Sonnet to a Dead Contessa

by Gilbert, Morris

Matthew took the paper and read it. “Who did you intend to kill next?”

  “You’ll never figure it out, stupid policeman.”

  Dylan saw Serafina’s troubled expression and said, “Matthew, take this woman down to the station. I think I’ll stay here. Serafina may need some company.”

  “Well, you solved the case, Dylan. I think this will get you in full status at the Yard. You’ll be Inspector Dylan Tremayne if I have anything to say about it.”

  “He’s as stupid as the rest of you!” Jeanne said.

  “We’ll see who’s stupid. Come on.” Matthew pulled her out the door.

  Serafina turned to Dylan. He came to stand close to her. He held his hand out, and she saw that it was trembling. “I didn’t think anything could do that to me.”

  She put her hand lightly on his chest. She was wearing only a thin nightgown, but it never occurred to her. The threat of instant death had taken everything else out of her mind. She was aware that he had put his arms around her, and she looked up and said, “I found out about Meredith in Wales, but I found something else too.”

  “And what was that, Serafina?”

  “I found God in Wales. I went out on the moors all alone. I walked and I cried out, and the Lord came to me. That’s why I could pray for Jeanne instead of myself when she was about to kill me.”

  Dylan listened as she told, with her face alight, how she had found Jesus to be real, something she had always run from in the past.

  He held her close. She pressed her face against his chest, and he whispered, “Now you are a true handmaid of the Lord.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Septimus and Serafina were looking through the window watching David and Dylan. They were engaged in building a tree house for which the two had made great plans. Guin played on the grass with two dolls and the mastiff Napoleon lying beside her.

  “I hope they don’t fall out of that thing and break their necks,” Septimus said.

  “They won’t,” Serafina replied and added, “God wouldn’t let that happen.”

  Septimus turned to face her. “You’re serious about this faith of yours in Jesus, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  He was silent, and Serafina saw that there was a sadness in him. “What is it? Is something bothering you?”

  “I can look back, and I see now that I was the one who kept you away from God all your life.”

  “I don’t want you to have any guilt about that.”

  “I can’t help it.” His face softened, and he whispered, “Maybe you’ll find time to tell me what it’s like—believing in God.”

  Serafina reached up, pulled him close, and kissed his cheek. “I think I can find the time for that,” she said, and light shone in her eyes. “I think I’ll go out and see if I can help with the tree house.”

  She left the house at once, and when she neared Guin, she reached down and picked her up. They looked up at the ladder that led to the tree house. “Is this house reserved for males?” she called out.

  “No, come on up, Mum and Guin!” David’s head appeared, and his eyes were shining. “Don’t fall.”

  Serafina put Guin back on the grass and asked her to wait there. Awkwardly Serafina climbed up. “What a nice house.” They had built the floor and walls and two windows, and David was speaking very loudly. “We’re going to put some bedding up here so we can spend the night.”

  “It will be a little bit cold, won’t it?”

  “No, it’s going to be fun. We’re going to have a secret code too, for members only.”

  Serafina turned so David could not see her face and winked at Dylan. “Can I be a member, David?”

  “Can she, Dylan?”

  “Well,” Dylan said, “our membership rules are strict. You’ve got to pay dues.”

  “How much?”

  “A big platter of fairy cakes every day.”

  There was, in fact, a light at the end of this dark tunnel, she saw. The case had been closed. Dylan had received full credit. The papers had made a great deal out of the fact that a famous actor had now become a famous detective. Matthew had seen to it that he had gotten full credit for the arrest of the Slasher. The trial had lasted only two days, for with Jeanne St. Clair’s giving full testimony of her guilt and implicating Martha Bingham, both women were sentenced to hang.

  Now Dylan had passed out of gloom, and his relationship with Serafina was different. She had always avoided talk about the Bible, of God, and now she eagerly listened as he told her things about the faith that she now embraced.

  “Well,” Serafina said fondly, “what’s the purpose of your club?”

  “To save people,” David piped up, “and animals too.”

  “Oh, I like that! But, by the way, I think Nessa has made some cake and lemonade. Why don’t we go get some?”

  “Yes! I’ll go first.” David scooted down the ladder and ran across the yard, yelling something that Serafina could not understand.

  “What’s he saying, Dylan?”

  He turned to her and came close. “I can’t tell you until you’re a member of the club. You’ll have to go through the initiation.”

  “Well, I’m ready.”

  He moved forward and took her in his arms and kissed her. “There, that’s part of it.”

  She laughed, and he brought her to him again with a quick sweep of his arms. When he kissed her and felt the desperate hunger of her lips, a feeling raced through him like fire shaking his mind. She had this power over him, and he saw that he had the same power over her. This woman was capable of lifting him to wild far heights, and suddenly he saw that her lips were trembling as if she were weak.

  “What is it?”

  “I nearly lost you.”

  “I’ve loved you a long time, Lady Serafina Trent.”

  “You never said so.”

  “Well, you’re a viscountess. I’m a simple policeman. I don’t have anything to offer you.”

  “You can offer me yourself.”

  “If I had money and a title and you had nothing, it’s easy what the decision would be.”

  Suddenly lightness came to Serafina Trent. She knew that she was beginning a journey. She could see in his eyes that he could no more keep away from her than she could keep away from him. “Doesn’t this club have rules about being courageous?”

  “Indeed, yes,” Dylan said.

  “Then show some courage, man.”

  “All right, I will. I want to be David’s father.”

  “Well then?”

  “The only way I can be that is to be married to his mother.” He was smiling now, and she loved the way he teased her at times like this.

  “Is that a proposal? It’s the worst I ever heard! Where’s all that romantic talk, the poetry, the fire you Welshmen are supposed to have?”

  Dylan laughed, and wrapping his arms about her, he lifted her off her feet and swung her around. “The day I stop loving you will be the day I die.”

  Serafina was in his arms, and he was saying the sweet and lovely and wonderful things that she had always longed to hear—but never had. When he put her down, she pulled his head down and kissed him. As he lifted his head, he saw there were diamonds in her eyes. “David will be glad,” she whispered.

  “And what about his mum?”

  “She’s only a viscountess, but she’ll soon be much more than that! A wife she’ll be. Never let me go, Dylan.”

  “If you’re having my opinion,” Dylan whispered, “I’ll be married to a queen. And any man married to a queen is a king, isn’t he?”

  They both laughed and climbed down the ladder. He took her hand as they walked toward the house.

  Dylan suddenly laughed. “Aunt Bertha will be pleased that you’ve decided to marry a policeman.”

  Serafina giggled like a teenager. “She can be one of the brides-maids.” Then she reached up and grabbed his ear and tugged it. “We’re going to shock the world, Dylan Tremayne. Aunt Bertha will have to get used to my new name.
Serafina Tremayne—wife and mother.”

  And then David came running toward them, and Serafina bent over and whispered in his ear. David looked up at Dylan and laughed. “See, I told you she liked you. Now let’s go have cake and lemonade.”

  AN EXCERPT FROM

  The Mermaid in the Basement

  BY GILBERT MORRIS

  CHAPTER ONE

  As Clive Newton made his way along Drury Lane headed for the Old Vic Theatre, he felt the rush of excitement that always came when he attended any of Kate Fairfield’s performances. As he crossed the intersection, the cobblestones were still gleaming from the light evening rain. He tossed a halfpenny to the crossing-sweeper, a small boy who swept away manure and mud. The boy bit the coin, then gave Clive a snaggletoothed grin. “Thankee, sir!”

  A woman wearing a revealing dress, her face painted, appeared out of the shadows. She attached herself to Clive’s arm and winked at him. “Come along wif me, husband. I’ll show yer a good time.” Shaking his head, Clive moved away, followed by the harlot’s curse.

  Hurrying along the street, he was struck by the fact that all classes of society mingled in London’s streets. One expected harlots to be in the Seven Dials district or in the Haymarket, but it seemed odd that on this main thoroughfare, the rich and the poor, the good and the evil, formed a strange confluence. Some of the women, illuminated by the gaslights, were past their prime; most of them were rattle-cheeked and slackbodied.

  There were some young women who came from the country to seek their fortune, but most of them sank to prostitution.

  The theatre crowds—filled with respectable women of wealth, their jewels flashing in the reflection of the gaslights—stood side by side with the poorest of London.Homeless children, or Street Arabs, no more than eight or ten years old, swarmed the street. Some pulled at the sleeves of men who whispered crude invitations.

  Clive moved southward into the Strand. He passed large bills advertising dramas, musicals, concerts, and recitals with names of current favourites in giant letters: Ellen Terry, Isabella Glyn.

  Reaching the Old Vic, Clive pressed his way into the crowded foyer. Massive crystal chandeliers threw their blazing candescence over the crowd, and from the hands and necks and headdresses of the women, jewels flashed. Diamonds sparkled in elaborate coiffures, at arms, throats, wrists, and hands. The foyer became a river of activity, pale shoulders gleaming amid the brilliant colours of silk, taffeta, voile, and velvet dresses, while the uniform black of men’s dress made a violent contrast. Not all of the crowd that gathered in the Old Vic were wearing diamonds. Intermingled with the wealthy were men and women dressed in plain clothes. Indeed, attending the theatre was one of the few instances of true democracy in England!

  Clive hesitated, taking in the scene, then impulsively turned and made his way to a doorway that led from the foyer.He walked down a narrow corridor that opened into a large area backstage. He stopped short, watching the actors, actresses, stagehands, prompters, and others necessary to putting on the production of Hamlet move about. They reminded Clive of a swarm of ants rushing about frantically in aimless activity.

  Moving toward the row of dressing rooms, he stopped before one of the doors and knocked. A voice called out, and he stepped inside. His features lit up at the sight of the woman who had risen from her chair and held a handkerchief in her right hand. “Clive, what are you doing here?”

  Katherine Fairfield, a reigning star of the production, was no more than medium height, but her carriage was so erect that she seemed taller. She was wearing a dress that was not intended to be particularly revealing, being fitted to the fair Ophelia in the play, an innocent young girl, but Kate’s spectacular figure could not be concealed even beneath such a dowdy exterior.

  She had dark red hair, enormous dark eyes, and diaphanous skin the envy of every woman in London. Just the sight of her had an effect that reached across the room, stirring him, but she repeated with a touch of irritation,

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to see you, Kate.”

  “Well, you can’t see me now. The performance starts in a few minutes.”

  Clive moved forward and put his arms out, but Kate frowned and shook her head. “There’s no time for that now.”

  “But I haven’t seen you in four days, Kate.”

  Kate Fairfield was adept at handling men. It was her stock in trade. She smiled and put her hand on Clive’s cheek. “ After the performance.

  Come back then.”

  Disappointment swept across young Clive’s face, but he knew her well enough to obey, so he left the room, closing the door behind him. Kate stared at the door and then laughed. “Young fool!” Then she turned back for one final look at her makeup. A muffled announcement came to her:

  “Curtain—five minutes!” She turned and stepped outside. Seeing a tall, dark-haired young man leaning against the scenery, she walked over to him and smiled winsomely. “You’d better be careful, Dylan.” Dylan Tremayne turned to face Kate. He was a strikingly handsome man of twenty-seven. Exactly six feet tall, his athletic form was unmistakable through the tights and close-fitting tunic of his costume for the part of Laertes. A lock of his glossy, coal black hair curled over his forehead. He had a wedge-shaped face, a wide mouth, and a definite cleft chin. His most striking feature, however, was the strange blue of his eyes. They were exactly the colour of the cornflowers that dotted the English countryside, and they made a startling contrast against his jet black hair and tanned complexion.

  Dylan had served for several years as a soldier in India. Despite his Welsh roots, he was so deeply tanned by the sun that he never paled.

  “And what is it that I need to be careful about, Kate?” he asked. He turned and watched the woman carefully, with something guarded in his manner. “And, by the way, why are you tormenting young Newton like that?”His voice was smooth, and his choice of words gave evidence of his Welsh blood.

  “He likes it, Dylan.”

  “In love with you, ay?”

  “Of course he is. Every man is—except you.”Kate studied Dylan carefully. He was the one man she had encountered who had resisted her charm. He had become, in effect, a challenge to her womanhood. It amused her to toy with men, but Dylan had resisted her advances—and this piqued the ego of the actress. Actually, Kate did more than “toy” with men. Her mother had been abused by a series of men, and she made it her burning ambition to see that this never happened to her daughter. She’d set out to instill in Kate from the beginning that a woman must conquer men. “Draw them by your

  beauty, then use them! Take what you can from men and laugh at them when you cast them off!” was the advice she gave Kate—who learnt her lesson well.

  “You shouldn’t torment the young fellow, Kate. I think it’s green as grass, he is.”

  “It amuses me.” She suddenly smiled, took his arm, and pressed her body against him. “You’d better not give a good performance tonight. Ash won’t like it. He’s jealous enough of you as it is.”

  “I’ll be as bad as I can, me.” Dylan grinned.

  Kate reached up and pushed back the lock over his forehead. “Why don’t we go to my place after the performance?” she whispered. “We could get to know each other better.”

  Dylan could not miss the sexual overtones of the invitation, nor the edacious look in her eyes. He shook his head, saying, “Not into that sort of thing anymore.”

  Kate Fairfield’s eyes glinted with anger. “I don’t believe you’re as holy as all that.”

  “It’s only a Christian I am—and not the best in the world, either.”

  “Everyone knows you’re preaching, or something, down on the waterfront in some sort of mission work.”

  “It’s what the Lord wants me to do, though I don’t know why. There’s plenty can preach better than I.”

  Kate Fairfield stared at him, and she wasn’t smiling—indeed, Dylan saw a small stirring of sadness in her eyes. She did not like to hear talk about
God or religion, and releasing her grip on Dylan’s arm, she shook her head. “You’re a fool, Dylan Tremayne!”