As usual, David had put up a clamor to accompany his mother. Serafina had noticed he seemed troubled when she was out of his sight, and she was always careful now to tell him exactly where she was going and when she would be back. Now she knelt beside him, with Dylan standing behind her, and she put her arms around him. “I must go over to visit some old friends of ours who have a problem, but I’ll be back this afternoon, and you and I will do something wonderful.”
“What?”
Serafina laughed and hugged him. “You think up something wonderful.”
“Will you come back too, Mr. Dylan?”
“I suspect I will. You know me, old man. Always looking for a free meal.”
Serafina kissed David on the cheek then stood, and as she turned to leave, Dylan came over, bent down, and put his hand out. David took it, but his eyes were troubled.
“Now, old man, I’m leaving you in charge of this whole establishment. You see to it that things are done right. You can do that, can you?”
“Oh, yes, I’ll do that, Mr. Dylan, but hurry back, will you?”
“As fast as I can.”
Dylan joined Serafina, and the two walked outside the house. When they were in the carriage and Givins had spoken to the horses, Serafina turned to Dylan saying, “I worry about David. He seems so insecure.”
“But, after all, Serafina, he’s seven years old. He lost his father. It’s only natural.”
“I suppose so.” Serafina fell into a silence, and from time to time Dylan would turn slightly to examine her profile. He had kissed her twice, but both times it had been when she was weak and troubled. He knew that she had the power to stir him and also to awaken the sense of loneliness that lately had begun to fall upon him. He felt the urges of a lone man but always moved like the needle of a compass to a woman. And since he had known Serafina Trent, she had drawn him in a way that no other woman had. He noted the slight changes of her face as the carriage bumped along the frozen ruts—the quickening, the loosing, the small expressions coming and going. Her hair rose back from her temples and was drawn up on her head with some loose pieces cascading down her neck. He then saw a change come over her face and wondered what had entered her mind. Suddenly she turned to face him, and their eyes met.
“Why are you staring at me, Dylan?” she asked abruptly.
“I don’t know. Do you mind?”
Suddenly she smiled. “I suppose not. After all, I stare at you sometimes.” She showed him a glance, half-startled, and a quicker breath stirred her breast. It was actually a startled expression as if she had discovered something. Colour came to her cheeks, and quickly she turned away from him, her indrawn breath making a slight echo in the coach. She began to talk of the murder of Charles Crinshaw, and he knew that she had been disturbed by something that she saw in him . . . or else saw in herself.
The moment passed, and finally they arrived at Silverthorn. He got out of the coach and helped her down. She looked up at the driver and said, “Albert, go to the kitchen, and I’ll have them fix you something hot.”
“Thank you, Lady Trent.”
The two of them went up the steps to the imposing structure, and looking up at it, Dylan said, “Why would anyone build a house this big? A man can only be in one room at a time.”
“Pride, I suppose.”
“I don’t understand it. Why would a man want twenty suits when he can only wear one? Why would he want fifty horses when he can only ride one?”
Serafina suddenly laughed. “You know better than that. Your Bible talks about the pride of life. That’s what builds these massive homes and makes a person buy more clothes than they need.”
The door opened, and they were greeted by Rosie Mason, the parlour maid. “Come in out of the cold, Lady Trent, and you, Mr. Tremayne. Would you like to see Lord Darby?”
“Is Inspector Grant here?”
“Well, yes, ma’am. He’s in Lord Darby’s study. Would you like me to announce you?”
“Please, Rosie. We’ll wait here.”
The two stood there, and after removing his coat and hat, Dylan began to walk down the line of portraits, pausing under each one. He read an inscription aloud. “Leslie Hayden. He looks like Edward. He must be his father.”
“They all have a family likeness. Have you ever noticed that in some families the children all look exactly alike, while in others they look nothing like one another?”
As they examined the portraits, Serafina commented, “Trevor can never deny his Hayden blood. His portrait would look perfectly right along with these others.”
Rosie came back and said, “Inspector Grant would like to see you in the study, ma’am.”
“We’ll find the way, Rosie. Thank you.”
The two went to the study and found Grant sitting behind a desk. A notebook was before him, and he rose at once. “Good morning, Lady Trent. How are you this morning?”
“Fine, Inspector.”
“Hello, Tremayne. How’s your day?”
“Oh, I’m just a leaf blown by the wind. An unemployed actor is the most useless human being on the face of the earth.”
Grant laughed. “Maybe I could get you on the force as a policeman.”
The idea amused Dylan. “I’ve been a soldier. I suppose I can break heads just as well on the police force.”
“Don’t be a fool. That’s not what a policeman does,” Grant said with a slight smile. “Sit down, both of you.”
The two sat, and Grant resumed his seat. “I’ve interviewed everybody in this house, most of them more than once, and one conclusion I have is what you have probably decided. There are two things really. One, that Lord Darby was the intended victim, and two, the murderer has to be someone in the house.”
“I think that’s very likely. A stranger coming from the outside would not have access to the butler’s pantry. There are so many servants. He’d be noticed instantly. It has to be someone here.”
“Have the servants told you anything at all?” Dylan asked. “I mean anything that would help?”
Grant leaned back and sighed and shook his head. “It’s not going to be easy. These cases never are, but I think—” Grant stopped speaking when Trevor entered the room.
“Sorry. I didn’t realize you were in ’ere, Inspector Grant. ’Ello, Lady Trent and Mr. Tremayne.”
After a round of greetings, Grant said, “Come in, Trevor. Sit down and join us.”
“No, thank you. I’d better be goin’.”
He turned to leave just as Lady Leona entered the room. She looked around, but she ignored everyone but Trevor. There was an intense look in her eyes, and she stood there for a moment perfectly still. She was wearing a simple light blue dress with a woolen shawl around her shoulders. Her hair had not been fixed, and she had a rather strange look about her. She came over to stand before Trevor, reached up, and touched his cheek.
“Good morning, Leslie.”
Trevor stared at her and looked startled, as if he wanted to turn and flee. “You’re looking well this morning, Leslie,” she said. “Tell Cook not to hold the meal for me. I’ll be a little late.” She patted his cheek again, turned, and walked out.
“Why is she calling you Leslie?” Serafina asked, staring at Trevor.
“She’s done that twice before. I asked Gervase about it. Leslie was ’er ’usband’s name.”
“Oh yes, she married Leslie after his wife Edith died.”
“Poor thing,” Serafina said. “She’s confused, isn’t she?”
“I wish she’d leave me alone. She gives me the creeps,” Trevor said and shook his shoulders in a gesture of either fear or disgust.
Serafina said, “I talked to Lady Darby about it once. She says she will go for days in a perfectly normal manner and then she’ll have these spells. It’s been going on for quite a while, I understand. Sir Edward told me that she’d been having mental problems even before she married Leslie. But he also said that for the last two years, she’s been having the spells closer together.”
Trevor shook his head. “I don’t like it,” he said. “It makes me feel odd.”
“People out of their minds often do,” Dylan said. He stood up and put his hands on the young man’s shoulders and smiled. “But it will come out all right. You’ll see.”
“I don’t think so.” The young man turned and walked away, and both Serafina and Dylan felt an impression. The old woman’s behaviour was indeed weird, and both of them had a fear of mental instability. They watched Trevor go with concern.
“He’s pretty low,” Dylan observed. “Can’t say I blame him much.”
“Poor fellow,” Grant said. “You’ll have to excuse me. The superintendent will be expecting me.”
After Grant left, Serafina said, “Trevor’s not the killer. I’m certain of it.”
Dylan suddenly gave her a quick glance. “Just a feeling you have, is it now?”
Serafina returned his glance. “I’m afraid that’s all it is right now. You’re the one for feelings, not me. But we can’t go on feelings. I think Lord Darby is still in danger. I think we’d better watch him carefully.”
“Yes, that would be the thing to do. Shall I take the first watch?”
“That would be best. We may have to press Lorenzo and Gyp into service.”
Dylan shook his head doubtfully. “The killer is inside the house, Serafina. Those two are unbeatable in their way, but they’d be little use in close quarters. You and I will have to guard Lord Darby.” He hesitated then added, “It won’t be easy. The murderer knows more than we do about Lord Darby’s movements. But the good Lord willing, we’ll keep him safe.”
Serafina hesitated, then said quietly, “Yes, the good Lord willing.”
T
he servants had put Christmas decorations up in several rooms according to Serafina’s directions. She always liked to do this for David’s sake, and now as she walked through the room, she commented to the housekeeper, “You’ve done a beautiful job, Mrs. Fielding.”
“Well, thank you, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to do it for the little fellow. That’s a fine son you have.”
Serafina smiled at Rachel Fielding. She was almost fifty, a solid woman with black eyes and black hair—without a single white hair among them. She was a widow, and her husband, James, had been the butler before he died.
A knock sounded at the front door, and Serafina turned saying, “I’ll get that. I think the maids are all upstairs cleaning.” She walked to the front door and opened it to find Inspector Grant standing there. He looked nervous, and she said, “Why, come in, Inspector. We’ve been expecting you.”
“Well, I feel a bit odd barging in on Christmas Eve and disturbing the family.”
“Nonsense. We wanted you here. Let me help you with your coat.”
Dylan and Serafina had asked Grant to find someone to watch over Lord Darby during Christmas—in effect, to be a bodyguard. Sergeant Sandy Kenzie had volunteered. He was a good, steady man, and there was no danger while he was on watch.
Serafina took Grant’s coat and hat and hung them up on one of the hooks on the wall. “It’s a beautiful day for Christmas.”
“Yes, it is.”
“What do you usually do on Christmas?” Serafina asked.
“Nothing much.”
To Serafina this was a sad reply. She knew that Matthew Grant was a lonely man. He’d had a terrible childhood, Serafina had heard from Dora. His father had been hanged for murder, a murder which had never been proved definitively, at least not in Matthew Grant’s opinion. She knew this had made him bitter, but he seemed to have mellowed lately, and she attributed this, to a great extent, to his obvious feelings for Dora.
“I’ll get Dora to show you the decorations. Maybe you can help.”
“I don’t know much about that,” Matthew said. He followed her into the kitchen where they found Dora whipping something in a large bowl as she stood among several servants, including the cook, who were working furiously.
“Matthew,” she said smiling, “you’re just in time. Here, you can beat this.”
Matthew blinked with surprise then laughed. “I don’t know anything about cooking.”
“All you need is a strong right arm. You beat this until your arm drops off.”
Serafina said, “You two make sure there’s plenty to eat.”
“There always is,” Dora said. She watched Matthew as he held the bowl in one hand and then stirred the contents in with the other. “I’m making a cake,” she said. “What shall it be?”
“I like all kinds of cake.”
She began to talk to him about the Christmas festivities. “On Christmas Eve we all gather in the parlour and sing hymns. I don’t even know if you can sing. I’ve never heard you.”
“I sing beautifully,” Matthew said, lifting one eyebrow. “Probably the most beautiful voice you ever heard.”
“I’ll venture you’re boasting.”
Matthew found himself unwinding, and the servants who watched them slyly were impressed that an inspector from Scotland Yard could be such a fine-looking man and also willing to do a menial task like cooking.
They were interrupted finally when Aunt Bertha came in through the door. “Aldora, I want—” She broke off suddenly when she saw Matthew standing there. “Oh, Inspector Grant.”
“How are you this afternoon, Lady Bertha?”
“Very well, thank you.” Bertha started to say something then changed her mind and said, “Aldora, will you come with me for a moment, please. It won’t take long.”
“Why, certainly, Aunt Bertha. Here, Matthew, you can start making the pudding.”
“But I don’t know how.”
“Cook, show the inspector how to make pudding. I’ll be right back.”
As soon as they were in the hallway, Bertha said angrily, “I’ve warned you about letting that policeman call on you. He’s not fit company for a young woman of your station.”
Dora knew that Aunt Bertha was the world’s greatest snob. “And why not, Aunt Bertha? He did a great deal toward saving Clive from hanging. Don’t you have any thoughts of gratitude about that?”
“Gratitude’s all very well,” Bertha said. Her eyes narrowed, and she stared at Dora. “You’re not thinking of letting that man court you, are you?”
“I would be very honoured if he did. He’s a fine man.”
“He’s a policeman.”
“I know he’s a policeman, Aunt Bertha.” Dora was usually a mild-mannered young woman, but this time her aunt had overstepped a line she had drawn in her own mind. She had found that Matthew Grant was not at all what she had expected. She had supposed that a policeman from Scotland Yard would be hard and demanding, but toward her, Matthew Grant had been gentle and observed every rule of propriety. “I’ll have to ask you not to interfere, Aunt Bertha.”