A Conspiracy of Ravens (39 page)

Gervase said nothing for a moment, and then her voice was quiet as she said, “You do it very well, Trevor. You don’t need any lessons in hand kissing.”

“What about other kinds of kissing?”

Suddenly she laughed and struck him lightly in the chest with her fist. “That’s enough of that now. Come along. Get on that horse. We’re going back to the house.” She turned, but he took hold of her arm. “I meant what I said. I couldn’t have stayed ’ere if it ’adn’t been for you.”

“I’m glad you feel that way. Are you still worried about being accused of Crinshaw’s murder?”

“Yes,” he confessed. “I’m still the logical suspect.”

“It will never happen. Come on now. Your life is going to be like a storybook. You’re going to be cleared of all guilt, you’re going to become a gentleman, and one day you’ll be the Earl of Darby. You’ll marry a beautiful princess and have four children, all girls.”

“No, I insist on two boys and two girls.”

“Very well, you will have your own way, I suppose.” She laughed and said, “Aren’t we foolish?”

“Yes, it feels good. Let’s go. I’ll try not to fall off on the way back to the stable.”

After his ride Trevor went to his room, cleaned up, and changed clothes. He intended to go down to his parents’ room and spend part of the afternoon with them, but as he was passing Lady Leona’s quarters, the door opened, so he said, “Good afternoon, Lady Leona.”

“Come in. I want to show you something.”

Trevor hesitated, but she smiled and took his hand. “It’s something I haven’t shown anybody in a long, long time.”

Reluctantly Trevor went inside the beautiful room. The walls were covered with a wallpaper such as he had never seen, with figures done in light green and contrasting darker green. The door to the right, he suspected, led to her bedroom. “What is it, Lady Leona?”

“This. You haven’t thought of this in a long time, have you, Leslie?”

Her use of the name Leslie was somehow frightening. He did not correct her, but he was afraid of her mental illness. He once had been taken by a friend to Bethlehem, some called it Bedlam, where the insane people of London were kept. They were treated scurrilously, and many of the gentry laughed as if they were strange animals of some sort. Ever since that day he had been afraid of anyone who showed signs of mental problems, and he felt it especially in this room with this woman.

She went to a small Louis XIV desk and opened the drawer, and when she came back, he saw that she was behaving in a strange manner. “Look, you remember this, Leslie?”

Trevor saw that she was holding a beautiful necklace. The chain was of gold, and there was a large red stone. “It’s very nice, Lady Leona.”

“Oh, yes, it’s very nice.” She seemed to become more agitated. “You remember that you gave it to Edith, and all the time you knew that I wanted it.”

“That—that wasn’t me, Lady Leona.”

She was almost babbling now. “You always loved Edith. You should have married me, but you married her, and it broke my heart. Oh, yes, it did!” She suddenly reached out and grabbed his sleeve. “I found a way to get my revenge after she was dead. She wanted to be buried wearing this necklace. You didn’t know that, did you, Leslie? She told me many times, but when she was finally laid down, just before she was buried, I put another one around her neck, a cheap thing, and I kept this one. It took a long time, Leslie. Finally she was gone.”

The old woman was talking in an incoherent manner, and Trevor was trying desperately to think of some way to escape. Suddenly she pulled at him, and he had to follow her. “Here,” she said, “sit down.”

“Really, Lady Leona, I need to go.”

“Sit down, Leslie. You never had any time for me like you did for Edith, but I’ve got something that you will like.” She turned to a mahogany chest, opened it, and pulled a bottle out with a glass. “Look, it’s that wine that you always loved so much. This is the last bottle that’s left. You always loved it, and Edith did too.” She poured the glass full almost to the brim and said, “I want you to share it with me.”

“I really don’t care for any wine,” Trevor said.

“Here, take it.” She forced the glass toward him, and automatically he took it. “Now, drink it up. We’ll drink to us—to me and to you, Leslie, Earl of Darby.”

With resignation Trevor thought,
If I just drink this, I can get
out of here.
He started to raise the glass to his lips when suddenly the door to the bedroom burst open. Lady Serafina rushed into the room, followed closely by Dylan Tremayne and Matthew Grant.

Trevor rose, and at that moment Serafina was there to take the glass out of his hand. She smelled it and held it out. “It smells of bitter almonds, Grant; almost certainly it’s cyanide.”

Grant smelled the wine and then he had a strange look on his face. “I don’t know how to handle this. The woman’s obviously not responsible.”

“What’s wrong?” Trevor asked. “What do you mean cyanide? Poison?”

“Yes.” Serafina turned and studied the old woman, who had grown very quiet. “We discovered that your husband, Leslie, and his first wife, Edith, were both poisoned. You did it, didn’t you, Lady Leona?”

Leona had been babbling before the trio had entered, but now she had grown very still. She whispered, “She took him from me—but I had my revenge—oh, yes.” Suddenly she blinked and looked around with astonishment. It was, they all realized, another one of those abrupt changes. She was staring at the glass in Serafina’s hand and then turned to look at Trevor. “Trevor, you’re here.”

“Well, yes, you asked me in.”

“Did I?”

Grant said to Serafina, “What can we do?”

“I’m not sure, but whatever happens will not be pleasant.”

“It’s going to be hard on Arthur.”

Grant pulled his shoulders together in an irresolute manner, and his lips grew thin. He said, “Lady Leona Hayden, I’ll have to arrest you for the murder of Charles Crinshaw and also under suspicion of the murder of your husband and his wife Edith.”

The words fell from his lips and a sudden silence filled the room, a heavy, ominous silence. Suddenly Lady Leona said faintly, “I must—I must lie down for a moment. Could I do that, Superintendent?”

“Yes, of course. Serafina, would you help Lady Leona?”

Serafina came forward, took Leona’s arm, and guided her to the door that entered the bedroom. She led the old woman to the bed, and Leona turned and sat down on it. Serafina reached down and lifted her legs and then helped her lie back on the bed.

“I loved Leslie,” she said in a strange monotone, “but he didn’t love me. Isn’t that terrible when you love someone and they don’t love you back?”

“It’s very hard,” Serafina murmured. “You just lie there for a moment and rest while I go have a word with Superintendent Grant.”

“I loved him, and he didn’t love me,” Lady Leona said. Serafina stared at the woman’s face. She had killed three people beyond doubt, and yet there was a pathetic quality to her. Perhaps all mentally unbalanced people have it. Without a word Serafina walked outside. The three men turned to look at her.

“It’s going to be terrible for Arthur,” Serafina said.

“Who’s going to tell him?” Dylan asked.

“I suppose I’ll have to do it,” Grant sighed. “It’s the bad part of being a policeman.”

“There’s no easy way. No matter how he hears it, or who he hears it from, it’s going to break his heart,” Serafina said. “He really loves his mother, and I think he was the only thing on this earth that she really loved—except, perhaps, for Leslie and Gervase. Poor, poor woman.”

“Will you stay here with her, you two, while I go tell Arthur, and then I’ll have to go tell Lord Darby.”

Grant turned and left without another word, and Trevor was pale. “I never ’eard of anything like this.”

“You know, I’ve seen death on the battlefield,” Dylan said. “That was bad enough, but somehow it was—I don’t know how to say it—different from the deaths of murdered people, especially those poisoned by one they trusted. I can’t imagine what’s going to happen to her.”

“Will there be a trial, you think?” Trevor asked.

“There’ll have to be some kind of legal action. The woman is guilty of murder.”

“But she’s crazy. Crazy people, they don’t know what they’re doing.”

“The law doesn’t look at it like that, I’m afraid,” Serafina said. Her mind was already working, and she said, “I’ll have to get to Sir Leo Roth. He’s the best barrister in England. He’ll help her if she can be helped.” The three stood there talking for some time in a low voice, and then Serafina said, “I’ll go sit beside her until Grant gets back.”

She turned and walked into the room and at once uttered a cry. Dylan rushed in and looked over her shoulder with Trevor right behind him. They saw Lady Leona Hayden not on the bed but crumpled in a small heap beside her vanity table. There was a bottle before her, a small brown bottle, and Serafina rushed over to it. She smelled it and shook her head. “Pure cyanide! It must have killed her instantly.”

“Shall I put her on the bed, Serafina?”

“No, leave things just as they are,” Serafina said. “Grant will need to make careful notes. She reached out and touched the woman’s silvery hair. “Poor creature,” she said. “She saw what was coming, I think, and couldn’t bear it. I can’t blame her too much.” She rose and said, “I’ll stay here with her.”

“I’ll go get Grant,” Dylan said.

“I’ll go with you,” Trevor said quickly. “I need to be with Gervase. She’s going to take this ’ard. She loved the old woman.”

“Yes, go to her. Help her all you can, Trevor.”

The two men left, and Serafina Trent looked back at the crumpled body. “What a waste,” she murmured. “What a terrible, terrible waste!”

The shock that had gone through the house when Grant had given them the news that Lady Leona Hayden was dead and also that she was responsible for the death of Crinshaw was past description.

Though Serafina had persuaded Grant not to bring up the matter of the deaths of Leslie and Edith Hayden, Edward and Heather had taken the news about Crinshaw and Lady Leona hard, but not so hard as Arthur, of course. He had been terribly shocked at the news that his mother was dead, and even more so at the revelation that she had killed Crinshaw. His mother had been a difficult person in many ways, but he had told Serafina, “I saw this coming, but not like this. I thought she would go insane and have to be committed to Bedlam. She would have hated that.”

“Yes, she would have,” Serafina had replied, “but she won’t have to go there now.”

Trevor had spent most of his time with Gervase, and the two of them had joined to comfort Arthur as best they could. They had encouraged him to go on with his painting after the funeral of his mother, explaining that it would honour her memory if he made a success of his life.

But there was one interview that was kept secret. Grant called Rupert, Leah, and Bramwell into the study that he had been using as an office. They were shaken over the developments—the death of Leona and the revelation that she had murdered Crinshaw.

Grant let them talk, but he finally said, “I must tell you, I have not forgotten the two attempts on Lord Darby’s life.” He stared at Rupert and said with cold words, “I have a witness who saw you cut the girth on Lord Darby’s horse—and if there is any other attempt, I will bring you into the dock. Do you understand me?”

Rupert had turned pale, and for once he was speechless. He nodded and dropped his head to stare at the floor.

“And I have another witness who will testify, Bramwell, that you took a gun and went into the fields on the day a shot came close to killing Lord Darby.”

Leah protested, “He didn’t do it, Superintendent!”

“You, Leah St. John, were overheard having a conversation with your son—and the two of you discussed how the deaths of Lord Darby and Rupert would please you.” He waited for the two to respond, but neither of them spoke a word. “Very well. If there is even a hint of anything irregular, I will have you both brought to trial for attempted murder.” He paused again, and when none of them spoke, he said harshly, “I find you beneath contempt,” and left the room abruptly.

TWENTY-FIVE

I
t was the last day of the year, and Dylan settled in his room, looking down at the newspapers that lay before him on the table. It was ten o’clock in the morning, and he had fixed himself a breakfast and had read for a time, and now he was feeling, as he usually did on the last day of the year, a sense of frustration. He studied the papers and saw that there was nothing about the death of Lady Leona. There had been nothing in the papers, indeed, except a brief notice of her death. He smiled as he thought of how Lady Serafina Trent had managed things. He had been with her when she had called Matthew into a conference. She had set out to convince him that there would be absolutely nothing to gain in blackening the Hayden name because of one unbalanced old woman.