A Conspiracy of Ravens (37 page)

“What a sad thing,” Grant murmured. “Not to get the one you love.”

“Oh, she got him,” Serafina said quickly. “Edith Carrington died after ten years of marriage and having the three children—Edward, Rupert, and Leah.”

“And then Sir Leslie married Leona?” Grant asked.

“Yes, he did,” Serafina said, “but not for five years. Leslie was distraught over the death of his wife. He and Edith were a great love match.”

“And Lady Leona waited all that time and then finally married him, is it?” Dylan asked.

“Lady Heather was reluctant to speak of the match, but Leona and Leslie did marry and had Arthur.”

“He’s quite different from the other children, isn’t he?” Dylan said.

“Yes,” Serafina replied, nodding, “he is. It’s a tangled affair, and I’m afraid, sooner or later, Lady Leona will become more than the family can care for here at home.”

“Well, the family can handle that. They’ll just hire someone to watch over her, more or less a personal attendant,” Dylan said.

“I suppose so. It’s sad. She had high hopes for Arthur, but he never seemed to fulfill them. She’s had a sad life.”

“She seems perfectly logical and clear minded most of the time,” Grant said.

“Yes, but her lapses are getting worse,” Serafina said. “Lady Heather is greatly worried about her and so is Arthur.”

“It’s natural he would be worried about his mother.”

“Well, I’ve got to start looking for other evidence and questioning people,” Grant said. He drained the rest of his tea and got up. “But bless me. I don’t know what other questions to ask.”

“You’ll think of something.” Serafina smiled, and then the three left the kitchen, all of them feeling somewhat depressed over the state of the case.

TWENTY-THREE

S
erafina was exhausted as she climbed the stairs. Each step seemed higher than usual, and she had to force herself to go on. Finally she reached the third floor, which was actually the attic that Arthur used for a studio. She and Dylan had divided the day into twelve-hour shifts, one of them always watching over Lord Darby. As she moved toward the door to the studio, she thought,
We can’t
keep this up. It’s too difficult on both of us.

The door of the studio was open, and she called, “Mr. Hayden—”

At once Arthur appeared. “Why, it’s you, Lady Serafina. Come in, please.” He led her to the heart of his studio and motioned toward a canvas on an easel. “I’ve been working on this for some time now. Can’t quite get it right.”

Serafina moved closer and saw that it was a portrait of Gervase. “Why, you deceive yourself, sir! You’ve caught her to the life!”

“You think so?” Arthur was pleased, and his thin face showed excitement. “It’s for her birthday”

“She will be very pleased,” Serafina said. “You have real talent. I always admire artists such as yourself. You do what I could never do.”

Arthur’s face glowed, and he waved her to a chair. They talked for a time, and finally he said, “I lost my way after my wife died. I just gave up on life—which was terribly unfair to Gervase.”

“How long were you married?”

“Only three years.” He suddenly turned and pointed to a portrait of a beautiful woman. “That is my wife. She had Gervase when I married her, and, of course, Gervase was easy to love. She still is.”

“She’s very, very devoted to you, Mr. Hayden.”

“Call me Arthur, please. I think she is, and I to her.” He looked at the picture on the wall, and the two stood there and looked at it. “I just gave up after she died,” he said finally. “It was wrong, I know.”

“I know your family must have encouraged you.”

“They tried to—especially Mother—but I wouldn’t listen. I was wallowing in my grief.” He passed his hand over his face as if to brush away a memory. “I’ve been a great disappointment to my mother.”

Serafina said quietly, “Your mother is not well. I’m aware of that.”

“Most of the time she’s fine. She goes for weeks and is cheerful and goes about her business, not that she has much business. But then her mind goes back in time, and she thinks she’s living with my father again. I wonder if this sort of mental illness is common.”

“It’s not at all unheard of. I did a study on it once. It affects mostly older people. I know you’re troubled about it.”

“She’s had a difficult life. All she has now is me, and all I have is Gervase.” He smiled suddenly, and his smile made him look much younger, and there was a pride in his eyes and in his countenance as he said, “She’s been the light of my life!”

“It’s amazing how much Trevor is like his father and his grandfather,” Lady Heather said. She had invited Serafina to have a late breakfast with her, and the maid had brought the food into the sitting room.

“Alike in what way, Lady Heather?” Serafina asked.

“Well, of course, I have only known two of them—Edward and his father, Leslie. They were quite a lot alike. Both of them thoughtful, very considerate. Both were very even-tempered.” She went on describing the things that Trevor had in common with the two men and finally she said, “Trevor is very much like his grandfather, Leslie Hayden.”

“I understand he was terribly disturbed after his wife died.”

“Oh, yes. He loved her to distraction.”

“But he married Lady Leona.”

“Well, not for five years.” Lady Heather hesitated, picked up the tea to sip it and then put it down. Her eyes were troubled. “I was against the marriage.”

“You didn’t want her to marry Leslie?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“What did you have against the marriage?”

“Well, Leona was always a stubborn woman, and even as a girl, she was much the same. She always got what she wanted. A cousin of ours had a pony that Leona lusted after, I mean really coveted. She finally managed to get the pony, although our cousin was brokenhearted.”

“She doesn’t seem like that kind of woman.”

“She doesn’t show that side of her character, but she is very stubborn. She wanted Leslie for years, but he fell in love with Edith.”

“I understand Leslie and Edith were very happy.”

“Very much in love.” Lady Heather’s face glowed. “I wish you could have seen them together. When Edith was in a room and Leslie would come in, Edith would just light up. And he had the same love for her. I like to think that Edward and I have some of that in us. But, of course, she died, and Leslie grieved to distraction. Edward talked about it often, how he thought that his father would die of grief.”

“How did he die? I never heard.”

“Of gastric fever, the doctor said. Some sort of stomach ailment. It was the same ailment that Edith had died of.”

Serafina suddenly sat absolutely still, and her eyes were fixed on Lady Heather’s face. She did not move for a moment, but her mind was working quickly. “Both of them died of gastric fever?”

“Yes, it was a terrible thing.”

“Yes, indeed it is. What were their symptoms?”

“Oh, severe stomach pain. Leslie’s skin was affected, a bad rash.”

“Was there vomiting and diarrhea?”

“Yes, it was terrible. Edward can’t bear to talk about it.”

“And his wife Edith had the same ailment?”

“Yes, that’s strange, isn’t it? You know, when Leslie was on his deathbed, he told his son that he couldn’t bear to think of how Edith had suffered. He was suffering so himself, and he said, ‘I know now what she went through, and I would to God I could have spared her.’”

“That’s a sad, tragic story,” Serafina said. Then she added, “Well, I have some things to do. I’m glad that you are pleased with Trevor.”

“Yes, I am. I couldn’t ask for a better son.”

Serafina took her leave and went to her room. She sat down in a chair and stared at the wallpaper unseeingly. She didn’t move for a long time. It was a habit she had formed whenever she was faced with a difficult problem in the laboratory or in logic. She did not move, but her mind was working rapidly, her eyes open but preoccupied with something beyond her field of vision. Finally, after a long time, she got to her feet and stood absolutely still, and her voice was strangely tense as she said, “I must do it!”

Dylan awoke immediately when the faint tapping came at his door. The moonlight was flooding in through the windows, and the grandfather clock in the room he occupied showed that it was almost three o’clock. “Who the devil could that be?” he muttered. He got up and grabbed a robe and slipped it on as he went to the door. When he opened it, he became wide awake. “Serafina, what’s wrong? Is it trouble?”

“Let me in, Dylan,” she whispered.

Dylan stepped back, and when she stepped in, he closed the door. “Is there trouble? Has somebody attempted to kill Sir Edward?”

“No. Get dressed, Dylan. You’re going to have to help me.”

“Of course.”

Serafina turned her back, and he turned and threw off his robe. She heard his movements as he dressed, and then he was beside her, and she said, “Get your coat. It’s still cold outside. And gloves if you have them.”

“Right, you.”

When Dylan had his coat, gloves, and a hat on, he followed her down the stairs. He saw that she was warmly dressed as well. He did not ask questions, and the house was totally silent. They stepped outside, and she picked up a lantern she had placed there, then led him away from the house. She was headed toward the shop where the horses were shod and the blacksmith did his work. She turned then and said, “You’re a wonder, Dylan Tremayne. One man in a million would come on an errand like this without asking questions.”

“I think it must be serious for you to ask such a thing.”

“Yes, it is.” She hesitated then said, “We’re going to rob a grave, Dylan.”

For some reason Dylan was not surprised. He knew that this woman had strange ways of thinking. He had seen it before. She would sit motionless mulling over a problem and then suddenly the answer would come. “I’m your man. Are you looking for bodies for you and your father to experiment on?”

“No, I’m looking for something more important than that. I don’t know what you’ll need to get into a casket, likely a very heavy casket.”

“A crowbar would probably be best.”

The two went into the blacksmith shop, and Serafina held the lantern high while Dylan searched for a crowbar. He found one without any trouble and said, “Ready. Lead me to the tomb.”

She suddenly put her hand on his arm and said, “Thank you for being such a good man, Dylan. I didn’t think a man alive would do a thing like this without having a fit.”

“Am I a rat with green teeth?” He smiled as he spoke. “It’s always interesting being with you, Serafina. Just opening up a grave might be one of the minor things that I remember about our relationship. Now, lead me to it. Do we need to saddle some horses? Is the graveyard far?”

“Not at all. It’s right over there on the corner of that field.”

She led him across the snow. Strips of it were still there, and the grass was stiff and dead underneath. As they moved across the ground, a huge owl sailed over, catching their eye. They saw him disappear and then suddenly drop to the earth. There was a faint scurrying, then a muted cry, and Dylan shook his head.

“There’s death on the wings. I wonder what they call a bunch of owls,” Serafina thought aloud.

“I don’t know, but I’ve thought about your conspiracy of ravens very often. It seems a fitting thing tonight.”

They reached the burial ground, which was bounded by a black wrought iron fence. She swung the gate open and gestured at the mausoleum. “There’s where we’re going.” Dylan moved forward and by the moonlight was able to make out the names—Leslie Richard Hayden and then Edith Marie Hayden, beloved wife.

“Can you get us inside?”

Dylan did not answer. They found that the door was made of heavy oak and was not locked. He swung it back, and she stepped inside. It was a small mausoleum with only two caskets, one on each side. “Which one shall I open, Serafina?”

“Both of them.”

She stood there watching as he inserted the wedge of the crowbar inside the top of a heavy casket. He sought for leverage then pushed down. A creaking sound echoed throughout the chamber. He reached out and swung the top back but avoided looking down.