Sonnet to a Dead Contessa

by Gilbert, Morris

  “That’s exactly what we think,” Matthew said grimly. “We’re going to prove it.”

  “You won’t prove it. You might put me in the neighborhood, but we both know that’s not enough, don’t we, Superintendent?”

  The interrogation went on, and Serafina sat there saying nothing. She had seen a piece of paper in the breast pocket of his prison uniform. At one point he took it out and waved it. “Look, I wrote this. This isn’t what a murderer would write, is it now, Lady Trent?”

  Serafina took the piece of paper that he handed her and saw that it was a poem, a sonnet, and very well done too. “Did you write this?”

  “Yes, I did. I’m a poet. One of the many facets of my character.”

  “The Slasher leaves a poem wherever he kills.”

  “I bet they weren’t in my handwriting.” Felan grinned. “You got a sample of it, Superintendent?”

  Matthew fumbled into his pocket and came out with a note-book. “Yes, here is one of them.”

  Felan read the poem that had been found by the bedside of the marchioness and snorted. “This is pure garbage! I wouldn’t be caught dead writing trash like this!” He tossed the book back, and Matthew caught it, his face reddened. “We can put you in the vicinity of two of the murders, and you write poetry. We searched your house too, Felan.”

  “I’ll bet you did. Find any clues?”

  “We found a knife with bloodstains on it, and on one of your jackets and a pair of trousers.”

  “Of course you did. I’m a poacher. That’s rabbit blood on the knife and on the trousers too.”

  Serafina saw that Matthew was disgruntled and was relieved when he turned and banged on the door. “Guard—guard, open the door.”

  Serafina rose, and when the guard stepped inside, Felan said, “Better do all your talking to me. You’ll never pin any of these murders on me.”

  “I’m going to try,” Matthew said grimly. He took one last look at the prisoner and then followed Serafina out.

  They did not speak until they were out in the clear sunshine, and she turned to him. “What do you think, Matthew?”

  “Be almost impossible to prove anything unless we get more evidence. We’ll keep checking though. We know he is a murderer. We know he killed a woman once in the same fashion that three women have died, so he’s our best suspect for the moment. I hope he’s guilty. He deserves to hang.”

  When they got to her carriage, she suddenly turned and said, “I just had a thought, Matthew. It was too dark for me to see the murderer’s face that night the marchioness was killed, but I did see him come down from a considerable height. It would take quite a strong man, and agile, to do that, wouldn’t it?”

  “I would think so. That window is at least twenty-five or thirty feet high. A man would break his neck if he slipped and fell.” He studied her. “What’s your idea?”

  “I think we ought to get an expert to look at the Reis mansion and see if it’s possible to climb up that way and then to come back down.”

  “That’s not a bad idea. You have someone in mind?”

  “Monsieur Henley. He’s more or less a suspect himself, but I don’t think he’s guilty.”

  “Neither do I. Come along. We’ll go to the circus.”

  The sun was high in the sky as the four people stood looking up at the window on the second floor of the Reis mansion. The ceilings of all the rooms were very high, probably twelve to fourteen feet each, so by the time you accounted for a raised structure allowing windows to shine into the basement, Serafina estimated that the window of the marchioness’s room was at least forty feet off the ground. She turned and studied the face of Henley, who had come without argument, and then her glance shifted to his partner, Jeanne St. Clair.

  “What do you think, Mr. Henley?” she asked. “Could a person climb that wall?”

  Henley walked over to the stone house. There were crevices, and some of the stones protruded enough to get a handhold. He looked up thoughtfully and said, “This is really not my area, I’m afraid, Lady Trent. You should find someone who has done mountain climbing. That would be the kind of skill you would need here.”

  But Serafina turned and pointed to a huge oak tree that grew some forty feet from the house. Branches spread in all directions. One of them, a large, strong branch, extended its length until the tip was within ten or twelve feet of the window. “Would it be possible to climb that tree, go out on that branch, and leap to the window?”

  They all turned and looked. Matthew was surprised, for he had not thought of this. “I doubt if that could be done,” he said.

  “I will try,” Henley volunteered. He walked over to the tree and grasped the lower branch. He climbed easily up to the limb in question, and then, standing upright, he walked out along the limb, but by the time he had gotten three-fourths of the way there, his weight pushed the limb down so that the tip was well below the level of the window to Lady Reis’s room. He moved farther, and the branch dipped still more. He looked down and called out, “Could not be done, I think. If the branch was higher, it might be possible.” He came skidding along the branch as if he were walking on a sidewalk, came down the tree, and then turned to say, “What do you think, Jeanne?”

  “No, not on the branch. Couldn’t happen. The farther you get along there, the more it dips. Even my own weight would pull it down. There would be nothing to push off against. The branch would give.”

  Henley was thoughtful. He stroked his chin and said, “Well, you’re from Switzerland. You’ve done some climbing in the Alps. Do you think you can climb that wall?”

  Jeanne St. Clair turned and looked at the wall. She walked over slowly and began to feel the crevices. She gripped the stones and moved upward, but before she had gone more than four or five feet, her hands slipped. She fell backward but caught herself—hitting the ground on her feet but rolling over backward and coming to her feet lightly.

  “There’s not enough to hold on to. It would be impossible to climb that wall.”

  Serafina looked upward and studied the house and the window. “If you were in the room, Miss St. Clair, could you climb down?”

  “No, no, that would be even more difficult. Climbing down is far more dangerous to a mountain climber than climbing up. I think it would be totally impossible to take a chance.”

  “I’ll have the carriage take you back. We’re going to stay for a time,” Grant said. He accompanied the two to the carriage, saw them in, and walked back to where Serafina was looking up at the window. “Well, that didn’t help much.”

  “I’m not sure,” Serafina murmured softly. “There was something odd about the way the Slasher came down. I can’t quite think of what it was. I can’t get it straight, but I remember just a moment’s thought before he hit the ground that there was something strange about the way he came down. Let me think on it.”

  “You think on it, and I’ll work on finding some way to put Rian Felan’s neck in a noose.”

  The following Sunday there was no play at the theatre, so Dylan came out to be with David. He brought Meredith and Guin with him, which irritated Serafina considerably. She spent the after-noon having to entertain Meredith—mostly listening to her talk about how wonderful Dylan had been to her and how she was excited with her new career.

  At one point she began speaking of her early days in Wales and grieving over the fact that the police had not been able to find her sister. “She was at my wedding, Angharad was. I remember it so well.”

  “When were you married?”

  “Just four years ago in May. Guin was born two years after that, and then I lost my dear husband.” She took out her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.

  “How did you make a living?”

  “Oh, we come from a coastal town, Dylan and I. I shucked oysters for a living. A hard job it was too.”

  “That must have been very hard.”

  “Hard it was, Lady Trent. I’m glad you’ve never had a job that difficult.”

  A thoug
ht entered Serafina’s mind. “I’ve got to go do something about the meal for supper tonight. Will you excuse me?”

  “Certainly. I’ll just go find Dylan and the children.”

  “I’ll bet you will,” Serafina mumbled under her breath as she turned and left. She made her way into the kitchen and found the cook, Nessa Douglas, already making preparations for the meal.

  “Nessa, didn’t you tell me you and your husband were in the oyster business for a while?”

  “Yes, ma’am, we were, and a hard life it was.”

  “What was the hardest thing about it?”

  “Oh, your hands, Lady Trent. Look at my hands.” She turned her hands palms up, and Serafina saw that her hands were criss-crossed with old scars that made white lines across her palms. “There’s no way to avoid getting cut. Many a day I shucked oysters with bleeding hands.”

  “Couldn’t you wear gloves?”

  “No, that wouldn’t work. You’ve got to feel the oysters.” She laughed suddenly and said, “This is a vacation for me after a thing like that. What would you like for supper?”

  “Surprise us. Your food is always delicious, Nessa.” She turned and walked away, and went at once to where she found Meredith with Dylan and the children. He had rigged up a swing and now was pushing them gently.

  “Supper will be ready in a couple of hours. Should Guin take a nap, Meredith?”

  “Indeed. She’s played hard all day. Come along, Guin.” She reached her hand out to get the girl, and Serafina stole a quick look. She saw the inside of Meredith’s left hand, and it was smooth and without sign of a scar. So much for oyster shucking!

  The dinner was a fine one, starting with shrimp bisque and deviled whitebait. Later there were curried eggs, sweetbreads, and crisply fried quail. For sweets there were ices and fairy cakes.

  All during the meal Meredith was quick to speak. She seemed very cheerful, and once Septimus leaned over and whispered to Serafina, “She’s quite a happy lady for a widow.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  As the adults finished up their meal, David was getting restless at the table. “Did you know my grandfather was a sailor, Mrs. Brice?” he piped up.

  “Oh, not really a sailor. Not in the Queen’s Navy,” Septimus protested. “But I did serve a summer on a yacht as a deckhand.”

  “Did you learn to steer the boat?”

  “Oh, dear me, no. The owner did that.” Septimus laughed. “I did learn to tie knots though. Here, let me show you.” He went over to a side table with drawers and pulled out a piece of rope.

  “Why are you keeping a piece of rope in here?” Serafina asked.

  “Never know. Rope comes in handy.” He began to show them the knots, including a bowline, a granny, and other simple knots. Then he said, “Let me show you my favourite.” His hands moved quickly, and he began forming loops. When he had finished, he had three strands tied together at each end. He held the ends of the rope and said, “You see how tight this is? See if you can pull it apart, Dylan.”

  Dylan took one end of the rope and said, “No, don’t think so. What’s it used for?”

  “Well, sailors use it to take up slack when a rope is too long and they want to hold something. But it has another feature too. It’s called a sheepshank, though I don’t know why that would be. You see this middle rope here?”

  “Yes, sir, what about it?”

  “Let me show you something.” He reached into his pocket, came out with a knife, and sliced the middle rope. “Now pull.”

  Dylan pulled while Septimus held the other end, but the other two loops held fast. “You see. Now give me some slack.” When Dylan loosened his grip on the rope and let it fall slack, it suddenly parted. “That’s the strange thing about a sheepshank. You can cut that middle one, but it’ll hold fast until the rope goes limp and then it comes apart.”

  “Teach me how to do that, Grandfather.”

  Septimus laughed. “I will, but at another time.”

  Suddenly Serafina straightened up. “Come with me, Dylan.”

  “Come where?”

  “Just come with me.” She turned and said to Meredith, “Mrs. Brice, I’ll have our coachman take you and Guin home.” Meredith glared at Serafina, but she got to her feet, for she had no choice. “Come along, Guin,” she said stiffly. “I think we’ve been dismissed.”

  As they were preparing to leave, Meredith said to Dora, who was standing nearby, “You should speak to your sister. She’s so jealous of Dylan that she won’t let another woman near him.”

  Dora, with her gentle spirit, could find no answer to make, but she decided it would be best not to repeat this to her sister.

  Serafina would not speak to Dylan about her purpose. She sat deep in thought beside him in the carriage, and when they finally pulled up in front of the Reis household, she went at once to the front door, and he hurried to keep up with her. Vincent answered the door, and she said, “Vincent, I need to get up on the roof.”

  “On the roof, ma’am?” Vincent said, shock and amazement covering his face.

  “Yes, on the roof.”

  “Certainly, ma’am, if you insist. May be a little bit dirty.”

  “That doesn’t matter. Come along, Dylan.”

  “You are quite bossy today,” Dylan said. “What is all this about?”

  “I may not tell you, but it’s something I had to check.”

  The two followed Vincent up the stairs to what amounted to a third floor, which was an attic room. From the attic room a door led out to the roof.

  “You’re not going out on the roof,” Vincent cried in alarm.

  “Yes.”

  “But you might slip and fall.”

  “Take off your shoes, Dylan.”

  Dylan laughed. “I think you’ve lost your mind, Serafina.” Nevertheless, he did what she said and saw that she had done the same. They edged out of the door that led out onto the roof, and Serafina moved carefully as Dylan followed. “Don’t fall. You’d break your neck. What are you looking for?”

  “I’m looking for this.” She pointed to a chimney that pierced the roof of the mansion. Around it was a piece of rope that had been knotted. “That was the sheepshank knot. That’s the way the murderer got down. He tied that knot and cut the one. That’s the way he came down, and he must have pulled the rope after him. That’s what I was trying to remember, Dylan. He seemed to come floating down. Not climbing step-by-step, but I was too frightened to think about it at the time.” She looked at the rope and said, “We’ve got to tell Matthew about this, and we’ve got to check the roofs of the other victims. We may have a pattern here.”

  “Well, if he knows how to tie a sheepshank knot, he’s probably got the background of a sailor. Come along. Be careful now.” The two made their way back, put on their shoes, and descended. As they were on their way to Scotland Yard to find Matthew, Dylan reached over and took her hand. “You’re some woman, Serafina Trent. Who would ever have thought of a thing like that?”

  “I never would’ve if my father hadn’t mentioned that sheep-shank and shown us how it worked. You think it will help?”

  “Might be the very key we need. I hope so. I want this monster brought to justice!”

  SEVENTEEN

  At the end of a long day at Scotland Yard, Dylan and Serafina waited an inordinately long time for Matthew. The Slasher case had taken its toll on him, and he entered his office looking tired. He stood there without expression while they told their story. When Serafina had finished, he said, “We’ll have to find out which suspects could tie a knot that ordinarily only a sailor could do.”

  “Well, he wouldn’t admit he could tie the knot, not the murderer,” Dylan said.

  “No, we’ll have to find out who’s been in the navy or had boating experience.”

  Serafina said, “Well, this explains how he got down, but it doesn’t explain how he got up on the second floor of all three houses in the first place.”

  “No, it doesn’t, but my guess
is that he came in whenever he could without being seen,” Grant said. He gnawed his lower lip nervously and said, “We’ll have to give this some thought. Go home. I’ll go out in the morning and check what you said.”

  “You’d better check the other roofs too, for Lady Welles and Margaret. Somehow,” Serafina said, “I think this killer is a very formal being.”

  “What do you mean, ‘formal’?” Dylan asked.

  “I mean he likes to do everything the same way every time.”

  “I believe you’re right,” Grant said. “And he’d have to be able to climb out on the roof, tie the knot, and climb down the rope. Not everybody could do that.”

  “No, but do you think Felan could do it?”

  “Yes, I do. He’s very strong and not a very large man. I still say he’s our man.”

  Meredith was walking along the lane with Dylan. He had taken her out shopping, and he stopped and said, “Look, there’s an eel pie stand.”

  “You always loved those things,” Meredith said. “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes, I’m starved.” They moved over to the booth and found a thin man with a stovepipe hat sitting crookedly on his head and a filthy apron around his waist. But the smell was delicious, and Dylan bought two pies. They both ate with enjoyment—the hot pastry crunching and flaking and eel flesh delicate on the tongue. “Better than cucumber sandwiches,” Dylan said.

  “You just wait until I cook your supper,” Meredith said. “I’ll make you a pie that the old devil himself would want to get his hands on.”

  The two continued down the street, and finally they wound up back at the house. Guin ran at once to Dylan, and he caught her up and hugged her. “A story! A story!” she chanted, pulling at his coat.

  “Dylan, you’ve stolen her heart away. You’re a devil with women of any age.” She turned and said, “Thank you for watching Guin, Mrs. Fellows.”

  Dylan laughed and at once sat down with Guin in his lap as Meredith walked her landlady to the door. Later when Meredith fixed supper, he found she was indeed a fine cook, but he knew that already. “You’re going to make some man a fine wife. A good cook, a good-looking woman like you. Men ought to be standing in line.”