Sonnet to a Dead Contessa

by Gilbert, Morris

  “I don’t remember that.”

  “I do. I wrote it down because it seemed important to me.”

  “Dylan, don’t let her say these awful things to me.”

  Dylan stared at Meredith. “I’d like to hear what she has to say.”

  “Last April you told me that you had seen the Prince of Wales in October of ’57.”

  “That’s right, I did.”

  “You could not have seen him. He was in France all that month, the month before, and the month after.”

  “I—I made a mistake.”

  “I grew suspicious. There are several more but minor things. You claim to have worked shucking oysters, but your hands are not scarred—as are the hands of all who have done that sort of work.”

  “Don’t listen to her, Dylan! She’s lying!”

  “I’ve just come back from Wales. I went to the village where you grew up.”

  “That doesn’t prove anything.”

  “No, but here is a sworn statement from the pastor of the local church. He keeps the records of all marriages, and there is no record of a marriage between Lewis Brice and Meredith Evans. I talked to other people who knew you without telling them why I was there. They all said, in one way or another, that you had never been married. In fact, most people said you two never had a relationship.”

  “It’s a lie! I was married to Lewis!”

  “No, you were not. Because on the date you said you were married, Lewis was not in Wales. He had gone to Africa the year before as a volunteer to work with David Livingstone. He died there and is buried there.”

  Suddenly Meredith turned to face Dylan. “You see what she’s doing, don’t you, Dylan? She wants you for herself. She’s been in love with you for a long time.”

  Dylan stared at her, unable to reply. Serafina spoke up at once. “I won’t dignify those accusations with a response. Dylan, read this.”

  Dylan took the documents and the letter that stated that there was no record of a marriage between Lewis Brice and Meredith Evans. The pastor had added, “I knew Lewis until he left for Africa, and I’m certain he never married in this village or anywhere else.”

  Dylan looked up and stared across the room at Meredith. “Why have you done this, Meredith?”

  Meredith cursed. Her face twisted, and she vowed it was all lies. “You’d believe whatever she says!”

  Serafina said, “I have one more bit of evidence, and it will prove one thing: that Guinivere is not your child.”

  “You’re a liar! That’s what you are, a bloody liar!”

  Serafina did not answer. She walked over to the door, opened it, and said, “Come in, please.”

  Dylan stared at the man who looked like one of the roughs. He was staring at Meredith, and he said, “Didn’t expect to see me, did you?”

  “Who are you?” Dylan asked at once.

  “Me? I’m Caradoc Price, the lover of that there woman.”

  “I never saw this man!”

  “Tell your story to Mr. Tremayne, Price,” Serafina said.

  “There ain’t a whole lot to tell.” He was a big man, bulky with a pasty complexion as if he had not been outdoors a great deal. “Me and Meredith, we never married, but we lived together. She found out I had another woman named Gladys. She turned me over to the law. I was a poacher, among other things. So I went to prison until I could pay the fine. She laughed at me. Somehow she heard about Dylan here being a star on the stage. She took Guinivere and come to England.”

  “How did you get out of prison to come here?” Dylan asked. He had a heaviness in his spirit, for at one time Meredith had been a true friend and his first love, even though it was childhood love.

  “Why, Lady Trent there got me out. She paid my fine, after I told her my story, and got me out.”

  “What is it you want, Caradoc?” Dylan asked.

  “Me? I don’t want nothing but to get a little bit of my own revenge on Meredith. She sent me to jail, so I breaks up her little game. And the girl? She’s an orphan. I reckon Meredith just grabbed her to use when she decided to come here and take you for what you’ve got. She ain’t no kin to Meredith.”

  “We can find a home for her here,” Serafina said at once. “You’d like to stay here with Dylan, wouldn’t you, Guin?”

  “Yes!”

  Meredith stood staring at Dylan, and he said gently, “I think you’d better go back to Wales, Meredith.”

  “All right, fine. I’ll go back,” Meredith said. She turned away and faced the wall as if she could not bear to look upon any of them.

  Dylan stood, heartbroken, staring at Meredith’s back for a moment. He opened his mouth and tried to speak, but he struggled for words. He closed his mouth, then willed himself to try again. “Meredith . . .” he began, his voice barely a whisper. He stopped, closed his eyes, swallowed his tears, and went on. “Meredith, I’m—I’m s-sorry I dishonored you.”

  “You fool!” Meredith spat, whirling around to face him, her face red and her eyes flashing. “You never touched me!”

  “What do you mean? You said—”

  But she wouldn’t let him finish. “I know what I said!” she hissed. “But it wasn’t true. I put something in your drink to make you pass out, so that when you awoke the next morning, you wouldn’t remember anything. And then I lied and said you’d made love to me—but I only said that so you’d marry me, because I thought you’d be worth marrying! Little did I know. Oh, little did I know.” Bitterness dripped from her every word.

  And Meredith’s venomous words were more than Serafina could take. “He’s twice the man, Meredith, that you’ll ever deserve!”

  “As if you would know,” Meredith said with her eyebrow raised, then turned her back on them both again.

  Serafina started to say something in return, but before she could, she felt Dylan’s hand on her shoulder. Turning, she saw that he was shaking his head.

  Serafina called Ellie, the tweeny maid, who had been waiting outside the door. Ellie enticed Guin to go to the house for cookies, and then Serafina moved to the desk, opened the drawer, and removed a purse. She handed it to Caradoc, saying, “There’s enough for her passage, and your fee is in there. I’ll have my coachmen take you back.” She turned and said, “Meredith, I think you’d best go back to Wales and try to find yourself there.”

  Dylan watched in a stunned fashion as Meredith and Price walked outside. Meredith did not say a word but gave him a poisonous look. The carriage rolled away, and Meredith looked out and pronounced a curse on Serafina, who did not answer.

  Serafina turned back to Dylan and said, “I’ll take care of Guin and will look into the legalities of adopting her. You can come see her when you feel up to it, but I know this is hard for you right now.”

  Dylan turned to her. “Not as hard as it would have been if I had married her. I would have found out sooner or later, I suppose.”

  Serafina came, stood close to him, put her hand on his arm, and said gently, “You wanted to do a good thing, Dylan. I knew all the time you didn’t love her. You just wanted to help her and the child.”

  “No, I didn’t love her, but I thought I could do something good.”

  “You tried to save what was left, and I admire you for it. Would you like to come to the house?”

  Dylan felt that he had taken a blow to the midsection. He could not think properly. “I’d like to go back to town, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not. I’ll have Peter hitch up the small carriage and take you back.”

  She turned to go, but he reached out, took her arm, and held her for a moment. “I don’t know what to say, Serafina, but I know that when this all sinks in, for the rest of my life, I’ll be grateful to you for saving me from making a terrible, terrible mistake. Thank you very much. You’ve been my good angel.”

  Serafina’s eyes lit up, and her lips trembled. “I’m happy for you, Dylan. You’re going to pull through this. It may take awhile, but you’ll find your way.”

 
Ten minutes later Dylan was in the small carriage along with Peter Grimes, the footman. He was curious, Dylan could tell, but he asked no questions. Just made a few remarks about the weather. When they reached the city, he drove at once, at Dylan’s direction, to the office that held Scotland Yard. Dylan got out and said, “Thank you, Peter.”

  “You’re welcome, sir.”

  Dylan walked inside, and when people spoke to him as he made his way through the small office that he shared with Sandy Kenzie, he responded automatically. He sat down at the desk and stared at the papers blindly. Over and over again he thought about what he had just experienced, and finally Matthew came in and said, “Kenzie tells me you had an errand.”

  “Come in. Let me tell you something.”

  Curious, Matthew came in and shut the door. He listened as Dylan told him what had happened, and then he said, “Well, I know this hits you hard. It’s bad news to find out someone has betrayed you, but personally I’m relieved that the truth came out.”

  Matthew came over, put his arm around Dylan’s shoulder, and said, “Come on, man. Work’s the best thing. We’ll talk about this later. Maybe you can have supper with me and Dora tonight.”

  “That would be nice, but I don’t think I’m fit to work. Can’t think of anything very logically.”

  “Take the day off. Go for a walk. Go down to the river. Do something to take your mind off of it.”

  “Thanks, Matthew. I’ll do that.”

  Dylan had returned to the office, and dusk had fallen. He sat there at his desk going over the evidence on the killings and read again the last poem that the Slasher had left.

  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!

  Dylan had stared at the poem for more than an hour. He had gotten up and walked the floor until he had it in his memory. He had always been a quick study, and now the poem went through his mind over and over and over again.

  Finally he began to pray. “Lord, my mind won’t handle this. I need help. Somebody will die if we do not stop it.” He continued to pray, and then suddenly a thought came to him that he had never had before. He stared at the poem, then quickly left the room and went into Matthew’s office. Matthew was working late, and he looked up in surprise.

  “What is it, Dylan?”

  “I need to look at your map of England, the big one.”

  “There it is on the wall. What is it?”

  Dylan did not answer. He darted over to the map. He looked over it quickly, and almost at once he put his finger on a section of the map. “I’ve got it, I think, Matthew! I know who the next victim will be.”

  Matthew came to his feet, his eyes bright. “What do you mean?”

  “Look, the poem says the river holds the town with a crooked arm. Look at this. See this small town of Trent? A river surrounds it.”

  Matthew gasped. “You don’t mean you think Serafina will be the next victim?”

  “I think so. It says a noble lady will die on the day she is born. Today is Serafina’s birthday. The last two lines say, ‘In midsummer she will cease to be.’”

  “Midsummer—that’s a quarter day.” The two men stared at each other, and Dylan said, “Look at the last line. ‘Scotland Yard will never see.’ He’s daring us. He’s telling us what he’s going to do.”

  “We’ve got to get out there before it’s too late.”

  The two men rushed out, and Matthew bellowed loudly until a cab stopped in front of them. “I’ll tell you how to get there.”

  The carriage raced down the road, and from time to time Matthew stuck his head out the window. “Hurry, man! Kill that horse if you have to!”

  Dylan had not said a word. The Slasher had given them the information, but they had been blind and had not seen it.

  “God, keep her safe. Keep her safe,” he murmured over and over again, and a great fear came into his heart as he realised how much Serafina meant to him.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Serafina had spent the afternoon playing with Guin and David, and then after dinner she put both children to bed, David in his room and Guin in the room they’d prepared for her. She was glad the little girl had gone to bed easily, but Serafina could not sleep. The situation with Meredith Evans had disturbed her. She had worried also about Dylan, for she knew he was a sensitive man and would not take this well.

  Finally she closed her eyes. The room was bright with moon-light coming through the large windows, but she finally drifted off to sleep . . . or almost so, at least.

  In one of those twilight experiences when one is neither awake nor asleep but some of each, she heard a slight muffled sound, and for a moment she lay there confused. Then suddenly her heart seemed to stop, for in the bright moonlight she turned her head to see a shadowy form.

  The Slasher!

  At once she realised that she was a dead woman if she didn’t do something. She rolled out of bed and cried out, but the figure came toward her. She reached about wildly and picked up the kerosene lamp from her dressing table. She threw it, and it hit the killer and soaked his garments with whale oil.

  “You cannot escape. I’ll kill you like I killed the others.”

  The voice of the Slasher was high-pitched. Serafina backed away and picked up the box of matches. She lit one immediately and cried loudly, “If I toss this match, you’ll burn to death.”

  “Not before I kill you.”

  Serafina had time to toss the match. She backed away and saw it catch on the sleeve of the killer. It blazed up, and as the killer beat it out with his free hand, Serafina moved to the fireplace and grabbed a poker from the rack that was there.

  The Slasher laughed and moved closer. There was a maniacal sound in the laughter, and suddenly Serafina saw the glint of a knife. He laughed again and made a pass with the knife. Serafina jabbed the poker and caught the killer in the chest, but he made no sound and circled to stand in front of the door. The Slasher was moving gracefully, toying with Serafina. Serafina cried out again, but he jumped, and Serafina felt a strong hand on her throat. She collapsed backward. The dark figure was muffled. She could see a pair of eyes staring at her from underneath the dark hood.

  “The great detective! You fool! I gave you the names of the victims, and you couldn’t catch me. Before you die, I want you to see what you missed, you stupid woman.”

  The killer threw the cloak back, and Serafina stared—for it was a woman who held her there!

  “Jeanne St. Clair!”

  “Yes, it’s me, Jeanne St. Clair. All of Scotland Yard couldn’t catch me, and it was so clear. How many people would be able to go up and down a wall like a cat? Only an acrobat or an aerialist like me could do it.”

  “Please let me go.”

  “You’ll be going somewhere, but just as the other women did.”

  “Why did you kill all those women, Jeanne?”

  “Because Martha told me to, of course.”

  “Why would she want those women dead, and why would you kill for her?”

  Jeanne St. Clair had glittering eyes. She held the knife at Serafina’s throat, but she was enjoying this moment of triumph. “Because none of you would help with the movement. You are all fools! You are slaves to men, and you don’t even know it.”

  “But why would you kill for her?”

  “You’re too stupid to see that, aren’t you? She’s been my lover for years.” The
laugh came again and had a madness in it. “That shocks you, doesn’t it?”

  “But Violet Bates? Why kill her? She had no title, and she was a supporter of Miss Bingham.”

  “Why, she loved Martha. Always had. She wanted me out of the way. I found out she was going to tell the law that I was the Slasher. I couldn’t have that, could I? Now—you want to say your prayers?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “They don’t mean nothing. Say them quick. I’ll finish the amen.”

  Serafina felt the knife at her throat, and she began to pray. “Lord, help this poor woman—”

  “Keep your prayer. I don’t believe in no God!”

  “But Jesus loves you, Jeanne.”

  Suddenly there was a sound of wood smashing, and Jeanne St. Clair whirled and saw two men come in. She had no chance to move, for Dylan grabbed her, and Matthew was right behind him.

  “Jeanne St. Clair,” Matthew said. “I should have known you would be the one who was able to climb walls and get away like a bird . . . almost.”

  “You’re all fools!”

  “Maybe we have been,” Matthew said, “but you’re going to pay for it.” He produced some cuffs and restrained her hands behind her back. A piece of paper fell from her sleeve.

  “Maybe so,” the woman said. Her eyes had madness in them, but there was triumph in her voice. “But I won’t be alone.”

  “You killed those women.”

  “Yes, I killed them, but Martha ordered me to do it. Paid me good money too.”

  “You’ll swear to that in court?”

  “Of course I will.” The laugh again, and the woman sounded demented. “But she thought she was rid of me with that plain frump of a Violet! Now we’ll go to the pit together. Take me when you arrest Martha, Superintendent. I want to see her face!”

  Matthew said, “I’ll just do that. You want to come, Dylan?”

  Dylan had picked up the piece of paper and was studying it carefully. “It seems that Miss St. Clair intended to leave another poem—for another victim.”