A Conspiracy of Ravens (8 page)

“Hello, Dylan,” she said and stepped forward.

“A good day to you.” Dylan smiled. He was wearing an outfit that Serafina had never seen before—a blue velvet frock coat, a white linen shirt, a complicated black cravat with a small diamond stud, black breeches pressed into a nice crease, and dark glossy boots. His dark hair was groomed beautifully, and his handsome face was sharply delineated by the gaslight. He smiled and said, “We’re going to get wet, I think.”

“I hope not,” Aldora said. “How are you, Inspector Grant?”

Grant wore a pearl-grey suit with a modish, short waistcoat and shawl collar, and his pointed standing collar was decorated with a simple cravat. He also wore black shiny boots. “How are you, Miss Aldora? And you, Lady Trent?”

“Oh, I’m so excited,” Dora said. Her eyes were glowing, and she looked exceptionally pretty as she smiled at the two men. “I do hope it stops raining.”

“The others have already left,” Serafina said, “but there’s no hurry. We have plenty of time.”

They left the house, and the ladies were handed into the carriage, seated so they could face forward. The men, as custom demanded, sat with their backs to the driver. The covered coach was one Dylan had never seen before, and after Serafina told the driver to begin their journey, he said, “This is new, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Father just bought it. It’s called a vis-à-vis.”

Dylan ran his hand over the smooth walnut door that made up the body and settled back in the softness of the brown leather seat. “This is the way to travel.” He smiled.

“Are you ready for the ball, Miss Aldora?” Grant asked.

“Oh, yes, it’s going to be so much fun. Do you like balls, Inspector?”

“To tell the truth, I’ve never been to one.”

Grant’s simple answer startled the two women. Balls were a part of their lives, and to think here was a man who had spent over thirty years on planet earth without ever having attended one seemed very strange to them indeed. Serafina studied Grant without appearing to do so. He was an intensely masculine man with thick silver hair, which she knew was prematurely grey. He had unusual hazel eyes, and there was a strength about him that most men would envy. He was not a man of many words, and Serafina admired him for that. She spoke up then saying, “Well, we will average out. I’ve been to far too many.”

“You don’t like balls?” Grant asked, turning to face her.

“I think they’re a frightful bore and a waste of time.”

Dylan laughed. “There’s a pessimist you are. That sounds like a description of being in jail.”

“What a terrible thing to say!” Dora giggled. “But you’ve never been in jail.”

“Oh, yes I have. I was arrested once down in Cornwall.”

“What was the charge?” Matthew asked.

“Assault and battery, and tearing up a saloon.”

“Were you guilty?” Serafina smiled despite herself.

“Mostly I was, but it wasn’t my fault. I was provoked. The man spoke evil of Wales, and it was my duty to correct him.”

As they rode through the falling rain, Serafina found herself as fascinated by Dylan as she had been from the beginning. In all honesty her initial impression had been quite negative, but she had learnt that underneath his deceptively handsome features worked a quick and agile mind. He had been places and done things that she had never heard of, and now she sensed some of that quick mind as he asked, “What about the family of Lord Darby? I know nothing about them.”

Serafina shrugged. “Our families are very close. As a matter of fact, Lord Darby is Aldora’s godfather.”

“That’s right. He is.” Dora nodded. “He never fails to send me a present on my birthday.”

“I suppose it’s a very large place?” Grant asked.

“Oh yes,” Serafina said, nodding, “larger than Trentwood. The house is enormous. It must have twenty bedrooms.”

“Well, devil fly off!” Dylan exclaimed. “That would be like operating an inn.”

Dora was shocked. “What an awful thing to say, Mr. Dylan!”

“Well, it is a bit ostentatious.” Serafina shrugged. “They have, I would guess, some twenty-five servants in all.”

“What’s the earl like?” Grant asked.

“He’s very nice. He’s fifty-five years old now, a rather tall man, very lean, and quite good looking. He’s rather dignified, but he unbends mostly with his wife and his niece, Gervase.”

“And his wife is so nice. Her name is Heather,” Dora said. “She’s younger than Lord Darby, and you know they have a true romance. She told me about it one time. Her husband is a wonderful singer, and he would come and sing love songs under her balcony.”

“They’re a very happy couple. It makes me believe that happy marriages can take place.” Serafina spoke almost without thinking and then suddenly felt the eyes of the other occupants on her. She flushed slightly and closed her lips, determined to say no more along this line. Her own marriage was something about which she seldom spoke.

“Do they have children?” Dylan asked, feeling her discomfort.

“No, and that’s the one sad thing about them,” Serafina answered. “Both of them wanted a large family, but it never happened. Lady Heather had several miscarriages. One child lived but only two days. They don’t talk about children anymore. You would never know how sad it makes them unless you are around them a great deal.”

“What about the rest of the family?” Dylan asked.

“Well, the earl has two brothers. One of them is Rupert Hayden. He’s five years younger than Lord Darby. He’s the businessman of the family,” Dora said.

“Business is about all he cares for,” Serafina said. “He never married, and he spends his life taking care of the estate.”

“The earl’s other brother is named Arthur Hayden,” Dora said. “It always makes me sad to think about him.”

“Why sad?” Matthew asked. “Is he ill?”

“No, but he’s so different from the other men in the family. The most graphic example I know of a man’s who’s out of his place.”

“That’s interesting you should say that, Dora,” Dylan said. “You know the Bible says that ‘as a bird that wandereth from her nest, so is a man that wandereth from his place.’ Kind of a sad verse.”

“Well, Arthur Hayden is a sad man,” Serafina said. “He’s forty-five now, and he’s never done anything to bring any public disgrace on the family. He’s a good painter. He wanted to study in France and Italy, but Rupert persuaded the earl to put a stop to that. Arthur is not a man of business, and his failure to please his brother has caused him to drink too much. And this, of course, is a great sadness to Gervase, his daughter.”

“Gervase saw you in
Romeo and Juliet
, Dylan,” Dora said, smiling, “and she’s the one who insisted that you come tonight. So, you’ll have to be very nice to her.”

“I’m always nice to ladies. Is she cross-eyed or ugly in any way?”

“Don’t be foolish!” Serafina said sharply. “She’s a very beautiful young girl. Very spirited and has a quick wit. She’s also a dedicated Christian. Sings at the church all the time and visits the sick and the elderly. It’s just sad to see her father waste his life.”

“I’m sure it also grieves his mother, Lady Leona Hayden, greatly. She was the second wife of Lord Darby’s father, Leslie, and she lives at Silverthorn, though she’s a widow and an invalid of sorts. Her mind doesn’t work very well anymore. She becomes confused.” Serafina paused and looked out at the rain. “Of course, Edward, Rupert, and Leah are not Lady Leona’s children. They’re the children of her husband’s first wife, Edith Carrington. Leah’s son, Bramwell St. John, lives at Silverthorn too. Everyone calls him St. John.”

“Yes, Sinjin,” Dora said, emphasizing the characteristically British pronunciation.

“You know, the Americans find that quite interesting,” Dylan said, “how St. John could become a thing like Sinjin, but it’s his name. He can call himself anything he wants. What sort of chap is he?”

“He’s about your height, lean, and a very good athlete when he chooses. He’s had some problems though,” Serafina said hesitantly.

“It’s so sad.” Dora shook her head. “He went to Oxford and fell into the sins of young men.”

“What are the sins of young men, Miss Aldora?” Dylan asked, humor dancing in his eyes. “I’ve never been able to get them straight. Would you care to go into that a little bit further?”

“You are awful, Dylan! Now, I’m not going to talk about the sins of young men. I suspect you know far more about them than I do.”

“I expect you’re right.” Matthew grinned. He nudged Dylan with his elbow. “I’ll explain it all to you when we’re alone, Dylan.”

“Well, it sounds like a typical English family,” Dylan said, “with some heroes and some villains.”

“Oh, there are no villains in the Hayden family. Just some sadness,” Serafina said. “But I suppose you’re right. All families have this sort of thing.”

As the carriage bounced over the road, Serafina sat back and listened to Dora speak to Matthew, drawing out of him some of his experiences in Scotland Yard. She studied the face of Dylan, wondering what really went on, wondering how she had ever become so involved in the life of an actor. It disturbed her sometimes, for she knew that her interest in him was more than casual. Still she thought of how he had risked his life—nearly given it, in fact—to save David, and she knew she would never forget that as long as she lived.

“You look very well, my love.”

Edward Hayden came to stand behind his wife, who was sitting at her dressing table. He put his hands on her shoulders, and she reached up and covered them with her own. “Thank you, dear. I think it was very sweet of you to give this ball for Gervase, but you spoil her terribly.”

“I know I do, but I can’t help it. She’s been like a daughter to us, hasn’t she?”

When Heather did not answer, Edward understood he had touched on the one subject that could bring sadness into his wife’s fine eyes—their lack of children. Quickly he started to speak again, but she spoke first.

“I’ve been a failure to you, Edward.”

“Don’t say that.” He leaned over and, stooping down, kissed her cheek. “You’re enough for any man.”

“We should have adopted a son, but I was so certain that God had promised us a son of our own.” This had been disturbing to Heather. She was an exemplary Christian, and she had told everyone that God had promised to give her and Edward a son. When only one child had lived, and that one for only two days, she had since suffered in thinking she had misread the will of God.

“God’s ways are hard to understand. Any of us can mistake our way,” Edward said. He straightened up and shrugged slightly. “We always have St. John.”

“I suppose so.” Heather’s response was slow and rather grudging. The thought of her nephew, Bramwell, as a son was not pleasing to her.

“I suppose we’d better go down. Our guests from Trentwood will be arriving soon.”

“Yes, I’ll be ready in just a moment.”

Bramwell St. John knocked on his mother’s door, and at the sound of her voice he opened it and stepped inside. He was wearing a brown coat with dark green trousers, and his snowy white shirt set off his olive complexion. He was a handsome young man of twenty-eight, and as he stepped inside, there was some sort of dissatisfaction in his face. “Well, you look very nice, Mother. Another ball for us, eh?”

“You look very nice, St. John, but before we go down, I have something to tell you.”

“It sounds like a sermon coming up.”

“Not a sermon, but just a warning. You’ve got to be more careful or you’ll lose Edward’s respect.”

“I don’t think I ever had his respect.”

“You could have had,” Leah said quickly. “They have no son of their own, and they would have welcomed you as one if you had learnt to behave.”

“It doesn’t matter.” St. John shrugged his trim shoulders. “When my uncle dies, Rupert will be master of all, and he has no use for me nor ever has. We’ll be poor relations around here. I don’t much fancy that.”

Leah St. John was taller than most women with very dark hair and dark eyes to match, almost black, indeed. She had thin lips, high cheekbones, and a rather sour disposition, the result of a stormy marriage. Her husband, Roger, had been a soldier, and Leah had loved him almost unreasonably. She was a proud woman, conscious of her aristocratic heritage. She looked at the young man before her, thinking how she had struggled to encourage him, but there was a streak of rebelliousness in him that she recognized as coming perhaps from her, perhaps from her dead husband.