“I think I am. I ate too much, I believe. Maybe the salmon wasn’t good.” He took two steps and lurched to one side. Meredith caught him and said, “Come. You’d better lie down for a moment. You can’t go home like this.”
“Got to get home.”
But Meredith took him by the arm and guided him out of the dining area. She led him to the bedroom and said, “Lie down.”
“I’ll—I’ll mess your bed up.”
“Doesn’t matter. Here, lie down. You’ll feel better soon.” He sat down and then fell backward. Meredith looked down at him, and a smile turned the corners of her lips upward. She reached down and put his feet up on the bed. He was breathing erratically, slowly, then quickly.
“Can you hear me, Dylan?” she said, standing right over him.
He did not move, and she nodded with satisfaction. She moved down and removed his boots, then his socks. It took some time, but she got him out of his clothes, all except the white drawers that he wore. Then she undressed and put on a new white shift that she had bought, made of soft cotton. It struck her above the knees and clung to her figure. She got into bed next to him, and then she rolled over and laughed softly. She reached up and touched his coal black hair. “Sleep well, husband,” she whispered.
Dylan seemed to be struggling to get out of some dark hole. His head was splitting, and he could not remember where he was. There were strange smells, and he knew he was in bed, but it did not seem to be his bed. He struggled out of the unconsciousness and opened his eyes. Suddenly a woman’s voice said, “Good morning, husband.” An arm came over him, and a soft form pressed against his side. He turned quickly, shocked to find Meredith lying in bed beside him. She was stroking his arm, and she laughed, saying, “Maybe I should call you husband-to-be.”
Dylan was utterly confused. He knew something had gone terribly wrong, and his one thought was to get out of that bed and get away. He rolled over and sat up, and his head seemed to split.
“Where are you going, Dylan?”
“I’ve got to go.” He looked at her once and then away, for the shift revealed her figure very plainly. He began to pull on his britches and his shirt, and in the meanwhile she got up and came around and said, “Why are you leaving?”
“I’ve got to get away from here. This—this shouldn’t have happened.”
Suddenly he pulled on his socks, his boots, and she pulled at his arm. “You’re not going to leave me now, are you, Dylan? Not after last night.”
“Yes, I’ve got to get away.”
“You’re just like all other men.” Her voice grew sharper, and he turned and saw that her face was twisted. “You used me to get what you wanted. You made promises, and I wouldn’t let you in my bed until you told me you cared for me.”
Dylan had no memory at all of that. “I don’t remember.”
“Well, I’m sure you don’t, but you told me you wanted to do what Lewis asked. You wanted to marry me and be my husband and Guin’s father.”
Dylan was horrified. He knew he had made the most serious mistake of his life, and she suddenly collapsed and began to weep. “I thought you were a Christian man, Dylan. I thought you were the one man who wouldn’t betray a woman. You’re just like all the rest—except for Lewis.”
Dylan’s heart smote him. He had obviously taken advantage of this woman, although he had no memory of it. He came over and stood beside her. She was sitting on the bed, but she was bent over, and her body shook as she wept. He put his hand on her shoulder. “Meredith, we’ll work this out somehow.”
“You had what you wanted. Now you’ll leave Guin and me forever.”
Dylan tried desperately to remember, and finally he asked in a hoarse voice, “I asked you to marry me?”
“Of course you did. I would never have let you make love to me if I didn’t think we were going to be married.”
And then Dylan Tremayne knew there was no way out. He had quick thoughts of trying to figure out something, but nothing came. In the end he said, “Don’t cry, Meredith. It will be as you say.”
At once she looked up, and her eyes were wet with tears. She whispered, “Do you mean it, Dylan? We will really be married?”
“Yes. We’ll be married, just as Lewis wanted.”
She came up then and threw herself against him. There was no desire in him. He simply wanted to get away. “I’ve got to leave now. I’ve got to think. This is sudden.”
“You’ll come back later?”
“Of course I will.” He finished dressing and left as quickly as he could. But as he stepped outside the door, he stopped dead still, and the thought came as clearly as printed black letters against a white background. What am I going to tell Serafina?
NINETEEN
The entire audience was standing up, and the theatre rang with applause and loud cries of acclamation. Dylan had come out for the sixth time to take a curtain call, and now he stood there smiling slightly. He bowed gracefully and gave a final wave of fare-well as he stood before the audience. For one second he stood there savouring the smells, the sounds, the brilliant lights, the kaleidoscope of colour created by the dresses of the women and augmented by the flashing of diamonds and precious jewels at their hands and necks. He glanced to his left and saw Meredith there applauding, her eyes glowing and a smile on her lips. He inclined his head toward her slightly, and she threw him a kiss. Some of the audience saw it and turned to stare at Meredith. For the occasion she had bought a new dress of a turquoise colour with such a high sheen that light shimmers shot across it with every movement she made.
Finally Dylan held his hands up, and when the applause had subsided and quiet reigned in the theatre, Dylan said, “It has been an honour for me to entertain you for this brief time tonight. I want to take this opportunity to thank you and to express my gratitude for your generosity, for your kind words, and for your prayers as my life takes a new turn.”
A whisper ran around the room, and Dylan smiled slightly, noting that his remark had caught the curiosity of the crowd. He said simply, “Good evening to you, and may God bless you all.” Turning, he left quickly, hurried though the cluster of actors that had gathered in the wings, and made straight for his dressing room. He was not in a mood to hear the adulation that always came after a good performance, but he could not avoid Hugh Edwards, who stood in front of his dressing room door. Edwards was a tall, thin man with a pair of small glasses that enlarged his blue eyes. His reputation as a producer was admirable, and Dylan was genuinely flattered by his attention. “Mr. Edwards, it’s good to see you.”
“Dylan, I wanted to speak with you for a moment.”
Dylan knew exactly why Edwards was there. “I’m afraid it would do no good for you to press your offer, Mr. Edwards.”
Edwards stared at Dylan and shook his head. “You can’t mean it, Dylan! Why, you’re at the top of your profession. This role I’m offering you will make your reputation, which is already great.”
“Thank you for your offer, Mr. Edwards, but my mind is made up. I’m leaving the theatre.”
“What in the world are you going to do?”
“I’m not at all certain about that, but God knows. Good night, sir.”
Dylan darted into his dressing room and locked the door behind him. As quickly as he could, he disrobed, put on street clothes, and then faced the door. He knew it would be a battle to get through, and as soon as he opened the door, voices calling his name rose and hands pulled at him as he squeezed through. He made his apologies continually. “I’m sorry, I have a previous engagement. Thank you very much—I appreciate your kind remarks.” Finally he reached the street door, stepped outside, and then, to the amazement of those who followed him, broke into a dead run.
Since most of the men were in dress suits and the women in ballroom gowns, no one pursued him, but one of his admirers said angrily, “Well, he’s got the big head, all right! He forgot that we’re the ones who made him who he is today.”
Dylan did not hear that remark, bu
t he knew that it was a common opinion. It was impossible to make anyone understand, it seemed, that he was truly leaving the theatre, even at the very peak of his popularity. He had not made a public announcement, but three different producers had tried to entice him to sign a contract to do a production with them, and he had turned them all down. This sort of thing could not be kept secret, and soon even the newspapers were asking, “What’s Dylan Tremayne up to? Is he going to start his own troupe, put on his own play?” The articles went on to surmise that something big was brewing in Dylan Tremayne’s head, but no one came close to expecting the simple truth: he was sick and tired of the theatre and could not bear it any longer.
He paused at the corner of Thirty-second Street and waited. He had told Meredith to meet him here as quickly as she could after the performance. He had not been there five minutes before she came hurrying along the street. It was late, and the gaslights cast a golden tint over her face. Coming up to him, she cried, “Dylan, it was wonderful! Everyone loved you!”
“I suppose they did, but it’s the performance they love, not me. Come now, there’s a cab.” He guided her quickly toward the hansom and threw up his hand. The cabbie drew the horse to a standstill. Dylan handed Meredith in and then walked around and got in and sat beside her. He gave the driver the address, and the driver said, “Yes, sir. Get you there quick as a wink.”
Dylan leaned back and put his head against the cool leather. Meredith began speaking almost at once. “I talked to so many people, and all of them are wondering what you are going to do, Dylan. Some of them think you’re going to start your own company.”
“I won’t be doing that, Meredith.”
Meredith stared at him with apprehension. “You’re not still thinking of leaving the theatre, are you?”
“I’m determined to do it. I can’t stand this life anymore.”
Meredith stared at him with disbelief and not a little anger. He had told her repeatedly that he intended to leave the theatre, but she had thought it was a phase. Now all the way to her house she began mustering reasons why he ought to stay in his profession. They reached her house, and he got out without a word and helped her step down to the pavement. When they came to the door, she reached up and put her arms around his neck. Her eyes were glowing, and her lips parted slightly. She pulled his head down, and the kiss was a long one. She held tightly to him, for she knew her power over men. This one was a man; therefore, he was no different from other men! She pressed herself against him and knew that she had stirred him. Moving her head back, she put her cheek next to his. “We’ve got to think about ourselves, Dylan.”
“I am thinking about us. If I stay in the theatre, it will ruin me. I’ve seen it spoil too many men already—and women too, for that matter.”
Meredith Brice was a woman of some experience with men. Now she moved with an impulse. “Come in. We’ll talk about it.”
But Dylan read the invitation in her voice, and he knew that she was asking him for more than talk. There was a sexual overtone to her words, and the invitation gleamed in her eyes and was obvious in every line of her body. He shook his head and said, “I’m going to make a public announcement to the newspapers tomorrow.”
“Come in and spend the night.”
“No, it would be wrong.”
“I don’t see why. We’ve already been there, and we’re going to be married.”
“It’s the way I feel about things,” Dylan said.
Suddenly Meredith said, “Have you told Lady Trent about our engagement?”
Meredith noticed that there was a hesitation and a moment’s pause before Dylan answered, “No. I haven’t said anything to her about it.”
For some reason his answer displeased Meredith. “Are you ashamed of me?” she demanded.
“Why, not at all.”
“I think you are. If you weren’t ashamed, you would have told everyone.”
“We can’t be married right away. It’s impossible.”
“Why is it impossible?”
“Because I’ll be a man with a family, and a man without a profession. I’ve got to find something to do with myself.”
“Dylan, we’ll talk about it.”
Meredith was growing desperate now, but Dylan stepped back and said, “No, I need to think. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turned and left, and Meredith stared after him, anger evident in her countenance. Her lips drew into a thin white line, and her eyes narrowed. When he disappeared around the corner, she whirled and went into the house, slamming the door behind her.
“It’s strange how much time and care and money women put into weddings,” Dora said. “Matthew said if he had his way, we would just elope.”
She and Serafina were working on the plans for Dora’s wedding, and Serafina smiled. “You couldn’t do that. It wouldn’t be fair to your family. Think how sad Aunt Bertha would be.”
Dora laughed with delight. “I am so glad I’m marrying Matthew—if for no other reason than to put Aunt Bertha in her place. You must have scared the life out of her when you threatened to turn her out if she said anything mean about him.”
“She turned absolutely pale.” Serafina smiled fondly at the memory. “She hasn’t said anything to you when I wasn’t there, has she?”
“No, I don’t think so. She wouldn’t dare.”
The two went over the list of guests and the details of the reception, and finally they stopped to have a cup of tea. The morning sunlight was shining through the window, and Serafina leaned back, noting how the motes seemed to dance in the bars of pale yellow light that filtered through the glass.
It suddenly occurred to her. “Dylan would say that God knows about every one of those motes. He’s already told me that God knows every fish in the sea and every bird in the sky. How wonderful to have that kind of belief in God! I wish I did!” She shook her head and said briskly, “Well, we seem to have this wedding pretty well planned. We have to let Mum have a part in it though.”
“Oh, we’ll make her think she did it all.” Dora leaned back in her chair and looked thoughtful for a moment. She had on a pale yellow dress in a fine muslin weave. It was trimmed with off-white Austrian lace and fitted tightly at the waist and hips and gathered to a fullness in the back. “You look about sixteen years old, Dora.” Serafina smiled. “You’re more beautiful than I’ve ever seen you. I hope Matthew appreciates you.”
“Oh, he does! You’d be surprised how eloquent he can get when there’s no one around. He’s afraid someone would make fun of him, but now I’ve gotten used to it, and I tell him if we’re married for fifty years, I expect to hear those pretty speeches every day.”
Serafina laughed, pleased with her younger sister and pleased also with the husband she was getting. She had always admired Matthew Grant, and she was convinced that he loved her sister as much as a man could love a woman.
“I just don’t know how to be a wife.”
Serafina looked up suddenly over her cup. “What do you mean, Dora?”
“I mean—I don’t know anything. Some girls have already had—well . . . experience.”
“You mean they’ve slept with men before they were married.”
Dora’s cheeks grew pink. “I suppose that’s what I mean. At least they’d know something.”
“You wouldn’t want that. You’re coming to Matthew innocent and pure. He knows that, and the two of you will make out fine.”
“But I don’t know what to do.”
Serafina put her cup down and reached out and took Dora’s hand. “Do you love Matthew?”
“You know I do!”
“And he loves you. So when two people love each other, they’ll find a way to express that love. Matthew probably has had the experience you talk about. Most men have, but he’s a gentle man, and he’ll teach you. It’s only right that he should.”
The two women talked, and finally Dora got up looking relieved and left the room. Serafina thought about how much she herself had been like Dora before she mar
ried Charles. She had known literally nothing about sex, but if she had known something, it would have been spoiled, for her husband had been a brutal and abusive man with her. Serafina had been shocked to eventually learn that he was a pederast.
Dissatisfied and unhappy at the past memories, Serafina got up and left the room. She went upstairs and found David playing with his soldiers. “Let’s go outside and play croquet, David.”
“Yes, and I’ll beat you, Mum.”
“We’ll have to see about that. I’m acknowledged to be quite an expert player.”
“I beat you the last time.”
Serafina said, “I wasn’t feeling good that day.”
David laughed. “You made that up. Come on. Let’s go.”
Fifteen minutes later the two were out in the bright sunlight. For the next half hour they knocked the balls over the emerald green grass. May had brought a beauty to the English countryside. The grass was trimmed as level as a carpet, and the house itself was ornamented with plants and flowers, vines and blossoms of all kinds, some of them giving off a delicious fragrance.
Suddenly David cried, “Look, there comes Mr. Dylan!”
Serafina looked up quickly, and sure enough Dylan was walking toward them. He had a serious look on his face, and Serafina knew, somehow, that this was not just an ordinary visit. “Let’s go say hello.”
They walked toward the front lawn, and David ran to Dylan, who picked him up at once. “How’s the old man today, David?”
“I’m not an old man.”
“Well, you will be someday.” He looked over and said, “How are you, Serafina?”
“I’m fine. I’ve been going over the details of the wedding with Dora. She’s so happy I’m afraid she’s going to explode.”
“Come on, Dylan. Let’s go work on the tree house you’re going to build me.”
“We’ll have to do that a little bit later, I’m afraid.”
“No, let’s do it now.”
“David, don’t nag Mr. Dylan. You go inside and play with your toys. We’ll come and get you after a while.”
Sonnet to a Dead Contessa Page 20