Sonnet to a Dead Contessa (17 page)

“We will look forward to your visit on Sunday. David will be overjoyed to see you, Dylan. He has missed you a great deal.”

TEN

D
ylan leaned back in his chair and beamed at Meredith. He was holding Guin in his lap, and he said, “This is a fine meal, Meredith. I didn’t know you were such a fine cook.”

“I used the money you gave me to buy something special,” Meredith said. She was wearing a china blue dress set off by white ribbons. Her hair was fixed in a way that made her very attractive—a French chignon—and the blackness of her hair set off the darkness of her eyes. “I like to cook.”

“What is this? I don’t recognise it.”

“That’s pickled tongue.” And lifting a cover she said, “You’re not going to believe this. It’s turtle soup. Usually very expensive, but I got a bargain.”

“I’ve never had turtle soup.”

“Take some. You’ll like it.”

Dylan balanced Guin on half his lap and shared his soup with her. “Doesn’t taste like anything I’ve had before,” he said, “but it’s very good.”

“Here. Try some of this.” She removed a cover from a deep dish and spooned out a liberal amount on his plate. “This is suet pudding. My mother taught me how to make it. Flour and suet, and the fat comes from around the kidneys and the groin.”

“It’s very good. Here, you sit down and eat, Meredith.”

Meredith sat down across from Dylan and smiled. “Don’t eat too much. I’ve got a special treat.”

“Something sweet?”

“You’ll
have to wait and see. Here, I did get some small beer.” She knew that Dylan did not drink, but small beer had almost no alcoholic content, and he took it without protest. The two sat there eating, and as they did, Meredith studied Dylan inconspicuously. His coat was beautifully cut, hanging without a wrinkle, and he wore a soft silk shirt open at the neck.
He doesn’t know how handsome he is,
Meredith thought.
That’s unusual in a man.
She studied him carefully, and finally she said, “You ever think of old times, Dylan?”

“You mean when we were children?”

“Yes, some of it’s not too pleasant to remember. The mines, for example.”

“I think about the good times we had.”

Dylan took a bite of the fried sole that she had slipped onto his plate and grew thoughtful. Finally he smiled. “I remember those times. There weren’t enough of them, were there?”

“No. I suppose there never is.”

Finally she brought the dessert, which turned out to be something she called roly-poly pudding. It was jam and fruit rolled up into a sheet of pastry and cooked.

She smiled as Dylan ate two helpings and said, “You don’t eat right, I’m afraid.”

“No, most of the time we go out to eat after a performance, but by that time I’m usually not very hungry. Acting takes it out of me for some reason.”

“You’re a wonderful actor,” she said. “Everyone says you’re going to be the greatest actor in London.”

“No, that will never happen. You have to want it, Meredith, and I don’t really want it.”

“You don’t want to be famous and have all the money you can spend?” She smiled, and her dimple appeared in her right cheek, very faint but there. “Most people want that more than anything.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Dylan picked up the teacup and drained it, and at once she got up and filled it from the kettle. “This ought to be good,” she said. “I like green tea.”

“It’s my favourite too.”

Meredith sat down and said suddenly, “I’ve got to find work, Dylan.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary. You’ve got a place to stay here, and your and Guin’s food isn’t all that expensive.” He picked up a spoonful of the roly-poly pudding and extended it toward Guin. She opened her mouth and he pushed it in. “Just like a little bird, you are,” he said. “Here, have another.”

“I really can’t go on living off of you.”

“It’s no trouble to me.”

“It wouldn’t be right for me to do that.”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“I’ve been reading some of the old papers. Are you still a suspect in that murder case?”

“No, that was all a mistake.”

“How could a mistake like that be made?”

“Well, the Slasher is pretty shrewd. He must take a whole bagful of odds and ends, and he scatters them all over the murder scene. Matthew says that there is no way to tell which is a real clue and which is just something to lead them off on a false scent.”

“The papers are already screaming for an arrest.”

“I expect they’ll continue to do that. Easy enough to scream, not so easy to catch a criminal as clever as this.”

She questioned him closely for a time, and finally he interrupted her by saying, “Tell me about how you and Lewis got together.”

The question seemed to trouble her. She lowered her eyes and said, “We were both poor as church mice, but we fell in love, and we married, and then we had Guin.”

“He was the best friend I had as a kid. I wish he were still here.”

“I miss him every day, and, of course, Guin is too young to know about death.” She was quiet for a moment. Finally she said, “You know one of the things Lewis said to me just before he died?”

“What was it?”

“He said, ‘I want Guin to have a father.’ And then he said, ‘And I don’t want you to grieve over me. Find a man you love and who loves you, and make a home for little Guin.’”

She pulled a handkerchief from a pocket, wiped her eyes, and when she looked up at him, he said, “I’m sorry. There’s nothing one can say about things like this.”

“It’s not what you say. It’s the fact that you care enough to say it.” She reached over and put her hand over his. “So kind to me, to us, you’ve been, Dylan. If you believe that Lewis is in heaven, then maybe he’s looking down and sees how you are taking care of his wife and child.”

“I’ll do that. You can count on it.” He was very conscious of the pressure of her hand. She had beautifully sculptured hands, not scarred or roughened by hard work, and he wondered about that for an instant.

“I’ve got to find work.” Meredith hesitated. “Do you think there’s anything I can do along your line?”

“You mean the theatre? Why, I’m surprised you would even ask. It’s not a good life, Meredith.”

“I could do anything. Maybe I could work on the costumes.”

“Oh, for that matter you could be an actress.” He smiled and said, “You’ve got a lively expression. As a matter of fact, you’re probably better looking and better able to act than half the actresses onstage right now.”

“Oh, do you think I could do something like that? Would you help me, Dylan?”

Dylan rubbed his chin thoughtfully and ran his free hand over Guin’s hair. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Just let me try. I’ll work hard. You’ll see. I can’t go on living off of you. It isn’t right.”

Dylan was troubled by her request, but finally he said reluctantly, “I’ll ask around and see what can be done.” Her hand tightened on his, and he saw her eyes glow. Her lips were wide and expressive, and when she smiled it changed her whole expression. “Oh, Dylan, if I could just make a living for myself and Guin.”

He saw that she was looking at him intently. He got to his feet and said, “Well, I’ve got to go. We’ve got a rehearsal this afternoon.”

“I’d like to see the play again.”

“Why, Meredith, you’ve seen it half a dozen times.”

“I know, but I’d like to go again. Would you leave word for them?”

He took a piece of paper from his pocket, found a pencil, and wrote something on it. “Give this to the doorman. He’ll let you in.”

“And can I go out to eat with the rest of you?”

“It’ll be hard on Guin,” he said.

“She’ll sleep through the whole thing. Please, Dylan, let me come.”

“All right. We’ll go out with the crew, and you’ll see what a scurvy bunch we are.”

“No, I don’t believe that for a minute.”

She was excited now, he saw, and a thought came to him.
Why, she could be an actress. She has a glow about her, but it doesn’t seem like a good idea to me.
He stood there holding Guin for a moment, looking at her and studying her fine skin and dark hair.

“You love children, don’t you, Dylan?”

“Very much. I’ve
gotten very close to Lady Trent’s son, David.”

“I wonder why Lady Trent never remarried.”

The question troubled Dylan. “I think there was a problem with her first husband—though she never talks about her marriage.”

“She’s in love with you, Dylan.”

Dylan’s head went back, and he stared at her. “Why, don’t be foolish, Meredith! Of course she’s not.”

“Do you think I don’t know? You’ve been blinded by so many women chasing after you. I don’t think that’s good for you.”

“I don’t think so either, but I never seek such a thing.”

She was watching him carefully now and said, “She’s just like the other women who pursue you. Have you ever thought what it would be like if you were to marry her?”

“That could never happen.”

“But if you did, what would it be like?”

“I don’t know.”

“It would be terrible for you. She’d see you as one of the servants. Oh, perhaps above the butler, but still not the man of the house. She rules the house, I understand, and she’s nobility, Dylan, and you’re not.”

“Well, I won’t worry about that because it will never happen. I’ll meet you backstage after the play. We’ll have a good time.”

After he left the small house that he had rented for Meredith and Guin, he thought about what she had said.
Marry Serafina? Could never happen! Fine ladies like her don’t marry actors. Her family would die of shame.
He put the matter out of his mind and whistled as he headed toward the theatre.

Serafina sat in Grant’s office at Scotland Yard. Both of them were discouraged, for they had made little progress in the case. Serafina studied the lists of clues, and Grant exhaled a deep breath. “I tell you, Serafina, it’s getting the best of me.”

“You’re going to catch this monster,” Serafina said. “I came to tell you that I have an invitation tonight to a dinner given by Gerhard Von Ritter. Why don’t you come with me?”

“Without an invitation?”

“He doesn’t care. He just likes an audience. He’ll be impressed that the superintendent of Scotland Yard would come.”

“I’d like to learn more about him anyway. After all, one of the clues can be traced to him—that newspaper article about his recent play. What sort of a fellow is he?” Matthew asked curiously. “I’ve heard all sorts of stories.”

“Well, as you know, he writes plays. He also writes poetry. Rather good, from what I hear. But he’s a violent radical. He’s German, you know, and he’s got that old dramatic idea that there’s a master race. He despises weak, dark-skinned people. Even the Russians he hates. I’ve heard him say they are inferior beings.”

“What are his plays and poetry like?”

Serafina tapped her chin with her forefinger, thought for a moment, and then said, “He stresses male dominance.”

“He puts women down.”

“Oh heavens, yes! To him a woman is to be used, and when their use is not to be desired, they will be thrown away. We are inferior beings. He feels that Islam has the right idea about heaven.”

“What is their idea?”

“The Muslims believe that if a man goes to heaven, he’ll have a whole group of beautiful, big-bosomed, dark-eyed virgins to wait on him.”

Matthew suddenly grinned. “I believe I could make up a better heaven than that.”

“Anyone could. It’s ridiculous!”

“Why do the Muslim women stand for it?”

“They’ve been dominated for hundreds of years. They’re slaves, Matthew. I feel sorry for them. But, of course, there are some slaves who have English names and walk the streets of London.”

Matthew stared at her. “I suppose you’re right about that. Well, I’ll come. I’d like to hear Von Ritter.”

“You’ll get a good meal out of it anyhow. His chef is famous.” She rose to her feet and said, “I’ll go over the list again, and I’ll study the poem. Maybe we can head this infamous Slasher off before he kills again.”

“We’d better. The Home Office is practically camping on my desk. I think they may be looking for a new superintendent if I don’t get some action soon.”

“You’ll find him,” she said and smiled and left his office.