Sonnet to a Dead Contessa (32 page)

“Yes. You have.” Matthew had been thinking hard about some way to approach Dylan. He felt that Dylan was making a terrible mistake in marrying Meredith, but it was against his nature to interfere with another man’s choice. He was very fond of Dylan Tremayne, however, and now he said tentatively, “I hate a busy-body.”

“Well, so do I.”

“Hate me, then, because I’m going to meddle in your affairs.”

Dylan turned to stare at Matthew. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I hope you’ve thought about what you are doing marrying Meredith.”

“Of course I’ve thought about it.”

“Everybody thinks you’re making a mistake.”

“Well
, everybody
is not making my decisions for me.” Dylan’s tone was sharp, and he turned to stare out the window. “I’m doing what I feel is the right thing.”

“You’re marrying the woman because a dying man had a desperate notion to ask you to care for his wife and his child. I can’t blame the man for that. From what you say, he was a fine chap, but he was in no condition to make decisions that would so influence your life.”

“I think he would do it for me.”

“You’ll never know that. The only person that you can handle is yourself. You need to think through this. For example, you don’t have a profession.”

“You’re right about that. Not much money either.”

“You’re determined to give up your acting career?”

“Yes, I’m leaving.”

“You could make a lot of money there.”

“It’s just not what God wants for me, Matthew. I’ve explained all that to you.”

Matthew was silent for a while. The clatter of the horses’ hooves made a symphony of sound on the hard surface of the road. Matthew turned to glance at Dylan and saw that he was in a deep, depressed state. Finally he said, “I’ve been meddling in more ways than one about you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ve gone over the budget at the Yard. We’ve been talking for some time about putting on a new man, and I put your name forward. I think you can have the job.”

Dylan straightened up and said, “An inspector at Scotland Yard?”

“You won’t be an inspector.” Matthew grinned. “You will be as close to a dishwasher as you can get at the Yard.”

“A dishwasher? What does that mean?”

“It means the position that you would be filling is to do the dirty jobs that the rest of us don’t want to do. There are a lot of them. They are boring, they take hours, but I convinced my superiors that you have great experience with criminal classes. I told them about how you know people and how they’ll talk to you—especially if you put on a disguise. So you may have to get dirty and smelly and grow whiskers in order to get information. The money’s not much either. As a matter of fact, it’s a sorry job.”

“Thank you, Matthew,” Dylan said at once, with relief. “I’ll take it.”

“You haven’t even asked how much it pays.”

“Pays more than I’m making now. And besides, I think I might be quite good at it.”

“You’ve proved that with Lady Trent. We’re counting on that. You’re smooth enough to get along with the upper class, and you can get along with murderers, prostitutes—whoever you have to. I think if you take this job, you won’t be at it long. Your quality will show forth. You’ll just have to eat a lot of dirt before you rise.”

“You’re a good friend, Matthew.” Dylan reached out and grabbed Matthew’s hand.

“Hey, you’re breaking my fingers! Don’t be so happy, man! It’s not that great a position.”

But Dylan was happy. He had been worried about which direction to go, and this was something he felt he could do and do well. He sat back and began to pepper Matthew with questions until they reached Trentwood House.

Dora was happy, and Serafina stood beside her as they prepared for the dinner. “Where will you go for a honeymoon?”

“To Ireland.”

“Ireland? It’s beautiful there.”

“Matthew says it’s beautiful.” She suddenly turned and said, “Serafina, I want to thank you for the wedding gift.”

“Why, that was a family wedding gift.”

“No, it was you. We’re so excited.”

Serafina had talked with her parents, and together they had decided to give the newly married couple a small house. It was not a fancy house, but it was handy to Scotland Yard and not too far from Trentwood. They had made a ceremony out of it, and for once Matthew Grant had been totally silent. They had made the presentation, and Septimus had handed him the deed. He had swallowed hard, and despite the hard life he had led, tears had glittered in his eyes. “No one,” he had said huskily, “ever did so much for me before.”

Now Serafina said, “We’re going to have to fix it all up, you and me.”

“Of course we will.”

She would have said more, but at that moment Matthew and Dylan came in. Matthew kissed Dora, but Dylan stood back. It was an awkward moment for him and for Serafina. He looked at her uncertainly, then nodded and said, “Good evening, Serafina.”

“Hello, Dylan. I’m glad you could come.”

More company arrived for the dinner then, and Serafina moved to greet them. It was a small group, only family and very close friends, and when it was finally over, Dylan found himself alone with Serafina for a few moments. He said awkwardly, “I saw you at Mr. Spurgeon’s church Sunday.”

“Yes, he’s a marvelous preacher. How are Meredith and Guin?”

“They’re fine.”

His answer was short, and she sensed he was unhappy. “I heard that you’re not going to act anymore.”

“That’s true, but I have good news.” His eyes lit up. “Matthew has obtained a position for me at Scotland Yard.”

“How wonderful!” Serafina beamed. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Yes, he’s a fine man, isn’t he? It’s the lowest position in the Yard, of course, and doesn’t pay much.”

“But you’ll be doing something you’re good at. We’ve proved that, haven’t we?”

“Yes, we have, but you’re the brains in our little crime-solving expeditions.”

The two stood there face-to-face, and for one moment there was something that bound them close together. Dylan, as always, was struck by her beauty, and he knew that she was intelligent, sensitive, with a depth that most women did not have. Her body was full-shaped against the folds of her dress, and there was a rhythm and a vitality about her that affected Dylan powerfully. It fanned the flame of the close-held hungers that had been in him for so many years. He well knew that all men, even the toughest of them, had an ideal woman somewhere in their hearts, fashioned out of deep desires, and he was no different. He knew that few men ever had such a picture materialise, and now it came to him with a profound shock that this was what he was giving up. This thought hit him hard.
I am giving her up. I know she loves me. She said so.
The thought had been with him ever since, and now he realised that her nearness, as always, nearly set off shocks within him. His vision was like the lens of a camera narrowing until he saw only the full swell of her lips and their increasing heaviness. “But—I’m going to miss you, Serafina.”

At that instant Serafina’s eyes widened. Colour came to her cheeks, and she leaned toward him with a sudden intent. Her hand came up uncertainly and touched the lapel of his coat. A rose colour stained her features, and he said, “I wish it could be different. There’s a poem I’ve always liked about a man going off to war. His sweetheart criticised him for leaving her, and the last line says, ‘I could not love thee, dear, so much loved I not honour more.’”

“That’s why you’re marrying her, isn’t it—your honour?”

“Yes.”

Serafina would have said more, but at that moment her father and mother came in. Matthew was with them. “It’s time to leave, Dylan.”

Dylan said his good-byes, and when he walked out, he felt as if he had been wounded. He had been shot once in action when he was a soldier, not seriously, but he remembered the bullet striking him, knocking him down, and he remembered how little he felt. All he could think of was the numbness that had come to him. At the door he turned and looked back, and Serafina was watching him with an expression he could not identify. He turned and walked out into the night with Matthew, unable to think and unable to reason, knowing somehow life had become far too complicated for him.

TWENTY-ONE

D
avid stared up at his mother with a troubled expression, and finally said in a small voice, “Does that mean that Dylan won’t be able to come here anymore?”

Serafina had known that breaking Dylan’s news to her son would be difficult. David had often said to her, “Mom, if you would marry Dylan, he could stay here all the time.” She had smiled at his childlike hope for such a thing, but now that she knew she loved Dylan Tremayne, there was a special poignancy to David’s grief. He knew with a childish wisdom that he was losing Dylan.

“He won’t be able to come here as often as before, but we’ll do what we can to invite him.”

“I don’t like Mrs. Brice.”

Serafina almost said,“I don’t either,” but she withheld it. “Why, you mustn’t tell Dylan that.”

“I won’t, but I wish he wouldn’t do it.”

Serafina tried to change the subject as gracefully as possible. She left soon after that. It was Sunday morning, and she had gone to Spurgeon’s church for three weeks in a row. When she arrived, she gave her ticket to the doorman, thinking it was strange that a preacher would be so popular that you would have to have a ticket to get in to hear him. She had been investigating the church where Spurgeon was pastor and had discovered that some people gave up their tickets to non-Christian people. Spurgeon had urged them to do this. “Let the unsaved in. You can worship Jesus in your home, but today the lost sheep need to hear the gospel.”

She moved inside and found a seat next to a poorly dressed couple. The woman looked to be in her sixties at least, and was frail, but she had a bright smile. “God bless you, Lady,” she said.

“And God bless you too.” It was the first time Serafina had ever said a thing like that, but she felt good about it. She looked over the building, which seated thousands of people and was already packed. In earlier days she would have said that this was mass hysteria, but there was a strange power in the pastor. There was much singing, but not like singing she had heard before. It was full-throated and filled the auditorium. There were no musical instruments, but she had learnt a few of the tunes and was able to join in.

Finally the pastor, Charles Spurgeon, stepped forward. He began to preach in such a different manner from usual clergymen. Most clergymen in this day read from a full manuscript. Some even had a prompter with the manuscript in hand if the preacher stumbled over a word. They were, in effect, perhaps great literary writers but not very communicative or practical.

But when Charles Haddon Spurgeon stepped forward, things changed. A message burned in his heart, and above all he wanted to communicate it effectively to the common people. He got warmed up in his message, and his text was “Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.” He walked back and forth and pulled out a handkerchief and flourished it about when he made a point. He stopped once and prayed, “Oh, Lord, take us and mold us as the clay, though there is so much grit in us that it must hurt thy fingers.”

Serafina had laughed at that but knew some would be offended. She settled down and listened to the preacher, and, as always, he was able to hold her attention and the attention of everyone in the room. She listened as he went over his points, and every word seemed to sink into her.

“The beholding of the Lamb of God,” he said, “is a thing to which men cannot readily be brought. I know many whose consciences are truly awakened, and who see themselves as sinners in the sight of God; but instead of beholding the Lamb of God, they are continually beholding themselves. I do not think that they have any confidence in their own righteousness, but they are afraid that they do not feel their guilt as much as they ought.”

This might be true of some, but Serafina Trent felt her guilt sharply. She was shocked at how her heart began to pound, and she began to know that the Spirit of God was in this room, and over and over again Spurgeon would cry out, “Behold the Lamb of God. That means to believe on the Lord Jesus Christ. Trust in him as your Saviour; accept God’s revelation concerning him. Trust him to save you. That’s the way of salvation.”

He went on to talk about Jesus, how he loved people, and how he died on the cross, and without really knowing it, Serafina knew that God was working on her heart. She lost track of the sermon and considered the years she had spent ignoring God, and now she was finding out that Jesus was as real today as he had been in the days when he walked the earth. Finally they began to sing a song that she knew well:

Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee;
Let the water and the blood,
From Thy riven side which flowed,
Be of sin the double cure,
Cleanse me from its guilt and power.

Not the labours of my hands
Can fulfil Thy law’s demands;
Could my zeal no respite know,
Could my tears forever flow,
All for sin could not atone;
Thou must save, and Thou alone.

While I draw this fleeting breath,
When my eyelids close in death,
When I soar to worlds unknown,
See Thee on Thy judgement throne,
Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee. Amen.