A Conspiracy of Ravens (21 page)

Dylan sat and for a while the two stared at the fire in silence. The crackling of the dry wood made a pleasant noise and the cadence of a grandfather clock added its sound. Outside the rain was still pouring down, making a steady pattering on the roof.

“It’s been a long day,” Serafina said finally. She took a sip of her coffee and held the cup in both hands. The coziness and the warmth, the ticking of the clock and the crackling of the fire inside the house contrasted with the wild rain and the cold outside. Both of them leaned back, and finally Serafina asked, “What do you think will happen?”

“You mean to Lord Darby’s family?”

“Yes. I’m hopeful that things will go well.”

Dylan turned to her and smiled faintly. “Hope is wonderful, isn’t it? I’ve been in a few periods of my life when there was very little of it, but I’m worried about that young man.”

“Why are you worried?”

“Partly just the natural concern I would have for any young fellow thrown into a situation like that. It’s like a fish taken out of water and flopping around with no idea what’s happened to him.”

“Oh, come now. It’s not that bad.”

“I don’t think you appreciate the difficulties that Trevor Hayden—the new Trevor Hayden I’m speaking of now—is going to encounter.”

“It has to go well. Edward and Heather have wanted a son for so long, and now they have one.”

“They wanted a baby, my lady. A boy that they could nourish and raise up and teach. You ought to have some idea about how much a youngster has to learn about his world. Suppose suddenly you were thrown into the workhouse. It would be a hellish experience for you.”

“You aren’t comparing that with what Trevor’s going to go through.”

“It may be as bad. In the course of things he has a lot to contend with. Just think of the rest of the family. They’re not going to be overjoyed to see him, I would think. Especially Rupert.”

Serafina closed her eyes for a moment and thought of Rupert Hayden. “He’s not a gentle man,” she admitted finally.

“No, he’s not, and you can bet he’s not going to be happy that it will be a stranger who will be Lord Darby after Edward dies. It’s like offering a dog a big fat juicy chunk of meat, and just as he clamps down on it, you pull it back. The dog’s not going to be happy, nor is Rupert.”

Serafina sat there for a moment and then said, “You’ve got this all analyzed, but it doesn’t have to happen that way.”

“It’s not only logical that the boy would have a hard time, but I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

Serafina suddenly turned and stared at him. “A bad feeling? What are you talking about?”

“I can’t explain how I feel these things. I know you don’t believe in premonitions and things of the heart like that. You’d call them superstitions, but I’ve felt odd about what this all means ever since I saw those ravens. The ones you called a ‘conspiracy.’”

“Why, Dylan, they were just birds—ugly birds, I suppose, but they have nothing to do with this.”

“Maybe not. I hope not for that young man’s sake, but I have these premonitions, as I call them, from time to time.”

“They’re just superstitions. Have you ever read
A Christmas
Carol
by Mr. Dickens?”

“Yes. Fine story indeed.”

“You remember when old Scrooge saw the ghost, or what he thought was a ghost, he refused to believe it. When the ghost of Marley asked him, ‘Why don’t you believe in me?’ do you remember what the old man said?”

“Yes, he said it was just indigestion, something he had eaten that didn’t agree with him. He said Marley was just an old piece of cold potato.”

“Well, that’s what I think your premonitions are, Dylan. I can’t believe in them.”

“I wish I didn’t. They seem so real that—”

Suddenly Dylan’s words were broken off, for David had come running in through the door. They both stood up, and Serafina said, “David, what are you doing up at this hour?”

“I wasn’t sleeping. I wanted to wait for you. I thought you’d come up, but you didn’t.”

Serafina reached out and gathered David into her arms. “I was going to come up and check on you, but we were so cold and hungry that we had to get something to eat.”

“I’ve missed you.” David’s voice was muffled as he held his face against Serafina’s, who held him tightly.

“Well, we’re home now.”

David pulled back and turned to put his eyes on Dylan. “I’m glad you came, Dylan. You can tell me a story now to make me go to sleep.”

“I’m not sure about that.” Dylan smiled. “Your mother thinks my stories are bad for you.”

“No, Mum, they’re not bad for me. I like them.”

Serafina shrugged. “Oh, you win. Go on back to bed. Mr. Dylan will be there in a few minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting for you, Mr. Dylan,” David said. His eyes were glowing with pleasure, and he turned and ran out of the room, his sleeping gown flowing out behind him.

“I suppose I may expect a sermon from you now,” Dylan said, “on the auras of fairy tales and the like.”

“I don’t think you know how badly David misses having a father. He’s very insecure.”

“Yes, I know.”

Surprise washed across Serafina’s face as she studied the countenance of the man before her. “He’s had a difficult childhood.”

“Well, I’m sure you did all you could to make it pleasant.”

“Yes, but he still misses having a father. I suppose any child would.”

“I certainly did,” Dylan said. He suddenly turned his head to one side and studied her. “Aren’t you afraid that I might tell him some wild fairy tale? I know you think they’re harmful.”

“No, Dylan, I don’t think you’d do anything to harm David on purpose, but when people get to believing fairy tales, as you call them, they think all stories end happily. And then when life hands them a hard blow, they’re not prepared to take it.” She held her head high and said, “You teach him nonsense, Dylan, and I’ll teach him sense. Go along now.”

Dylan laughed. “Very well. I’ll tell him a wild, unbelievable story of things that don’t really exist. He loves them, but I’ll make sure he knows that they’re just stories.”

Serafina watched as Dylan moved out of the room, then she went over to stand before the fire. The warmth felt good, and she held her hands out to it, thinking deeply about her son. For a time she stood there thinking about the strangeness of what they had done for Lord Darby and his wife. She had told Dylan she did not believe in his premonitions and that the conspiracy of ravens was nothing but a chance group of birds in a field. Still, some of his uneasiness had communicated itself, and finally she turned, left the room, and went upstairs.

She had no sooner closed the door when a knock came, and turning back she opened it to find her father standing there. He was in his nightshirt and a heavy green robe that must have been older than Methuselah. She could not remember a time when he had not worn it. “Did we wake you up, Father?”

“I heard the carriage come back. What happened at Edward’s?” He listened closely as she told him what had happened, then he wiped his hand across his face in a washing motion and tugged at his woolly hair. Sometimes it seemed to her he was trying to lift himself off the earth by pulling upward, an amusing habit that endeared him to her. “I don’t like things like this. It’s all out of order.”

“You do like order, Father. You always have.”

“Yes. I like to move A to B to C. I like to know what we can count on. That’s why I like science, I suppose, because we can count on it.” He gave Serafina a strange look then said, “What would you think if I told you I’ve been reading the Bible?”

“Why, I’d be shocked.”

“Be shocked then, but it’s not like I thought it would be.”

Serafina was indeed surprised. “Why not?”

“It’s the character of Jesus. He’s not what I expected.”

“In what way?”

“Why, He’s human!” Septimus opened his eyes wide and threw his hands apart. “I read about the woman they caught committing adultery. They wanted Jesus to stone her—and I thought He would. Do you know what He did instead?”

“I don’t remember.”

“He said, ‘Let him that is without sin cast the first stone.’” Septimus shook his head, wonder in his eyes. “Nobody else would have handled that situation like that.”

“You’re not thinking of joining the church?”

“It’s not a matter of joining the church. It’s a matter of . . . of what I’m going to do with Jesus Christ.”

Serafina was so stunned that she could not think clearly. She thought,
It’s just a phase. He’ll never believe in God.
She suddenly thought of her own life and how she’d had it all planned out, and marrying Charles had merely been one step. But then her world had crashed when he had been discovered as a pederast, and she knew she had never recovered from that. Quickly she shoved this out of her mind and said, “Edward and Heather now have a son. May be troublesome, but if it works out, they’ll have happiness beyond their wildest dreams.”

She spoke as cheerfully and as firmly as she could, but her father was staring at her. “You sound doubtful, Daughter. Why is that?”

“Oh, it’s just that . . . that young man is in a world absolutely foreign to him. His speech, his manners, his history are all against him. Everything is out of place there. It’s as if a red Indian were picked up out of America and put in Buckingham Palace.”

“I can see that you’re worried about him.”

“Dylan says he has a bad feeling.” The words spilled out before she could stop them, and she added hurriedly, “Of course, I don’t believe in that sort of thing.”

“We’ll have to stay close to that family. They’re going to need all the encouragement they can get. Now, you’d better go to bed. I know you’re exhausted.” He came forward and kissed her on the cheek, a rare example of emotion, for he was not a demonstrative man. Serafina was surprised and watched him as he moved away down the hall. Then she went in and put on her own heavy nightgown and a robe, then slipped her feet into warm slippers. She wanted to give Dylan time to tell a long story, long enough for David to go to sleep anyway, so she pulled the chair up and sat in front of the fire, taking a book up and trying to read it. It was a book of science, and she found herself unable to concentrate on it. Finally she put it down, murmuring in a bad humor, “Dylan’s premonitions are worrisome. Why do I have to think about them?”

For some time she sat there enjoying the warmth of the fire, and finally when she thought it was time enough for Dylan’s story to end, she left the room. When she opened David’s door and stepped inside, she expected to hear Dylan’s voice but there was nothing.

She stopped abruptly when she neared the bed. Dylan, fully dressed, was lying on the bed, and he had his arm around David, who was snuggling close to him. David was clinging to Dylan, holding on to his shirt, and Dylan’s free hand was resting lightly on David’s crisp fair hair. Both of them were sleeping soundly, and for that one moment Serafina felt strangely that this was the right thing to happen. She hesitated, then turned and walked to her own room. She realized that as different as she and Dylan Tremayne were, she put a trust in him that she put in no other human being as far as her son David was concerned.

FOURTEEN

A
s he stared at the flames that rose in the fireplace in long leaping tongues of yellow and red, Edward wished that he could simply stand there soaking up the warmth of the fire, but he knew that would not be possible. Ever since he awoke, he had been bracing himself for the scene he knew was certain to come, and now he turned and faced Heather, who was sitting at her dressing table nervously adjusting her hair. “I suppose we’d better get the family together and break the news to them,” he said.

Heather put the brush down with an abrupt motion, and as she faced her husband, she read him well. “You dread it, don’t you, dear?”

“It’s not going to be very pleasant, I don’t think.”

“I’m sure they’ll understand.”

Edward smiled despite himself. “You would think that Judas Iscariot would understand. Because you’re so gentle yourself, you think others will be, too, but it must be done.” He walked abruptly to the door of the large, ornate bedroom and entered the sitting room that adjoined it. He found Crinshaw, the butler, waiting for him, and he said at once, “Crinshaw, I want you to go to all the family and ask them to meet us in the large parlour.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll go at once.”

As soon as Crinshaw left, Heather came out and said, “Perhaps it would be better, Edward, if Trevor didn’t come to this meeting—at least not at the beginning. Perhaps I can take him some breakfast in his room?”

“I know what you’re thinking. If something harsh is said, you wouldn’t want him to hear it.”

Heather nodded and said, “Let me go talk to him first. You gather the family.” She then came over and leaned against him. He put his arms around her and held her in a protective fashion.

“It’s going to be all right, Heather. I know it will be. It may be difficult for a time, but I’m convinced that God has given us this blessing.”

Staring at his reflection in the mirror, Roland noted that there was a determination and even a stubbornness to his mouth. He suddenly laughed with an abruptness that startled him. “Well, what ’ave you got yerself into now? Trevor Hayden, are you? Lord Trevor Hayden? Not bloody likely!” His eyes fell on the cleft in his chin, and he remembered what Heather Hayden had said, that all of the Hayden men had this characteristic. “That don’t mean nothing,” he muttered and turned away from the mirror. He was exactly six feet tall and lean but with a strong, athletic figure. He wore borrowed clothes—a pair of dark grey trousers, a pair of black boots that came just below his knee, and a colourful waistcoat. Now he went over and put on his own long overcoat, for despite the blaze in the fireplace, he felt chilly in the room.