A Conspiracy of Ravens (2 page)

As Serafina helped David pile food onto his plate, she listened to her father, who chose mealtime to announce the scientific progress taking place in the world.

“I see,” Septimus said, “that London architects are going to enlarge Buckingham Palace to give it a south wing with a ballroom a hundred and ten feet long.”

“That’s as it should be. The old ballroom is much too small.”

The speaker was Lady Bertha Mulvane, the widow of Sir Hubert Mulvane and the sister of Septimus’s wife, Alberta. She was a heavyset woman with blunt features and ate as if she had been starved.

“I’d love to go to a ball there,” Aldora Lynn Newton said. She was a beautiful young girl with auburn hair flecked with gold, large well-shaped brown eyes, and a flawless complexion. An air of innocence glowed from her, though she would never be the beauty of her older sister. By some miracle of grace, she had no resentment toward Serafina.

Lady Bertha shook her head. “If you don’t choose your friends with more discretion, Dora, I would be opposed to letting you go to any ball.”

Aldora gave her aunt a half-frightened look, for the woman was intimidating. “I think my friends are very nice.”

“You have no business letting that policeman call on you, that fellow Grant.”

Indeed, Inspector Matthew Grant had made the acquaintance of the Newton family only recently. He had been the detective in charge of the case against Clive Newton. After the case was successfully solved, and the murderer turned out to be the superintendent of Scotland Yard, it had been assumed that Grant would take the superintendent’s place. And Bertha Mulvane would be happy enough to receive him as Superintendent Grant.

Serafina could not help saying, “Inspector Grant was invaluable in helping get Clive out of prison.”

“He did little enough. It was you and that actor fellow who did all the work solving that case.”

“No, Inspector Grant’s help was essential,” Serafina insisted. She saw Lady Mulvane puff up and thought for an instant how much her aunt looked like an old, fat toad at times. She saw also that her aunt had taken one of the spoons and slipped it surreptitiously into her sleeve. “It’s one thing to entertain the superintendent of Scotland Yard, but a mere policeman? Not at all suitable!”

Septimus said gently, “Well, Bertha, that was a political thing. Inspector Grant should have gotten the position, but politics gave it to a less worthy man.”

Lady Bertha did not challenge this but devoured another sandwich. She ate, not with enjoyment, but as if she were putting food in a cabinet somewhere to be eaten at a future time.

Serafina’s mother, Alberta, was an attractive woman with blonde hair and mild blue eyes. She was getting a little heavier now in her early fifties, but had no wrinkles on her smooth face. Her hands showed the rough, hard upbringing she’d had, for she came from a poor family. Septimus had not been rich when they had met, and she had pushed him into becoming a doctor and later into the research that had made him wealthy and famous. “Perhaps Bertha is right, Aldora.”

“Of course I’m right!” Bertha snapped. “And you, Serafina, I’d think you’d finally gotten some common sense.”

“I’m glad to hear you think so, Aunt. What brings you to this alarming conclusion?” Serafina smiled, noting that her aunt had slipped one of the silver saltshakers into the large sleeve of her coat. She well knew that Bertha Mulvane’s own house was furnished with items that had somehow mysteriously disappeared from Trentwood House.

“Why, the fact that you have a suitor who’s worthy of you.”

“I’m not aware that I had such a suitor.”

“Now don’t be foolish, Serafina. Sir Alex Bolton is so handsome, and he has a title.”

Serafina shook her head, picked up a cheese sandwich, and took a bite of it. “He’s not calling on me. I danced with him once at a ball last week.”

“But he’s coming to dinner next week,” Alberta said, a pleased expression on her face. “And, of course, I know that he’s coming to see you.”

“Oh, he’d be such a catch!” Bertha exclaimed.

Septimus looked up from his paper. “He’s poor as a church mouse,” he said firmly. “He lost most of his money in bad investments and gambling.”

“Oh, you’re wrong, Septimus,” Bertha said. “He owns a great plantation in Ireland.”

“I’ve heard he owns some forty acres of bog land, good for nothing,” Septimus said, then he turned to his grandson and smiled. “David, what are you going to do today?”

“Dylan’s coming. We’re going to trap some rabbits. He knows how to snare them.”

Bertha’s face was the picture of disgust. Her neck seemed to swell, and she barely spat out the words. “I have no doubt he’s a poacher.” She turned and said, “I would think you might choose your son’s companions more carefully, Serafina.”

Serafina said calmly, “You didn’t object to Dylan when he was helping me get Clive out of a murder charge.”

Since Bertha had no defense for this, she left the room in a huff. David leaned over and whispered, “She stole a spoon, Mum.”

“I know. Just don’t pay any attention to her, David.”

The driver, a small red-faced man with oversized hands, pulled his horse up, and the hansom cab stopped. Dylan leapt out and tossed the driver a shilling, which he caught adeptly.

“Why, thank you, suh. Shall I wait fer you?”

“No, I’m not sure how long I’ll be.”

The driver did not look like one who would attend plays, but he surprised Dylan by saying, “I seen you in a play. ‘Hamlet’ you wuz called. You wuz great in that play.”

“Why, thank you, Asa.”

“Wot are you in now?”

“At the moment nothing. I’m thinking about retiring.”

“No, sir, you mustn’t do that,” the cabby insisted. “You’d be depriving folks of sumfing good.”

Dylan laughed. “Not really.” He reached into his pocket, drew out a notepad, and wrote something on it quickly. “Give this to the fellow who takes tickets at the Old Vic tonight. It’ll get your whole family in to see the play.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Dylan nodded and turned to the door. He ascended the steps and reached out for the knocker when the door opened and David came running out. “Hello, Dylan. Let’s go catch rabbits.”

But Serafina appeared immediately behind David and said, “You can’t go into the woods wearing those clothes. It’s cold.” She turned and said, “Louisa, take David and put some warm clothes on him. Be sure he wears his grey coat.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Louisa said, turning her eyes on Dylan. “Good morning, Mr. Tremayne,” she said. She was the prettiest of the maids, parlour maids being chosen for their good looks. She had sparkling green eyes, red hair, and a complexion like rich cream.

“Well, good morning, Louisa. I don’t suppose you’d want to go rabbit catching with us, yes?”

“Oh, you are a one, sir!”

“Go along, Louisa,” Serafina said shortly. She did not miss the adoring look Louisa gave Dylan. Most women, she had noticed, were susceptible to his good looks, and indeed, she did have to admit that he looked fine. He was exactly six feet tall and weighed a hundred and eighty-five pounds, and as he pulled off his hat, a lock of his glossy black hair fell over his forehead. He smiled at her, showing perfect white teeth, most unusual in England in 1857, and she could understand women being attracted to him.

“I must talk with you, Dylan. Please come to the sitting room.”

“Certainly.”

As soon as they reached the room, Serafina closed the door, then turned to him saying, “I’ve said something along these lines before, but I’m concerned about the books that you’re giving David and the stories you tell him.”

“Why, there’s sorry I am, Lady Trent. I thought there would be no harm in the stories.”

“I saw the book about King Arthur and the knights of the Round Table.” She shook her head, and her lips drew into a displeased line. “I must ask you to do such things no more. If you must give him a book, give them to me first before he sees them.”

“Well, of course, if you say so,” Dylan said. There was a puzzled light in his cornflower blue eyes. “But, after all, most English schoolboys learn about King Arthur. It’s a fine work of art.”

“It’s all fancy and make-believe. There was no such person as King Arthur, and those perfect knights that roam around rescuing maidens in distress simply don’t exist.”

“Oh, I think they might, a few of them anyway.”

“I’m not going to argue about this,” Serafina said firmly. She had been thinking about the problem ever since she had seen the book, and now her back was straight and a slight flush tinted her cheeks. “I’m not going to have you teaching David things that are fanciful and aren’t true. If you can’t abide with this, Dylan, it would be better if you didn’t come for another visit.”

A silence fell over the two of them, and suddenly Serafina felt something like fear. She had not realized how much she had come to depend on Dylan, not only to be a companion to her son, but in the struggle to free her brother, Clive, the two had grown very close together indeed. She felt a sudden anger that she could feel so strongly for a man, and indeed she had not since she had fallen in love with Charles Trent. She started to mitigate her statement, but she could think of no way to do it. The two stood there awkwardly until David came running in with his grey coat on. “Let’s go, Mr. Dylan!”

“All right, old man. Let’s go indeed.” Dylan smiled at the boy, putting his hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to be hunting with the finest rabbit trapper in England.”

Serafina watched as the two left, and something about the way David held Dylan’s hand and looked up with such an expression of absolute trust moved her so that she turned away abruptly. As she ascended the stairs to her room, she thought,
I was too abrupt with
Dylan. I didn’t really mean it. I’ll have to make it right with him.

Albert Givins, the coachman at Trentwood, was a small Cockney. He was an expert with horses and would not permit anyone to touch one of them. He turned now to Serafina while holding the bridle of the chestnut mare and smiled. “I’ve got ’er all settled for you, milady, and a fine fettle she’s in. You’d better be careful she doesn’t give you a ’ard time.”

“Thank you, Albert.” Serafina patted the neck of the mare and dodged as the horse made a move at her with her head. “Don’t you dare bite me, Sadie,” she said.

Albert studied his mistress with admiration. She was wearing a black riding skirt, and underneath the tailored coat she wore a blue blouse. A small tricorne hat sat on her head, and the crisp breeze brought colour to her cheeks. Albert suddenly turned and said, “Ma’am, you mustn’t go in the south pasture today.”

“Why not, Albert? That’s the quickest way to the riding path.”

“I know, but the men ’ave put that new bull into the pasture, and ’e’s a bad ’un! More like a bull them Spaniards fight than one we’d like to breed to our ’erd.”

“I’ll be careful, Albert.” Serafina started to mount when she heard her name called. She turned to see David approaching, his eyes flashing, and he was shouting, “We got two rabbits in snares, Mum, and I made one of the snares myself.”

As David approached, she said, “Go show them to Danny. He’ll clean them for you.” She motioned toward Danny Spears, the groom, who was in front of the stable cleaning some of the gear.

As soon as David was gone, she turned and said, “I wanted to talk to you, Dylan.”

“Yes. What is it then?”

Serafina saw that Dylan was expecting a lecture, and she found she was having trouble. “Walk with me along the fence.” The two walked away, leaving Givins to hold the mare, and Dylan said nothing. She knew he was casting a glance at her from time to time, and finally she stopped and turned to him. “I know you think I spoke to you rudely this morning, but you must understand, Dylan. It’s hard for a woman to raise a son without a husband. David misses a father, and he’s put you in that role.”

“He’s a fine boy, him,” Dylan said, his speech revealing his boyhood in Wales. “Very proud of him you must be.”

“Yes, I am, and he is a good boy. But I’m concerned about his future.”

“You’re afraid I’ll make an actor out of him or a poet or something fanciful like that, is it?”