Sonnet to a Dead Contessa

by Gilbert, Morris

  “They’re fine.”

  His answer was short, and she sensed he was unhappy. “I heard that you’re not going to act anymore.”

  “That’s true, but I have good news.” His eyes lit up. “Matthew has obtained a position for me at Scotland Yard.”

  “How wonderful!” Serafina beamed. “I’m so happy for you.”

  “Yes, he’s a fine man, isn’t he? It’s the lowest position in the Yard, of course, and doesn’t pay much.”

  “But you’ll be doing something you’re good at. We’ve proved that, haven’t we?”

  “Yes, we have, but you’re the brains in our little crime-solving expeditions.”

  The two stood there face-to-face, and for one moment there was something that bound them close together. Dylan, as always, was struck by her beauty, and he knew that she was intelligent, sensitive, with a depth that most women did not have. Her body was full-shaped against the folds of her dress, and there was a rhythm and a vitality about her that affected Dylan powerfully. It fanned the flame of the close-held hungers that had been in him for so many years. He well knew that all men, even the toughest of them, had an ideal woman somewhere in their hearts, fashioned out of deep desires, and he was no different. He knew that few men ever had such a picture materialise, and now it came to him with a profound shock that this was what he was giving up. This thought hit him hard. I am giving her up. I know she loves me. She said so. The thought had been with him ever since, and now he realised that her nearness, as always, nearly set off shocks within him. His vision was like the lens of a camera narrowing until he saw only the full swell of her lips and their increasing heaviness. “But—I’m going to miss you, Serafina.”

  At that instant Serafina’s eyes widened. Colour came to her cheeks, and she leaned toward him with a sudden intent. Her hand came up uncertainly and touched the lapel of his coat. A rose colour stained her features, and he said, “I wish it could be different. There’s a poem I’ve always liked about a man going off to war. His sweetheart criticised him for leaving her, and the last line says, ‘I could not love thee, dear, so much loved I not honour more.’”

  “That’s why you’re marrying her, isn’t it—your honour?”

  “Yes.”

  Serafina would have said more, but at that moment her father and mother came in. Matthew was with them. “It’s time to leave, Dylan.”

  Dylan said his good-byes, and when he walked out, he felt as if he had been wounded. He had been shot once in action when he was a soldier, not seriously, but he remembered the bullet striking him, knocking him down, and he remembered how little he felt. All he could think of was the numbness that had come to him. At the door he turned and looked back, and Serafina was watching him with an expression he could not identify. He turned and walked out into the night with Matthew, unable to think and unable to reason, knowing somehow life had become far too complicated for him.

  TWENTY-ONE

  David stared up at his mother with a troubled expression, and finally said in a small voice, “Does that mean that Dylan won’t be able to come here anymore?”

  Serafina had known that breaking Dylan’s news to her son would be difficult. David had often said to her, “Mom, if you would marry Dylan, he could stay here all the time.” She had smiled at his childlike hope for such a thing, but now that she knew she loved Dylan Tremayne, there was a special poignancy to David’s grief. He knew with a childish wisdom that he was losing Dylan.

  “He won’t be able to come here as often as before, but we’ll do what we can to invite him.”

  “I don’t like Mrs. Brice.”

  Serafina almost said,“I don’t either,” but she withheld it. “Why, you mustn’t tell Dylan that.”

  “I won’t, but I wish he wouldn’t do it.”

  Serafina tried to change the subject as gracefully as possible. She left soon after that. It was Sunday morning, and she had gone to Spurgeon’s church for three weeks in a row. When she arrived, she gave her ticket to the doorman, thinking it was strange that a preacher would be so popular that you would have to have a ticket to get in to hear him. She had been investigating the church where Spurgeon was pastor and had discovered that some people gave up their tickets to non-Christian people. Spurgeon had urged them to do this. “Let the unsaved in. You can worship Jesus in your home, but today the lost sheep need to hear the gospel.”

  She moved inside and found a seat next to a poorly dressed couple. The woman looked to be in her sixties at least, and was frail, but she had a bright smile. “God bless you, Lady,” she said.

  “And God bless you too.” It was the first time Serafina had ever said a thing like that, but she felt good about it. She looked over the building, which seated thousands of people and was already packed. In earlier days she would have said that this was mass hysteria, but there was a strange power in the pastor. There was much singing, but not like singing she had heard before. It was full-throated and filled the auditorium. There were no musical instruments, but she had learnt a few of the tunes and was able to join in.

  Finally the pastor, Charles Spurgeon, stepped forward. He began to preach in such a different manner from usual clergymen. Most clergymen in this day read from a full manuscript. Some even had a prompter with the manuscript in hand if the preacher stumbled over a word. They were, in effect, perhaps great literary writers but not very communicative or practical.

  But when Charles Haddon Spurgeon stepped forward, things changed. A message burned in his heart, and above all he wanted to communicate it effectively to the common people. He got warmed up in his message, and his text was “Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.” He walked back and forth and pulled out a handkerchief and flourished it about when he made a point. He stopped once and prayed, “Oh, Lord, take us and mold us as the clay, though there is so much grit in us that it must hurt thy fingers.”

  Serafina had laughed at that but knew some would be offended. She settled down and listened to the preacher, and, as always, he was able to hold her attention and the attention of everyone in the room. She listened as he went over his points, and every word seemed to sink into her.

  “The beholding of the Lamb of God,” he said, “is a thing to which men cannot readily be brought. I know many whose consciences are truly awakened, and who see themselves as sinners in the sight of God; but instead of beholding the Lamb of God, they are continually beholding themselves. I do not think that they have any confidence in their own righteousness, but they are afraid that they do not feel their guilt as much as they ought.”

  This might be true of some, but Serafina Trent felt her guilt sharply. She was shocked at how her heart began to pound, and she began to know that the Spirit of God was in this room, and over and over again Spurgeon would cry out, “Behold the Lamb of God. That means to believe on the Lord Jesus Christ. Trust in him as your Saviour; accept God’s revelation concerning him. Trust him to save you. That’s the way of salvation.”

  He went on to talk about Jesus, how he loved people, and how he died on the cross, and without really knowing it, Serafina knew that God was working on her heart. She lost track of the sermon and considered the years she had spent ignoring God, and now she was finding out that Jesus was as real today as he had been in the days when he walked the earth. Finally they began to sing a song that she knew well:

  Rock of Ages, cleft for me,

  Let me hide myself in Thee;

  Let the water and the blood,

  From Thy riven side which flowed,

  Be of sin the double cure,

  Cleanse me from its guilt and power.

  Not the labours of my hands

  Can fulfil Thy law’s demands;

  Could my zeal no respite know,

  Could my tears forever flow,

  All for sin could not atone;

  Thou must save, and Thou alone.

  While I draw this fleeting breath,

  When my eyelids close in death,

  When I
soar to worlds unknown,

  See Thee on Thy judgement throne,

  Rock of Ages, cleft for me,

  Let me hide myself in Thee. Amen.

  When the song was over, she got up and left with the rest of the congregation. She felt as if she had been somehow beaten, not physically, but she knew that in her heart something had taken place. As she walked away from the church, the thought came, I must learn to behold the Lamb of God!

  “Well, here you are—the newest Scotland Yard wonder!”

  Dylan had entered the Scotland Yard offices and found Sandy Kenzie as he had been instructed to do. Grant was on his honeymoon, and now Dylan was ready for a new career.

  “I’m glad to see you here, Dylan. You have a lot of talent we can use in this place.”

  “I hope I’ll be of some use.”

  “Come along. Let me introduce you to the rest of the men. Some of them are fine chaps, and some of them are not. You’ll be able to sort that out.”

  Most of the inspectors were, indeed, able men and accepted Dylan’s new position eagerly since it would take some work off their shoulders. There was one, however, named William Lacey, who had sneered at him and refused to shake hands. “An actor? I don’t see what good you’d be.”

  Sandy whispered, “He’s lazy and not much of an inspector. We’ll put him where he won’t do any damage.”

  “I hardly know where to start, Mr. Kenzie.”

  “‘Sandy’ will be fine. Let me show you the building, and then we’ll get to work.”

  The two went through the entire office building, and finally in Sandy’s office they went over the list of suspects and victims and the so-called clues in the Slasher case.

  “This last poem has got us all baffled. Neither Superintendent Grant nor Lady Trent can make anything out of it. Why don’t you take it and study it? Then we’ll start talking to the suspects again.

  Dylan took the single piece of paper and studied the words carefully. A scowl came to his face, and he muttered, “Sounds like nonsense to me—but it means life or death to some poor woman!”

  Hugh Edwards stood at the door and introduced himself. Meredith knew Edwards was a famous producer and said with regret, “I’m sorry, sir, but Dylan’s not here.”

  “Sorry to hear that. By the way, I hear that you and Dylan are to marry.”

  “Yes, sir, that’s true.”

  “My congratulations to Dylan, and to you too, of course. You must help me persuade him to be in my new production. It’s Henry V. Dylan would be just perfect for the role.”

  “Oh, he would be excellent in that!”

  “Then you must persuade him. If anybody can, I think it would be you.”

  “I’ll try, sir.”

  Edwards frowned. “I can’t think why he wouldn’t want to go on. He’s doing so well in the theatre.”

  “I hope he does. He gives pleasure to so many people.”

  “Well, here’s my card. If you have any success, let me know at once.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll do my best.”

  As soon as the door was closed, Meredith leaned back against it. “He’s got to do it! He’s just got to do it!”

  The prison was much like an underground coffin, at least to Dylan. He had been there before, twice as a prisoner, other times as a visitor to his friends when he had been investigating a crime scene. Now he waited until the guard brought the inmate in. He looked up and said, “Hello, Felan, have a seat.”

  Rian Felan stared at him. “Do I know you?”

  “We met once, but I’m sure you wouldn’t remember it.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Dylan Tremayne.”

  Rian threw himself down and grinned. “I do remember you, I think. You were part of the Hanks family.”

  “For a while, yes.”

  “What are you doing here now? You’re not a lawyer, are you?”

  “No, I’m with Scotland Yard.”

  Amazement spread across Felan’s face. “But you were a criminal yourself.”

  “I was only twelve years old, Felan. I didn’t even know the Hanks were thieves until they took me off the street almost starved to death.”

  “Well, they made a good thief out of you. I remember the old man would shove you through windows. You were so skinny then. Like a snake,” he said. “And you would let them in and they’d strip the place.” He laughed.

  “Things have changed, and I need to talk to you about these murders.”

  “You mean the Slasher? I killed one woman, Dylan. She was my woman, and she cheated on me. I cut her up, and I enjoyed it. I’d do it again too.”

  Dylan shook his head. “It’s a miracle you didn’t hang.”

  “Well, maybe God’s looking out for me. What do you think?”

  “I don’t think so. I want to ask you a few questions.”

  “I bet I’ve heard them before. Superintendent Grant has asked me every question he could think of—and so did that inspector with the Scottish accent. Go ahead though. I’ll give you the truth.”

  For the next hour Dylan shot question after question at Rian Felan, but by the end of that time he was convinced that Felan was not guilty. He was guilty of murdering a woman and then getting off by some form of miracle, but if he was telling anywhere near the truth, and Dylan knew he would check it out, Rian was not the Slasher.

  Finally rising, he said, “Well, I’ll be going now.”

  “When is Grant going to give up and let me out of this place?”

  “Can’t say about that. Need anything?”

  Rian Felan was surprised. “Yes, I do. I need some money. I could buy some food if I had it.”

  Dylan had very little money, but he pulled out two pounds and handed it over. “Old times’ sake,” he said.

  “You’re all right. You’d better stick with your playacting though. It pays better than this detective business.”

  As soon as Dylan stepped inside the house, Meredith came to him.

  “I’ve had a good day. Scotland Yard detective now.”

  “Listen,” she said, ignoring his opening remark. “Hugh Edwards came here.”

  “I can guess what he wanted.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s been trying for weeks to get me to star in Henry V.”

  “You’ve got to do it, Dylan! He’s a rich man. We didn’t talk money, but he’d pay well.”

  Dylan pulled off his coat and draped it over a chair. He turned to her and said, “I thought you understood, Meredith. I’m not going to be an actor.”

  “You’ve got to, Dylan! You have to. How are you going to take care of a family?”

  “I’ve got a job. It won’t be easy, but we can do it.”

  The argument went on until finally Dylan could stand it no longer. He got up and said, “Meredith, we can talk about some things, and I’m willing to listen to your ideas, but this is my decision and it’s final. I’ll never go on the stage again.” He turned and walked out, and he heard her screaming at him as he hurried away, glad to be out of her range.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Well, behold, the husband cometh.”

  Matthew Grant had come into the office, a big smile on his face, and he seemed to literally glow with happiness. “Yes, I am back, Dylan. I’m an old married man now.”

  Dylan smiled at his friend, pleased to see him so content. “A week doesn’t make a marriage, but I suppose it’s a good start.”

  Matthew seemed to be unable to contain himself. He walked around the office, paused to look out the window, then threw his arms apart in a gesture of utter happiness. “I’m the happiest man in the world, Dylan! All my life up to this point has been wasted. I should have gotten married a long time ago.”

  Dylan laughed at Grant’s exuberance. “That wouldn’t have been possible. God was getting you a bride ready.”

  “You really believe that, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do. You think God’s not interested in whom we marry?”


  “I think you’ve been reading those Calvinistic sermons too much. The next thing I know you’ll be parking your carriage on the railroad track.”

  Dylan laughed. “Not so bad as that. Now, tell me about your honeymoon.”

  The two men sat down in the office, and for the next twenty minutes Dylan listened as his boss told him almost every detail. “She’s the sweetest, prettiest woman that ever lived.”

  “Good that you should think so.”

  Grant suddenly lifted his head, and a more sober light came into his face. “What about you, Dylan? Anything new on your own marriage?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  There was a flat quality in Dylan’s voice, and the light of happiness seemed to have faded. Matthew watched him, thinking, He’s miserable, but he won’t admit it. Aloud he said, “When’s the date?”

  “We haven’t set one yet. Got to find a place to live, and money’s rather scarce.”

  “I wish we could pay more, but this is all the budget affords right now.”

  “No, Matthew, you’ve really saved my life giving me this job. I’m perfectly content with the wages.”

  “You’ll do well, I’m sure. Won’t be long before you’ll be a full-fledged inspector. Now bring me up to date on what’s been going on these last few days.”

  “At the present moment it looks as if Rian Felan is the best candidate because of his past history and witnesses who can place him near the residences of two of the murders.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t think he did it.”

  Grant looked at Dylan with surprise. “You say that with a lot of confidence. What makes you think so?”

  “Oh, a lot of things. In the first place, Felan has no motive at all. He didn’t even know any of the murder victims. But we know he killed one woman in exactly the same fashion that all these women suffered. That ought to go for something. Still, I don’t think it’ll ever get him convicted. Another thing is his attitude. I knew him a long time ago, and I can tell a little bit about him. He’s no good, but I don’t think we’re going to be able to pin this on him.”