A Conspiracy of Ravens (6 page)

Serafina asked, “How are you, Inspector?”

“Very well, and you?”

“We’re all very well.”

“And how’s your patient?”

“He doesn’t pay attention to the doctors. Dr. Goldsmith gave him a strict diet and a list of things not to do.”

“I hate lists of things.”

“He can walk with a cane now.”

“Is that Dr. Goldsmith’s idea?” Grant inquired.

“No,” Dylan said, “it’s Dr. Serafina Trent’s idea. She won’t let me pick up a toothpick,” he complained.

They talked for a while, and Serafina finally asked, “What about Superintendent Winters? I see he escaped the noose.”

“Yes, ma’am, deported for life. I’ve been to see him. He’s a broken man.” He turned and said, “Dylan, when will you be able to go back to work?”

“Oh, soon enough, I suppose.”

“What will you be doing? A new play?”

“I’ve been asked to play the lead in an eighteenth century Restoration drama. It has the title
The Unfaithful Wife
. Isn’t that terrible?”

“Is it a good part for you?” Grant asked.

Dylan shook his head. “I don’t like Restoration dramas.”

“What is a ‘Restoration drama’?” Serafina asked curiously.

“Well, when Cromwell came to power during the Commonwealth, the theatres were all closed. But when Charles II was restored to the throne, that era is called ‘the Restoration.’ The theatres reopened, for Charles was a wicked man indeed, very sensual, and the plays are . . . sensual to say the least. I just don’t feel comfortable playing a man without morals.”

“I don’t understand.” Serafina shook her head. “It’s only a play. You’ve played other roles of people who weren’t really you.”

“I suppose that’s true, but I’m not certain I can do it as a Christian.”

“Are there many Christians in the acting field, Dylan?” Grant asked curiously.

“Very few. It’s a hard life, and I’m afraid there is much immorality that goes on.”

The door opened then, and the tweeny maid Ellie came in. “A note just came for you, Miss Aldora.”

“Thank you, Ellie.”

Taking the note, she read it quickly and said, “It’s from Gervase Hayden.” She looked at the two men and said, “She’s a good friend of mine. Her uncle is Edward Hayden, the Earl of Darby.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know the gentleman,” Grant said. “I wouldn’t be likely to unless he’s committed a crime.”

“Oh, he would never do that,” Dora protested then read the rest of the note. “Her uncle is giving a ball for her, and she wants me to come, and you too, Serafina.”

“I don’t like balls.”

“But you have to! Our families are so close.” Indeed, the families were close. Their properties adjoined, and Edward Hayden was the godfather of Dora. “You’re invited too, Dylan.”

“Me? I don’t know that family.”

“Gervase knows you though. She saw you in
Romeo and Juliet
. I’m afraid she’s developed a tremendous admiration for you.” She laughed aloud. “She’s very passionate. Quite pretty too. The ball will be in two weeks. Do you think you’ll be able to dance by then, Dylan?”

Serafina said, “He’d dance now if I wasn’t watching him every minute, so he’ll be able to dance by then. But,” she said, staring directly at Dylan, “I’ll have to keep you from straining that leg.”

Matthew felt strangely out of place and got up, saying, “I must go. I have work to do.”

“I’ll show you to the door,” Dora said. The two left the room, and when they reached the front door, she stepped outside. “I wish you could go to the ball. I’d invite you if I could, Inspector, but it’s not my place.”

“I’m not an aristocrat, Dora. I don’t fit in.”

She saw the unhappiness in Grant’s eyes. “At least you can invite me to something. Next Friday there’s a performance at the Imperial Theatre,” she said. “Melody Fords will be singing. I’d like very much to go.”

A sudden desire sprang up in Grant. “I’d love to take you, but what if Lady Mulvane or your parents object?”

“Oh, Aunt is going to object to anything I do, but my parents will let us go, I think.”

“Then I’d like it very much. Is it formal?”

“I’m afraid so,” she said with a smile. “I’ll look forward to it, Matthew.”

“Good day, Miss Aldora. It’s been a pleasure.” Turning, Matthew Grant left the house, and his thoughts were disturbed.
I must be
losing my mind—falling in love with Aldora. Her family would never
accept a policeman into their ranks.
He walked toward the carriage then smiled.
But at least we’ll get to hear some fiddles playing at that
musical.

THREE

S
eptimus Newton had no use for most public officials, although he was a medical examiner, often called on by police and Scotland Yard to help identify any clues that might come from a dead body. He spent a large portion of his life in his laboratories, and at the present moment, as the sun streamed in through the window of his outdoor quarters, he paused from his task—the dissection of a tiny shrew captured in his garden—and absentmindedly reached behind him for a cucumber sandwich. He bit off half of the small sandwich, chewed thoughtfully, then turned. Picking up a pen, he dipped it in ink and made a notation in his notebook.

Just as Septimus finished making his note, the door opened, and his wife entered. Alberta was wearing a simple, modest pearl-grey dress with delicate white lace. It was edged with green around the neckline and at her wrists. Her cheeks were bright, for the wind outside had brought colour to them, and as she stepped closer and saw what her husband was doing, she said, “Septimus, you can’t do that!”

“Do what, my dear?”

“You can’t mess about cutting up those animals and eating at the same time. It’s not genteel.”

“Isn’t it?” Septimus looked surprised. He cast a look at the remains of the small shrew and then at the platter of cucumber sandwiches. “A man must eat, you know.”

“But not while you’re doing that nasty business!” Alberta exclaimed. “Come now and wash your hands.”

Obediently Septimus got up and allowed his wife to lead him to a table where she filled a basin with water out of a pitcher and watched as he soaped his hands and dried them off. “Now, is it all right if I finish my sandwiches?”

Alberta shook her head. “Septimus, I don’t know why in the world you have to eat out here. We have a perfectly good dining room, or Cook would be glad to fix you something in the kitchen.”

“But, my dear, I would have to quit work to do that.” Septimus put his arm around Alberta and gave her a hug. His wild hair gave him a startled look, and he leaned over and kissed her cheek. He whispered, “But I’ll try to do better in the future. All right, Wife?”

“Oh, you’ll never change,” Alberta sighed. She leaned against him, for she knew very few women in her station received such attention from their husbands. Septimus might forget most things, but he usually remembered to speak well and compliment her. “That’s a new dress, isn’t it?”

“It was new two years ago.”

“Oh, I suppose I’ve seen it before.”

“Not over fifty times I would think. Septimus, I want to talk with you.”

“Why, certainly. Come and sit down over here. Have some of my sandwiches.”

“No, I don’t want any.” The two sat down, and Alberta said, “What do you think of Inspector Matthew Grant?”

“Why, he seems like a jolly good chap. Fine member of the police force I’m told.”

“I don’t mean professionally. I mean what do you think about this attention he’s showing to Aldora?”

“Why, I hadn’t thought about it.”

“I think you should. After all, Aldora is going to have to marry very soon.”

“Why must she marry?”

“Oh, don’t be obtuse, Septimus! You know that’s the only life for a woman in this society.” Indeed, this was true enough. Women who could not manage to capture a husband usually became awkward guests in the house of a relative, not a desirable fate.

Septimus took another bite of his sandwich and said, “How do you think Dora feels?”

“Oh, it’s hard to tell about that girl. She likes everyone, of course, but he’s not a fit suitor for her.”

Septimus was an astute man in science, but sometimes he lagged behind in other areas. He suddenly straightened up and a frown creased his brow. “Has Bertha been talking to you?”

“Well, yes, she has. She says that we must forbid Dora to see Mr. Grant again.”

“Bertha doesn’t have enough to do. She has no life of her own, so she tries to run ours.”

Alberta looked at her husband with surprise. Very rarely did he ever speak a word of criticism about anyone, and he had shown a remarkable restraint toward Bertha Mulvane. “But I suppose Bertha is right. She would be marrying beneath her station.”

“Well, I married above my station, and we turned out all right.” Septimus grinned and pinched Alberta’s arm. “You know, I hate messing around with our children’s lives. It’s much safer to do my experiments and autopsies. After all”—Septimus paused and amusement danced in his eyes—“dead people don’t have any problems. What about Alex Bolton, this fellow that’s calling on Serafina?”

“We don’t know very much about him. He seems very taken with her.”

“Well, I doubt she’ll have him. She hasn’t shown any interest in a man since Charles died.”

“She’s a young woman. She’ll marry again, but I’m not sure Sir Alex is the proper man for her.” She sighed and shook her head sadly. “It’s so hard getting girls settled.”

“Well, Serafina’s not exactly a girl. After all, she is almost thirty, and she’s been married.”

“She’s very smart in scientific matters, but I’m not sure she does well in other areas.”

Alberta’s observation seemed to bring a silence over the room. Each of them was thinking of Charles Trent, Serafina’s husband, now dead for three years. He had seemed a likely enough choice, and Serafina had been happy and filled with joy before the marriage, as young girls should be. But both her parents had noticed that early in the marriage she had changed, and each of them had suspected that Charles was not a good husband.

“Well, we’ll have to wait and see, I suppose,” Septimus sighed. “Where is Serafina?”

“She’s gone to town with David. She’s taking him by the tailor to get him fitted for some new clothes. He’s growing very fast.” She rose and said, “I’ve got to get back to the house. You’re going to have to go to the tailor too.”

“Why should I do that?”

“You don’t have a thing to wear to the ball at Silverthorn.”

Septimus had risen, and now he stood there, an awkward figure indeed, and shook his head. “I’d rather be dissecting a body than go to a thing like that. I hate balls!”

“We have to go. It wouldn’t be right not to, and you’ll have to have a new suit.”

“I’ve got a suit.”

“You don’t have a thing fit to wear to the ball. Your clothes are terrible. We’re going tomorrow to the tailor.”

“Henry David Thoreau said, ‘Beware of all enterprises that require new clothes.’” Septimus spread both hands out in a gesture of despair, “And after all, Thoreau is never wrong.”

As the carriage made its way through the busy streets, Serafina peered out through the yellowish fog. Just why London fog was that colour no one had ever been able to ascertain, but always during the fall a great yellowness cloaked London, and lamps were lit even during the day. Sometimes this fog spread out until it extended miles from the heart of the city, and complaints were often made that the fog caused pain in the lungs and uneasy sensations in the head. Serafina had been to London a few times when the fog—which was called “a London peculiar”—was so thick you could take a person by the hand and not be able to see his face, and some people had literally lost their way and drowned in the Thames.

“Mum, why does London smell so bad?”

Serafina turned to David, who was sitting beside her in the carriage. “Well, big cities almost always smell bad. We’re fortunate that we can live a little ways out of London. There’s nothing, I suppose, that can be done for the way the place smells.”

“If I lived in London, I’d want to make it better.”

Serafina smiled and reached over to squeeze David’s shoulder. “I’m sure many people would like that, but you have to put up with some difficult things if you live in London.”

The carriage finally drew to a halt, and Albert Givins leapt down from his seat and came at once to open the door. “Bad day for a visit to London, Lady Trent. Can’t even see the sun, ma’am,” he complained.

“It is worse today, isn’t it, Albert? Nevertheless, we’ll have to put up with it.”

“I’ll wait right here while you take Master David to go get fitted.”

“Here, Albert, get yourself something good to eat from one of the street peddlers.” She handed him a coin and smiled. “We may be quite awhile.”

“Thank you, ma’am. A kidney pie would go down pretty good.”

Leaving the carriage, Serafina led David down the street. After the relative silence of Trentwood, the noise of the London streets was almost deafening. The carriages and many horses were part of the problem. The sound of horses’ hooves clacking over the cobblestones and of wheels grinding along struck her ears. The click of women’s pattens with wooden soles on the sidewalk, the bells of the salesmen, and the cries of street peddlers selling items such as dolls, eels, pins, rat poison, and a hundred other things added to the noise. Children swarmed the streets. They were poor, often called “Street Arabs,” and they begged Serafina for money.