors are low class in the eyes of nobility.”
“Not Dylan,” Serafina said.
“You like him, I see, very much.”
“We have been thrown together in some unusual circumstances. He was very instrumental in helping free my brother from an unjust charge. Naturally we grew to be friends after that.”
Meredith started to turn, but Serafina asked, “Do you miss your life in Wales?”
“Not at all. Life is hard there.”
“What about your family?”
“I have no family except one old aunt.”
Serafina continued to ask questions, and Meredith mentioned that she had seen the Prince of Wales the previous October. “He travels a great deal,” Serafina said.
“Yes, I suppose so.”
Dylan came out then, and Meredith said, “I have some things to do. Guin and I should go home now.”
“Yes, of course,” Dylan said. He turned to Serafina. “Sunday afternoon, Serafina?”
“Yes. David will be so happy to see you.” Serafina shifted her eyes to Meredith and asked, “Can I offer you a ride home?”
Meredith responded, “I can get a cab.” She then reached out and touched Dylan’s arm. There was something possessive in the gesture. “It was kind of you to take me shopping, but then, you’re always kind.” She turned and smiled at Serafina, then said, “It’s good to see you again, Lady Trent.”
After helping Meredith into a cab, Dylan returned to where Serafina stood and said, “That dress is one of yours, I believe.”
“Yes, I think it humiliated her.”
“Why, no, of course not. She was glad to get it.”
There was no point in carrying on that conversation. Serafina studied Dylan and listened to him talk about Meredith and Guin a few minutes more. She thought, Why, he’s besotted with the woman. Maybe there is something to this childhood sweetheart thing. But she couldn’t have seen the Prince of Wales in Ireland last October. I happen to know he was in France at the time. She filed this away and then put it out of her mind as she climbed into her coach.
“We will look forward to your visit on Sunday. David will be overjoyed to see you, Dylan. He has missed you a great deal.”
TEN
Dylan leaned back in his chair and beamed at Meredith. He was holding Guin in his lap, and he said, “This is a fine meal, Meredith. I didn’t know you were such a fine cook.”
“I used the money you gave me to buy something special,” Meredith said. She was wearing a china blue dress set off by white ribbons. Her hair was fixed in a way that made her very attractive—a French chignon—and the blackness of her hair set off the darkness of her eyes. “I like to cook.”
“What is this? I don’t recognise it.”
“That’s pickled tongue.” And lifting a cover she said, “You’re not going to believe this. It’s turtle soup. Usually very expensive, but I got a bargain.”
“I’ve never had turtle soup.”
“Take some. You’ll like it.”
Dylan balanced Guin on half his lap and shared his soup with her. “Doesn’t taste like anything I’ve had before,” he said, “but it’s very good.”
“Here. Try some of this.” She removed a cover from a deep dish and spooned out a liberal amount on his plate. “This is suet pudding. My mother taught me how to make it. Flour and suet, and the fat comes from around the kidneys and the groin.”
“It’s very good. Here, you sit down and eat, Meredith.”
Meredith sat down across from Dylan and smiled. “Don’t eat too much. I’ve got a special treat.”
“Something sweet?”
“You’ll have to wait and see. Here, I did get some small beer.” She knew that Dylan did not drink, but small beer had almost no alcoholic content, and he took it without protest. The two sat there eating, and as they did, Meredith studied Dylan inconspicuously. His coat was beautifully cut, hanging without a wrinkle, and he wore a soft silk shirt open at the neck. He doesn’t know how handsome he is, Meredith thought. That’s unusual in a man. She studied him carefully, and finally she said, “You ever think of old times, Dylan?”
“You mean when we were children?”
“Yes, some of it’s not too pleasant to remember. The mines, for example.”
“I think about the good times we had.”
Dylan took a bite of the fried sole that she had slipped onto his plate and grew thoughtful. Finally he smiled. “I remember those times. There weren’t enough of them, were there?”
“No. I suppose there never is.”
Finally she brought the dessert, which turned out to be something she called roly-poly pudding. It was jam and fruit rolled up into a sheet of pastry and cooked.
She smiled as Dylan ate two helpings and said, “You don’t eat right, I’m afraid.”
“No, most of the time we go out to eat after a performance, but by that time I’m usually not very hungry. Acting takes it out of me for some reason.”
“You’re a wonderful actor,” she said. “Everyone says you’re going to be the greatest actor in London.”
“No, that will never happen. You have to want it, Meredith, and I don’t really want it.”
“You don’t want to be famous and have all the money you can spend?” She smiled, and her dimple appeared in her right cheek, very faint but there. “Most people want that more than anything.”
“I suppose that’s true.” Dylan picked up the teacup and drained it, and at once she got up and filled it from the kettle. “This ought to be good,” she said. “I like green tea.”
“It’s my favourite too.”
Meredith sat down and said suddenly, “I’ve got to find work, Dylan.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary. You’ve got a place to stay here, and your and Guin’s food isn’t all that expensive.” He picked up a spoonful of the roly-poly pudding and extended it toward Guin. She opened her mouth and he pushed it in. “Just like a little bird, you are,” he said. “Here, have another.”
“I really can’t go on living off of you.”
“It’s no trouble to me.”
“It wouldn’t be right for me to do that.”
“We’ll talk about it later.”
“I’ve been reading some of the old papers. Are you still a suspect in that murder case?”
“No, that was all a mistake.”
“How could a mistake like that be made?”
“Well, the Slasher is pretty shrewd. He must take a whole bagful of odds and ends, and he scatters them all over the murder scene. Matthew says that there is no way to tell which is a real clue and which is just something to lead them off on a false scent.”
“The papers are already screaming for an arrest.”
“I expect they’ll continue to do that. Easy enough to scream, not so easy to catch a criminal as clever as this.”
She questioned him closely for a time, and finally he interrupted her by saying, “Tell me about how you and Lewis got together.”
The question seemed to trouble her. She lowered her eyes and said, “We were both poor as church mice, but we fell in love, and we married, and then we had Guin.”
“He was the best friend I had as a kid. I wish he were still here.”
“I miss him every day, and, of
course, Guin is too young to know about death.” She was quiet for a moment. Finally she said, “You know one of the things Lewis said to me just before he died?”
“What was it?”
“He said, ‘I want Guin to have a father.’ And then he said, ‘And I don’t want you to grieve over me. Find a man you love and who loves you, and make a home for little Guin.’”
She pulled a handkerchief from a pocket, wiped her eyes, and when she looked up at him, he said, “I’m sorry. There’s nothing one can say about things like this.”
“It’s not what you say. It’s the fact that you care enough to say it.” She reached over and put her hand over his. “So kind to me, to us, you’ve been, Dylan. If you believe that Lewis is in heaven, then maybe he’s looking down and sees how you are taking care of his wife and child.”
“I’ll do that. You can count on it.” He was very conscious of the pressure of her hand. She had beautifully sculptured hands, not scarred or roughened by hard work, and he wondered about that for an instant.
“I’ve got to find work.” Meredith hesitated. “Do you think there’s anything I can do along your line?”
“You mean the theatre? Why, I’m surprised you would even ask. It’s not a good life, Meredith.”
“I could do anything. Maybe I could work on the costumes.”
“Oh, for that matter you could be an actress.” He smiled and said, “You’ve got a lively expression. As a matter of fact, you’re probably better looking and better able to act than half the actresses onstage right now.”
“Oh, do you think I could do something like that? Would you help me, Dylan?”
Dylan rubbed his chin thoughtfully and ran his free hand over Guin’s hair. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Just let me try. I’ll work hard. You’ll see. I can’t go on living off of you. It isn’t right.”
Dylan was troubled by her request, but finally he said reluctantly, “I’ll ask around and see what can be done.” Her hand tightened on his, and he saw her eyes glow. Her lips were wide and expressive, and when she smiled it changed her whole expression. “Oh, Dylan, if I could just make a living for myself and Guin.”
He saw that she was looking at him intently. He got to his feet and said, “Well, I’ve got to go. We’ve got a rehearsal this afternoon.”
Sonnet to a Dead Contessa Page 11