A Conspiracy of Ravens (26 page)

Daisy White, Alberta’s maid at Trentwood House, opened the door and found a gentleman standing there. “Yes, sir?” she said.

“My name is Alex Bolton.” The man handed her a card. “Would you please let the family know that I am here.”

“Oh, yes, sir. Come in out of the cold.” She waited until Bolton was inside, then took his coat and hung it up with his hat. “If you’ll wait right here, sir, I’ll let the family know that you’ve come. Terrible weather, sir.”

“Yes, it is.” Bolton shivered slightly, for it was freezing cold outside. “I’ve come early, but I wasn’t certain of getting here at all if this storm gets any worse.”

“Yes, sir. It’s a bad snowstorm all right. I’ll be right back.”

Daisy walked down the hall and turned into the larger parlour. She found Alberta, Clive, his sister Dora, and Lady Bertha Mulvane there. “Sir Alex Bolton is here.” At once Lady Bertha exclaimed, “Good, he’s here early! Show him in, Daisy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As soon as the maid left, Bertha gave a triumphant glance toward Lady Alberta. “You see, my dear, it’s working out just as I said. He’ll be quite a catch for Serafina. He has everything a gentleman should have.”

“Is he rich?” Clive asked, grinning.

“Don’t be foolish! It’s Sir Alex Bolton. Of course he has money.”

Clive wanted to remind Bertha that not all of the aristocracy had money. It was not uncommon for women who had inherited money from a tradesman husband to marry an impoverished nobleman simply for the sake of a title. On the other hand, men with titles but no money often found wealthy women to marry. “Have you informed Serafina how fortunate she is?”

Bertha gave Clive a disgusted look. “I wish you’d be quiet, Clive. They haven’t taught you anything at Oxford.”

The door opened then, and Daisy led Alex Bolton in. “Sir Alex Bolton,” she announced and then left the room.

Clive went forward at once and said, “We haven’t met, Sir Alex. I’m Clive Newton.”

“I’ve heard so much about you,” Sir Alex said with a smoothness that came from a lifetime of breeding. Part of his charm came from his flawless manners. He was in his mid-thirties but looked younger. His tapered face gave him the look, more or less, of a fox, but he had well-set, deep eyes that enhanced his handsome appearance. “I must apologize for coming early, but the storm is getting so bad that I was afraid I wouldn’t get here at all.”

“Oh, that’s quite all right,” Lady Bertha said. “Won’t you sit down? Tell us what you’ve been doing, Sir Alex.”

Alberta said, “Take a seat by the fire and thaw out.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Newton. I think the snow is over a foot deep now and coming down worse than ever.”

“Well,” Dora said, “we might get snowed in. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Alex Bolton turned his charm on the young woman. “It would be, indeed, a pleasure.”

Clive stood there listening as Bolton smoothly answered their questions. For some reason he was skeptical about Sir Alex Bolton. There was no reason he should be so—except he had heard from one of his friends that Bolton’s financial problems had become rather critical. As always, when a man came courting his sister, Clive was very much aware that women were quite the prey for handsome, smooth noblemen such as Sir Alex Bolton. There was something too smooth, too polished about the man. There was no roughness in him at all, and Clive liked to see a little of that.

Sir Alex turned to Clive, and his eyes narrowed. “I read about your misfortune to be arrested recently, Mr. Newton. It must have been a trying thing.”

“Oh, no, it was a piece of cake,” Clive said breezily, determined to show Sir Alex that anyone could pretend to be smooth. But it had not been just a piece of cake. The threat of being hanged had frightened Clive, as it would any reasonable man. He still had nightmares at times, thinking of how closely he had come to paying the ultimate penalty. “I had good detectives, my sister and Mr. Dylan Tremayne. Also Inspector Grant of Scotland Yard. With a trio like that, there was really never any danger.”

“Now, that’s not so, Clive,” Alberta said. She looked across the room at her son and shook her head. “We were all scared to death, and I’m thankful for Inspector Grant and for your sister and Mr. Tremayne.”

“I’m not quite sure of Mr. Tremayne’s identity. Is he a private detective?”

“No, he’s an actor. You must have seen him. He was in
Hamlet
not long ago down at the Old Vic.”

“I don’t believe I saw it, but how can an actor be a detective?”

“He’s a very witty fellow. Sharp as a razor,” Clive said instantly. “But I don’t want to talk about my troubles. I know you’ve come to see Lady Trent. So I will rescue you. If you will come with me, I will take you to her.”

Bolton stood to his feet, his face alert. “Well, if you will excuse me, I believe I will go with Mr. Newton.”

The two left the room, and Clive led Bolton down a hallway that took them to the front door. “We’ll have to put on our coats.”

“Are we going outside?” Bolton asked with surprise.

“Yes, my father and my sister often work in a small laboratory adjacent to the house. The way this snow is coming down, I think we’d better bundle up.”

“Indeed, I think you’re right. I’ve never seen snow come down so hard.”

The two men put on coats and hats and left by the front door. The snow was coming down in flakes as big as shillings, and the sun was weak and dim in the storm. Clive, however, said, “I’ve always liked the snow.”

“I don’t. It’s messy and inconvenient, but I’ll give you this, it has a certain beauty.”

As the two men walked along, Clive asked, “Do you live in London, Sir Alex?”

“Just outside. I like the country fairly well myself, although my family does have a town house in the city. I stay there quite often.”

Clive listened as Sir Alex talked about his activities. The two men waded through the snow, which was indeed a foot deep now, until Clive gestured toward a rectangular building. “That’s my father’s laboratory. My sister often assists him.”

“What do they do out here?”

“My father is a medical examiner for the police.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Oh, yes, they call on him to help with crimes from time to time.”

“But does Lady Trent indulge in this kind of work?”

“She loves it. Come along. She’ll be glad to show you and tell you about their activities.”

Clive opened the door and stood back as Sir Alex went in. Sir Alex had taken only two steps inside when the door closed behind him, but he didn’t hear it. There in the middle of the room, underneath bright gaslights, was a table. Dr. Septimus Newton was on one side and Viscountess Serafina Trent on the other. They both were wearing white jackets, and even as Alex Bolton stood there, Serafina’s hand moved. She had a scalpel in it, and she was making a Y-shaped cut in the chest of a corpse, an elderly woman, who lay naked on the table.

“I brought Sir Alex to see you. He’s interested in your work, Serafina. Father.”

For a moment Serafina did not look up but finished the cut and then brought the scalpel down the middle of the body, stopping at the pubic area. She looked up then and said, “Well, Sir Alex, you’re a little early for dinner.”

Alex Bolton had a rather delicate stomach. He stared at the gaping cavity that had been exposed by Lady Trent’s scalpel and tried to speak, but he found his throat was so full that it seemed to be closed.

Serafina was studying him with something like a slight smile. “My father and I have an interesting case, a murder victim, we think. We’re checking the body for poison. You can watch if you’d like, and I’ll explain what we’re doing.”

Sir Alex Bolton was at a loss for words, but now he was afraid he was going to lose more than his speech. He gurgled something that sounded quite unlike human speech, then turned and shoved past Clive, opening the door and plunging into the storm.

Clive moved and closed the door. He was laughing, and his eyes were sparkling with devilment. “I don’t think Sir Alex is interested in dead ladies.”

“Clive, you did that on purpose,” Serafina reprimanded. She was not angry, however, and her own eyes were sparkling.

“Well, if he has matrimony with you on his mind, my dear sister, he’d better get accustomed to bodies being cut up.”

Serafina laughed, saying, “You’re a devil, Clive. Go find him and make sure he’s all right. We’ll be finished here shortly.”

“Cut away, Sister. Father. Call on me if you need any help.”

Septimus laughed. “A lot of help you would be. Go off with you now.”

As Clive left, Septimus regarded his older daughter with interest. “I don’t mess around with your life much, Serafina, but are you interested in that gentleman?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Lady Bertha is.”

“But it won’t be Lady Bertha he wants to marry.”

“He may not want to marry me either after what Clive has put him through.” She laughed fully and freely. “It’s awful of me to laugh, but did you see the look on his face when he saw what we were doing?”

“You may have frightened him off.”

“Well, if a little thing like a corpse frightens him off, he’s not for me anyhow.” She turned to the body. “Let’s hurry so we can be ready for dinner. Dylan’s coming early to spend some time with David.”

“I don’t think we can make it through this storm, sir.”

Matthew Grant stuck his head out the window of the carriage and was almost blinded by the snow that was coming down in myriads of flakes. The backs of the horses were covered with it, and as he glanced up, he saw the face of the driver was pale. “It’s not far, Driver. The Trentwood House isn’t more than a quarter of a mile. You can’t turn back now.”

Pulling back inside the carriage, Grant said, “I’ve never seen it snow this hard.”

“It’s cold too. It must be well below freezing.”

“Somebody,” Grant said moodily, “ought to invent some way to heat carriages.”

“I don’t see how that could ever be. You couldn’t put a stove in one of these. You’d burn the whole thing up.”

The two men had left Grant’s room and hired the carriage, even though the snow had been falling intermittently all day. The countryside was rounded, and when the sun did shine, it glittered like hills covered with diamonds. But the falling flakes were so thick now that it was almost impossible to see more than a few feet ahead.

Finally the driver called out, “’Ere we are, sir.” The words sounded bitter, and the driver glared at Grant as he stepped out into the storm.

“Thanks for the ride,” Grant said, handing the driver the fare with a generous tip. “Come along, Dylan.”

The two men made their way to the front door with some difficulty. The snow was at least a foot and a half deep now and unbroken. As soon as they knocked on the door, it opened, and they were met by Dora and David. David cried out, “Mr. Dylan, you’re here!”

Dylan caught the boy, who had come hurdling at him, picked him up, and tossed him high in the air. “You can’t come out in this snow.”

Dora said, “Come in, David.” She turned and said, “How are you, Inspector?”

“I’m fine, Miss Aldora.”

Dylan saw something pass between the two, and not for the first time he wondered if they were in love. Grant would not be the pick of most aristocratic families to be the husband of a younger daughter. But Dylan saw that Dora was very glad to see him, and she said, “Come inside. I know you’re freezing.”

Once they were inside, the servants took their coats and hats, and David, who had been talking nonstop, said, “Come on. I want to show you my dormouse. He’ll let you pet him.”

“Oh, that’s for me!”

Dora watched as David hauled Dylan off, tugging at him. “Dinner will be at six,” she called after them and saw that David paid no attention. Turning to Matthew, she said, “They’re great friends. Come along. We’ll go to the small sitting room. There’s a fire there. You can thaw out.”

“I could use it. It’s bitter outside. The driver nearly rebelled on us, it’s so bad.”

She led him to the sitting room, which was not large but elegant, with a Sheraton table and chairs in gleaming wood and a Bokhara rug, which Grant suspected would cost what he made in a year.

Dora said, “Here, pull your chair up in front of the fireplace. I love a fire in the winter, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.”

Grant held his hands out to the fire, but his eyes were on Dora. He lost his heart to her almost the moment he first looked at her. Now as the fire crackled and snapped in the fireplace, he studied her as she spoke. The gold highlights in her auburn hair reflected the yellow flames of the fire. Her widow’s peak added to the beauty of her face, but Grant especially adored her large brown eyes and the two dimples that appeared when she smiled or laughed.

But it was not just her physical beauty that attracted Grant. There was a spirit in the young woman that he found refreshing. In his work as a policeman he saw the worst of men and women, and there was a goodness and a purity and a sweetness in Aldora Newton that drew Inspector Matthew Grant like a magnet draws a steel filing.

“Tell me more about your cases,” she said.

“Why would you be interested in police work?”

“I think it’s fascinating.”