Sonnet to a Dead Contessa

by Gilbert, Morris

“Of course, Superintendent. You may go ahead and ask me any questions you wish.”

  “Thank you, sir. The obvious question is, did the marchioness have any enemies that might have wished to harm her?”

  “She was a very . . . outspoken woman, and her remarks sometimes irritated people. They irritated me at times, but I was accustomed to them. I knew that beneath her rough manner there was a kind heart, but others did not see that. So she did have those who were not admirers, shall we say.”

  “Yes, sir, but I’m not talking about minor things. I mean did she have any altercation or quarrel with anyone who might have taken this extreme form of revenge?”

  The marquis stared at him blankly. “Why, no, Superintendent, nothing like that. I assume that this maniac just hunts up titled women at random and murders them. Is that not so?”

  “We don’t know, sir. We do know that the murderer scatters meaningless clues to throw us off the track. What about the servants?”

  “Oh, they’re absolutely incapable of such a thing. We research them very carefully.”

  The marquis answered every question that Matthew could think to ask, and finally when Matthew left the mansion, he was aware of a frustration that went to the bone. It’s impossible to think that man would kill his wife. He’s just not the type. He called out to the driver an address, and within half an hour he was in the drawing room of Gerhard Von Ritter. “Ah, we meet again, Inspector,” Ritter said. He smiled amiably, but there was something almost sharklike in his attitude. He was wearing expensive clothing, a suit cut especially to fit his athletic figure. He was half smiling as he studied Matthew Grant and asked at once, “I assume that this has something to do with the latest murder by the Slasher.”

  “I’m afraid it does, sir. Do you recognise this knife?”

  Matthew had taken an envelope from his pocket and handed it over to Von Ritter. Von Ritter opened the envelope and pulled out a knife. “Why, of course I recognise it. It’s my knife. Now, don’t tell me it was found at the murder scene.”

  “Yes, sir, it was.”

  Von Ritter’s face clouded with anger. “This is getting beyond humour.”

  “It certainly is—and has been. There’s nothing humorous about it.”

  “Well, I was rather admiring the killer. He had imagination leaving all those false clues and stealing things such as this knife and other items from famous people.”

  Matthew Grant was irritated at the remark. “If he killed a member of your family, Mr. Von Ritter, I don’t think you would find it so amusing.”

  A hard light glittered in Von Ritter’s eyes, but he shrugged and said, “You are right, Superintendent. I spoke inadvisably.”

  “Do you have any family, sir?”

  “No, none at all. You know the old saying—‘He that hath wife and children have given hostages to fortune.’”

  “A rather cynical remark, I’ve always thought.”

  “I believe it is, but then, I’m a cynical man. What shall we do, then? Am I a suspect?”

  “Well, as you know, sir, there’s nothing really to charge you with. There were numerous items left there belonging to other people. We can’t arrest all of you, can we?”

  Von Ritter’s eyes glittered, and he laughed shortly. “That would make a pretty story, wouldn’t it? I’m sorry for you, Superintendent. I would help you if I could.”

  “Would you mind telling me where you were on the night of May the eighteenth?”

  “As a matter of fact, I would mind.”

  Matthew’s attention sharpened. “You understand that these are routine questions.”

  “The lady I was with all of that night is a member of the aristocracy. As a matter of fact, she’s the wife of one of the members of Parliament, a high-ranking member. It would create a national scandal, Superintendent.”

  “We may have to ask you for that name.”

  “You may ask, but I will not answer. After all, I do have my standards.”

  An angry reply leapt to Matthew’s lips, and he was certain that Von Ritter was expecting it. He bit it off and said, “Thank you for your time, sir.”

  “Come at any hour. We never close,” Von Ritter mocked.

  Matthew left Von Ritter’s house and went at once to the building that housed his office. Several of his men spoke to him, but he was so deep in thought he merely muttered a reply. He found Kenzie waiting for him in the outer office and said, “What is it, Kenzie?”

  “Miss Dora, sir. She came to see you, and I put her in your office. I thought it would be proper.”

  “Very proper. Thank you, Kenzie.” Matthew walked in and found Dora standing beside a window, looking out. She turned, and he was once again impressed with the innocence of the woman. His eyes went to her face, noting her pleasantly expressive mouth, and he knew at once that though she kept it well concealed, there was a fire in this woman that made her lovely, yet she hid her rich and headlong spirit behind a rather cool reserve. As she came toward him, he saw the hint of her will and of pride in the corners of her eyes and lips, and he noted that her face was a mirror that changed with her feelings.

  “It’s good to see you, Dora,” he said.

  “I had to come, Matthew. There’s something I want to say to you.”

  Grant saw the seriousness of her face and said, “Come and sit down.”

  “No, I want to stand.” She came to him and put her hands out, and he took them and held them. They were small but strong, and there was an earnestness about her that told him to hold his peace and let her speak.

  “What is it, dear?” he asked quietly. “Just tell me. You can tell me anything.”

  “Remember that you said that, Matthew,” Dora said. She hesitated, cleared her throat, and said, “I want us to get married.”

  “Why, we’re going to get married. I’ve already asked your father’s permission.”

  “No, Matthew, I mean now. Right away.”

  Matthew, for a moment, could not think of a proper reply, and then he said, “Well, of course, I would like that too. But there are . . . disadvantages.”

  He struggled over the last word, and she said, “I want us to get married. Don’t you love me, Matthew?”

  “You know I do.” He put his arms around her and kissed her, and she clung to him. When he lifted his lips, he said, “I love you as I never thought a man could love a woman.”

  “I want a life with you. I want us to have our own home. I want us to have children. Those are the things I want, and I don’t want to wait any longer.”

  Matthew Grant was a hard man. His had been a difficult life. He had mixed with hard company in his job as policeman, inspector, and now superintendent, but this girl brought a light of gentleness and a taste of something he could not even identify. He wanted to call it heavenly gentleness. Whatever it was, he knew that it was the one thing he thanked God for every day of his life. Suddenly he laughed and said, “All right. Shall we go today?”

  “Oh no,” she laughed and hugged him, putting her face against his neck. “No, I think we ought to announce it. Maybe in two weeks.”

  “Your family won’t like it.”

  “Aunt Bertha won’t, but I can convince the rest.”

  “I won’t take anything from your family—money, I mean. We’ll have to live on my salary.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “It will be hard,” he warned.

  “I don’t care, Matthew, as long as I have you. This Slasher case has made me realise just how short life can be, and I want to be by your side every moment of every day.”

  He laughed and then embraced her, and as he did, the door opened, and he saw Kenzie walk in. A look of shock touched Kenzie’s dour Scottish face, and Grant laughed again. “A man can hug the woman he’s going to marry in his office without shocking you, can’t he, Sergeant?”

  Kenzie did not laugh often, but he did now. Pure pleasure came to him, and he walked forward. “My congratulations to you both. I’m so happy.”

  Dyla
n had come to Serafina’s house, and they had gone over the clues they had found. It had gotten to the point that they could not even call them clues. “False scents” was the term that Serafina had given to them. They went over each one of them and then over the poem, which told little enough about the killer.

  “This is a terrible poem—and makes no more sense than the others,” Dylan said. He read it aloud, slowly and carefully:

  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!

  “I don’t get any sense out of it,” Serafina said. “But it’s not like the other poems.”

  “How is it different?”

  “The others were in no set form, but this is a sonnet. Four quatrains and a couplet.”

  “I wonder if there’s a key to the identity of the next victim. We’ve got to figure this out! ‘On the day she is born she will perish’? How could that be? And what does a river have to do with a murder?”

  “Yes, this one is tough. And the rest of the clues are meaningless.”

  “I think he’s toying with us, Serafina.”

  Serafina seemed preoccupied, for she was still walking in the glow that she had felt when Dylan had come to her so full of concern. It had told her more about his feelings for her than he would ever speak out loud. As she watched him, she became aware of something. He would never tell me he loved me because I have a title and he’s an actor. And besides that, he’s a devoted Christian and I’m not.

  The thought saddened her, but she could think of no way to speak of this to him.

  “Have you thought any more about what you saw of the killer, Serafina?”

  “Well, I’ve tried to think of something, but he had to be a strong, active man to climb the side of that wall and then to come down without breaking his neck.”

  “And you didn’t see anything of his features?”

  “No, nothing. I wish I had.”

  The two talked on about the case, and finally Serafina asked, “How is Meredith doing with her new job?”

  “Very well. She has hired a nanny to keep Guin. The acting isn’t much, but she’s doing it very well. The producer is quite pleased. She’s talked him into giving her a bigger part in the next play.”

  “Do you think she’ll become a success?”

  “She has some talent. Certainly she has the looks for it. I’ve tried to talk her out of it though.”

  “You have? Why?”

  “It’s not a good life, Serafina.”

  Serafina continued to ask questions about Meredith Brice but could not make anything of Dylan’s answers. He was fond of the woman, she could see that, but they were old friends.

  Finally Dylan said, “I’m going to ask you something that will probably offend you.”

  “Go ahead, Dylan. What is it?” She turned to face him fully. “Don’t be afraid of offending me. We’re better friends than that.”

  “I can’t tell you how frightened I was when I heard you had been attacked. The thought that scared me green was that you’d been killed.”

  “That thought came to me too,” Serafina said tersely. “I could have been too. It was only the dogs and Vincent coming at that moment that saved me.”

  “If you had been killed, it would have been terrible for me.”

  “Would it, Dylan?” she asked softly. “Really?”

  “Of course. For two reasons. First, because you and I are such great . . . friends.” He struggled with the last word, and then he said, “I would have missed you in the flesh, but I would be devastated to think that you went out to meet God without any preparation.”

  Serafina had known this was coming. It had been coming for a long time now, and she was quiet for a moment. When she looked up, she saw, to her surprise, that there were tears in Dylan Tremayne’s eyes. He was such a strong man that she did not think of him ever weeping, and it went right to her heart. She whispered, “Why, Dylan, I didn’t think—”

  “You need Jesus in your life. I don’t know any other way to put it. Will you think about it, Serafina?”

  Serafina did not hesitate. “I’ve already thought about it, Dylan. As a matter of fact, it’s been a constant thought recently.”

  Dylan pulled out his handkerchief, wiped his eyes, and took a deep sigh of relief. He reached forward and took her hands, and to her amazement he lifted them and kissed the backs of them, something he had never done before. “I couldn’t do without you, Serafina Trent,” he whispered. Then he turned and left the room as if afraid he would say more.

  Serafina was greatly moved by his tears and his words and by the fact that he cared about her so much he could not stay in her presence and talk about such things as death. She sat there for a long time, then went over to the table, picked up the Bible that he had given her, opened it, and began to read.

  FIFTEEN

  The evening meal had been good, but Serafina had noticed that neither Matthew Grant nor Dora had much to say. This was not unusual, for they were both rather quiet people, but somehow Serafina felt that they were either despondent or keeping something back. She was not at all surprised when, after the last course had been served, Dora looked around the table and said, “Matthew and I have made a decision. We want to get married very soon.”

  “Impossible!” Lady Bertha snorted. “It takes months to get ready for a wedding for a family of our station.”

  Since Lady Bertha had only the faintest connection with the Trent family, the “our station” sounded out of place, but Bertha never minded being out of place. “There will be a great deal to do, and I’m sure you will not want to do anything that isn’t in keeping with our position.”

  Matthew had been watching Dora. Serafina saw his jaw suddenly grow tense, and he turned to face Bertha squarely. There was a steely quality in his voice when he said, “Lady Bertha, this is not something we have come to debate. We have talked about it, prayed about it, and we feel that it’s time for us to start our married life.” He turned away to face Septimus and said quietly, “Sir, I hope this meets with your approval.”

  “Why—why, it’s somewhat surprising, but I have no objections. What about you, my dear?”

  Alberta stared at her husband and then at her younger daughter. She shot one nervous glance at Bertha but then said firmly, “I think it should be exactly as you two plan it. It’s your wedding after all.”

  “It is not her wedding! It is our wedding!” Lady Bertha burst out. “I insist that this wedding not take place for at least six months!”

  “I don’t want to be argumentative,” Matthew said, and though his voice was low, there was an adamant quality in it, “but this is something we feel that we want to do. I might as well tell you the rest of it. You know my position. I’m not a wealthy man. Dora is accustomed to better things than I’ll be able to provide, but I have already told her that we will live within my income.”

  “Which doesn’t matter,” Dora added quickly. She was seated next to Matthew and suddenly reached over and took his hand. Her eyes were starry, and her gentle features revealed the state of her heart. “We’ll be like any other young couple. We’ll get by.”

  Septimus looked fondly at this younger daughter of his. “That was the way it was with your mother and I when we got married,” he said. He looked across the table and smiled at his wife. “You remember that, dear? Hard times, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, it was, but
we didn’t mind. We were so in love that though a mere pittance was all we had, we didn’t care.”

  “You never told me that, Mother,” Dora said.

  “Well, that’s how it was. You may not believe it, but your father was a very romantic man. He even learnt how to play a guitar and sing love songs to me.”

  Clive, who had been taking all this in, suddenly laughed. “Do you still have that guitar, Father?”

  “I don’t believe so. I think I hocked it once when we were struggling to make ends meet.”

  “I would love to hear you sing one of those songs.” Clive grinned broadly. Then he turned and said, “Sister, count on me. Matthew, anything I can do, I will.”

  Serafina smiled. She saw Aunt Bertha was puffed up like a large toad, but she gave her a warning look and turned to Dora and Matthew, saying, “I think it’s wonderful. And, Matthew, it’s very good of you to take all the responsibility on your own shoulders. I think I’d be proud to have you as a brother-in-law.”

  “At least we have two weeks. We can make some preparation,” Alberta said. “After all, we don’t lose a daughter every day in the week, do we, Septimus?”

  “We’re not losing a daughter. We’re gaining a son. Someone to support us in our old age, I’d say.” He winked at Matthew, and Matthew laughed. “It’ll be quite an honour having the superintendent of Scotland Yard in our family. Don’t you think so, Aunt Bertha?”

  Lady Bertha Mulvane did not think so, not in the least, but when she looked at the happy faces around the table, she was at least smart enough to see that her cause was lost. “I’ll be available to attend to any of the details of the wedding.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Bertha.” Dora smiled at her. “I’m sure we’ll be calling on you.” She turned to Matthew and reached out to hold his hand. “I have you trapped now. You can’t get away.”

  “I’ll never get away from you, not in a million years,” Matthew Grant said. His fellow workers at Scotland Yard would have been shocked and amazed at the tenderness in their superintendent’s face as he looked at his bride-to-be.

  Dylan was lying flat on his back in the middle of the floor, and Guin was crawling all over him. He laughed, suddenly seized her, got to his feet, and tossed her up. “You’re a charmer, you are.”