Rachel Reis.
Serafina’s eyes flew open, and she made fists of her hands and slammed them on the table. Rachel Reis is Jewish. She and her husband, and the first line of this poem is spoken by a Jew, the merchant of Venice in Shakespeare’s play. The other two women have been women with titles, and Rachel Reis is a marchioness.
Suddenly everything seemed to come together. She thought of the marchioness at the church meeting at Lorenzo and Gyp’s house where she had laughed at religion. She remembered how she had mocked Martha Bingham at the outdoor meeting. She was a woman who seemed totally oblivious that she may be hurting other people.
Serafina suddenly rose to her feet, her jaw tight and her lips thin. I’ve got to go see her. It may be all in my own mind, but the woman deserves to know that there’s at least a possibility that she may be the next victim. She dashed out, went to her own room, and changed clothing. She left at once and found Albert Givins sitting on a bale of hay outside the stable.
“Albert, get the carriage ready.”
Albert Givins was startled. “Which carriage, ma’am?”
“The one we can travel the fastest in. And please send someone to call Matthew Grant—have him come at once to Marquis DeMain’s estate.”
“Be ready in minutes, Lady Trent.”
“I’ll wait right here.”
Serafina stood there, and as she did, Dora came out. “What’s going on, sister?”
“I’ve got an errand to run.”
“An errand? It’ll be dark soon.” Dora had a troubled look. “Where’re you going?”
“Oh, just something I need to do.” Serafina was reluctant to mention her errand or the nature of it. “I’ll be all right,” she said. “Tell Father and Mother I’ll be back a little bit late.”
Dora said, “I will,” but she stood there as if she wished to add something to that. She was still there when Givins drove up in the small carriage with two of their fastest teams. He started to jump down and help Serafina in, but she leapt into the carriage by herself and said, “Go on, Albert.”
“Where to, ma’am?”
“I’ll give you directions.”
For some reason Serafina did not want Dora to know where she was going. It may be a fool’s errand, she thought, and I won’t have to explain it if I don’t tell anyone. As soon as they were clear of the house and beyond the hearing of Dora, she said, “Do you know where the Marquis Jacob Reis lives?”
“Certain I do, ma’am,” he called over the sound of the horses’ hooves.
“Get there as quickly as you can.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Albert touched the matched bays with the whip, and they shot forward as if propelled out of a cannon.
“Shall I wait here, ma’am?”
“Yes, I think if you take the carriage around to the stables, it might be less noticeable.”
“I’ll do that, Lady Trent.”
Serafina watched as Albert drove the carriage up the curving driveway that led to the house. She turned and looked up at the magnificent home of the marquis. It was a huge house built of pale stone, classic Georgian in style. The massive front doors were flanked by dark pillars, and wrought iron balconies dotted the windows.
She was not interested in the house, however, but in the lady of the house. She started toward the front steps, conscious that darkness had already fallen as she had made her journey. She slowed to a walk and then tried to frame into a small speech what she would say to the marchioness. She won’t believe a word I say. She’s the most disbelieving person I’ve ever seen. The thought troubled Serafina, and she pondered lamely, trying to find an approach that might gain Lady Reis’s attention at least.
She started toward the house, and suddenly a sound caught her attention. She looked upward, and a pale sliver of a moon cast a thin silvery light over the scene, and a few pale stars shone. Again the sound, and she realised it was not coming from the front of the house but from the side. Without thinking why, she turned and ran lightly half the length of the house. She rounded the corner, and as she did she saw a dark shadow coming down from the balcony on the second floor. The person was coming her way, but then she saw the shadow drop and heard a thump. It’s him—the Slasher! The thought crashed through her mind, and without stopping to think what she could do, she ran forward, crying out, “Stop! Stop where you are!”
What happened next was so rapid she had no time to think. The shadowy figure, clothed in completely dark clothing with a hat pulled down over the features, whirled to face her in a lightning-like movement.
“Stop right where you are!” Serafina cried, but at that instant she caught the light of something bright and glittery. Her mind only had time to realise, not in words, but in a flash of thought: That’s a knife—and he’s going to stab me! Matthew, where are you?
She took a step backward, but the dark form shot toward her. The silvery knife flashed under the pale moon, and Serafina, even as she moved backward, felt a burning sensation across the top of her chest. She cried out, “Help! Help!” but the dark figure moved toward her again. She fell backward, and the face of her attacker was muffled, only a shapeless form, but she knew that the flash of the knife would be imprinted on her memory forever.
Suddenly a dog began barking, and the dark figure turned swiftly to face two bull terriers. He whirled and disappeared in the darkness so quickly that Serafina could not follow the movement. At the sight of the dogs, the figure had wheeled and dashed away, disappearing almost in a ghostly fashion.
“What’s this? Who’s there?”
“Over here,” Serafina called and answered the man’s voice.
Serafina got to her feet and found that she was trembling. She felt the front of her dress, which was sliced as keenly as if the knife had been a razor. She knew she had been cut, and suddenly the light of a lantern covered her. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“I’m Lady Trent, Vincent. You remember me?”
“Lady Trent! Of course I do.” Vincent had been the butler for the Reis household for some time. He came closer, held the lantern up, and then gasped, “Why, you’ve been hurt, Lady Trent!”
“I’m all right, but we must get to Lady Reis, Vincent. She’s in danger.”
“In danger of what?”
“Of murder, I’m afraid. Come quickly.”
Vincent whirled and rushed into the house. As soon as they were inside, he held the door for her and saw that her dress was sliced and she was bleeding. “Ma’am, you’re bleeding!”
“It’s not serious. Take me to the bedroom of the marchioness.”
“Yes, at once.” Vincent whirled, and he took the stairs two at a time with Serafina right behind him. He went quickly to the second door and started to knock, but Serafina pushed him aside. She opened the door and went in. She stopped dead still. There was a candle burning, and by the light of it she saw the woman lying on the bed. Marchioness Reis had been slashed, and she lay weltering in her own blood. Her throat had been cut, and her body had been terribly disfigured.
Serafina heard Vincent begin to gag, and she turned and pushed him outside the door. “I’m expecting Matthew Grant from Scotland Yard. Is he here yet? The marchioness has been murdered. Where’s her husband?”
“He’s asleep, I presume.”
“Perhaps you’d better go tell him that something has happened.”
“Yes, Lady Trent.”
As Vincent wheeled, ran down the hall, and disappeared inside another door, she looked down at herself and pulled the dress apart. The tip of the blade had made a narrow cut that was bleeding freely. She waited until Vincent came back, his face pale. “The master is speaking with someone. He’ll be here as soon as he can.”
“I need some clean cloth and some antiseptic, Vincent.”
“Come. We’ll go downstairs. The master is getting dressed.” She followed Vincent downstairs, and his wife, a tall, round-faced woman, gasped when she saw Serafina.
“Lady Trent has had an accident. She nee
ds some bandages and some antiseptic.”
“I’ll take care of that,” his wife said. Her name was Jane, and she proved to be quite steady under fire. As Vincent left to get the coachman and the carriage ready to send for Matthew, Jane, the housekeeper, treated the cut carefully. “It’s not very bad. I don’t think it needs stitches. How did it happen?”
“The murderer, I met him outside.”
“The murderer!”
“The one they call the Slasher.”
She saw Jane’s face go pale. “The mistress. Is she—”
Serafina shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
She stood there looking at the shallow cut in her chest and thinking if the dog had not come when he did, the Slasher would have done to her what he had done to Lady Reis.
As she stood there, she thought about God for the first time in a very direct and intimate way. God had always seemed a vague and shadowy figure to her, but now as she looked down at the blood seeping onto her breast, she thought, Did God bring help to save me? Somehow the idea of God caring enough about her to save her life gave her a warm feeling, and she found herself wanting to give thanks to the God she’d ignored for most of her life.
THIRTEEN
Grant and Kenzie almost fell out of the carriage before it stopped rolling in front of the Reis mansion. “Watch out, sir, you might break a leg! That won’t help anything,” Sergeant Kenzie warned sharply.
Ignoring the sergeant’s words, Grant dashed toward the steps leading up to the massive front door of the house. He took the steps two at a time and banged with the brass knocker as Kenzie followed him at a more reasonable pace. “Why don’t they answer the bloody door?” Grant snapped with irritation.
Suddenly, as if in answer to his question, the door swung open, and Vincent appeared, looking pale and uncertain. “Yes, sir,” he said, “can I help you?”
“I’m Superintendent Grant from Scotland Yard.”
“Well, yes, sir. My name is Vincent. Lady Trent told me to bring you to her as soon as you arrived. Will you come this way, please?”
“Have any of the local police been brought in?”
“Not yet, sir, I believe. The viscountess suggested that you might not want help from that quarter.”
Grant nodded, his lips a grim line. Indeed, it was better this way, for sometimes amateurish local policemen could destroy evidence. Vincent led them down a foyer centered beneath a curving, marble double staircase. He stopped before a door and said, “Lady Trent is in here, sir.”
Instantly Matthew entered the room, followed closely by Kenzie. His glance swept the large airy space. It was an elegant and cozy room with two large burgundy couches facing each other in front of a massive fireplace. Two big wing chairs stood in an intimate reading corner directly across from a gleaming buffet. The windows were all covered with heavy, dark green draperies, but a chandelier shed copious light over the room.
“Are you all right, Lady Trent?”
Serafina had been standing beside a massive bookcase. She turned and nodded, saying, “Yes, I’m all right, Matthew.”
Matthew moved closer. His eyes fell on the blood stain on her dress, which was held together above the breast by pins. “What is that?”
“I had a rather close meeting with the killer.” Serafina was much calmer than she had been immediately after the almost fatal encounter.
Vincent spoke up. “Sir, shall I bring some tea?”
“Yes, yes. That would be fine, Vincent,” Grant said, nodding peremptorily. He turned and said, “Come and sit down, Serafina. You’re pale.”
Serafina rubbed her upper arms with her hands. “I’m all right now, but it was a frightening thing. Sit down, and I’ll tell you what happened.”
The two of them sat down, and Kenzie moved over to stand at the side of the room, his pale blue eyes taking in Serafina’s face. He had never seen her so disturbed, which in turn caused him some anxiety. He had become quite fond of Serafina and was highly proud of the fact that Matthew Grant, his superior, was going to marry into her family.
“What are you doing here, Serafina?” Grant asked.
“I was studying the clues and the poem, and the connection between Rachel Reis and the Jewish theme came to me suddenly.” As she spoke, Grant was conscious of the steadfast quality in the viscountess. There was in her a sober willfulness and imagination that often caught the colour and melody of life about her. Dora had these same qualities, which enriched her sister and made both full women—though just now there was a shadow on Serafina’s face that showed the strain that she had been under. She continued telling how she had made the connection. “The marchioness was the only Jewish woman I knew, and it just came to me that the killer might be referring to her. She has a title, and she’s Jewish. That was all I had, so I jumped into a carriage and came over to warn her.”
Matthew leaned forward, his eyes fixed intently on Serafina. “And what did she say?”
Serafina shook her head. “I never got to see her, Matthew. I got out of the carriage and started up the steps, but as I did, I heard some sort of a muffled sound over to my left. It was dark, as it has been all evening, but I saw a shape up on the second floor. I couldn’t make much out of it, but suddenly the shape somehow dropped to the ground. I cried out for him to stop, and I expected him to run away. Instead of that I saw a flash of steel, a knife. He was on me before I could even move, Matthew. So fast. As quick as lightning, and he struck out at me with the knife.” She touched her chest and said, “If I hadn’t fallen backward, I think he would have cut me to bits.”
“Did you try to fight back?”
“No, there was no time. He came at me again with the knife held high. I could see that much, and suddenly the dogs rounded the corner, barking. The killer whirled and ran off into the darkness. Vincent came then, and the murderer was gone, hidden in the darkness. No chance of following him on a murky night like this.”
“Were you badly hurt, Serafina?” Matthew asked anxiously.
“No, it was a mere scratch. I bandaged it up, but that knife must have been razor sharp. It cut through my dress as sharply as a pair of scissors.”
Matthew drew a deep breath and expelled it. He was troubled and said at once, “You shouldn’t have come here alone.”
“I suppose not, but I didn’t have much to go on.” She rose to her feet just as Vincent came into the room. “We’ll have the tea later, perhaps, Vincent,” she said.
“Yes, madam.”
“Come along, Matthew, and you too, Sergeant. The marchioness’s bedroom is upstairs.” She led the way up the staircase and paused before the door as she turned to put her full gaze on Matthew. Her look was troubled, and a quicker breath stirred her breast. She flung up her hand and said, “It’s terrible beyond imagination!” She then turned quickly and walked into the room, followed by the two men. Grant walked over to the body and stared down for a long time. He made no attempt to touch anything, and when he turned to face Serafina, there was a savage expression on his face. “The same killer, I would think.”
“So I thought.”
“Have you looked at any of these clues?”
“No, I waited for you. We must make a list of them, as you did with the other victims.”
The three of them began slowly going over the items that had been scattered at random about the room.
Kenzie began writing down the items as the two walked over them. “Here’s a watch charm with the initials H. W.,” Matthew said.
“I suppose that means Herbert Welles.”
“And look—here’s an ivory brush with L. H. on the handle,” Serafina said. “That means Leo Hunter, I suppose. His items have been left before.”
They picked up and turned over a hunting knife with “Ritter” engraved on it, a tract about women’s rights by Martha Bingham, a single bullet from a revolver, a bottle of expensive perfume, a wrapped sweet—and then Serafina held up an item and did not speak. “What is it, Lady Trent?” Kenzie asked.
&
nbsp; “It’s a page from Macbeth.”
“Let me see,” Matthew said. He moved forward and stared at it. “That’s Dylan’s handwriting on there.”
“Yes, it is.”
They did not speak, but both were troubled.
“Sir, here in the window. Look.”
They both turned, and Matthew went over and picked up a single sheet of paper. It was expensive enough paper, and he said, “Here’s the poem, and it’s in the same handwriting as the other notes.”
SONNET TO A DEAD CONTESSA
She is the fairest of the fair
But death will close her pretty eyes
So that she will never dare
Deceive a man with sugared lies!
That form that men declare divine
Will no more deceive poor men!
That flesh will be for worms to dine
And that will pay for her great sin!
The river with a crooked arm
On the day she is born she will perish,
And none can stop the harm,
And few will her memory cherish!
In midsummer she will cease to be,
And Scotland Yard will never see!
“Blast it,” Matthew said, “another one of these bloody notes that doesn’t mean anything!”
“I think it does mean something, Matthew. The other one did. It led me here, but not soon enough.” Her voice was sad, and she said, “I would like to have a copy of that.”
“I’ll make you one, ma’am,” Kenzie said at once and soon was busy scribbling on a fresh sheet of paper. “As well as a list of the clues.”
They went to work, finding a few more clues, and finally Grant read out the list:
watch charm with the initials H. W.
ivory-handled hairbrush
hunting knife with “Ritter” carved in the handle
tract about women’s rights by Martha Bingham
single bullet from a revolver
bottle of expensive perfume
Sonnet to a Dead Contessa Page 14