Sonnet to a Dead Contessa Read Online Free Page B

butter, fresh fruits, and sweetmeats. David was sitting next to Serafina, as he always did, and he was demolishing the fairy cakes that he loved and that the cook, Nessa Douglas, insisted on making for him. Serafina had warned Nessa she was spoiling the boy, and Nessa had said, “Nonsense! He deserves the best I can give him, the sweet little fellow.”
    The three children had been carrying the burden of the conversation, talking about the games they had been playing and the activities they had engaged in while their mothers had gone to the theatre, but David suddenly looked up and said, “Mum, is Mr. Dylan coming today?”
    “Not today. He’s in his play, you know. He’ll be here next Sunday.”
    “Will he stay long?”
    “Well, there’s no performance on Sunday, so he’ll spend the night.”
    Aldora, whom family and friends called Dora, spoke up quickly. “Matthew is coming too.” Matthew Grant had fallen in love with Dora practically at first sight. It had been a difficult thing, for women of Dora Newton’s station did not marry mere policemen—a fact that Lady Bertha Mulvane now spoke to as she often did. She was the older sister of Alberta Newton and, at the age of sixty, was heavyset with blunt features and overbearing manners. She was possibly the most selfish, ambitious, and greedy person who had ever sat at the table at Trentwood House, home of the Trents and of Septimus Isaac Newton and his wife, Alberta.
    “I’m ashamed of you, Dora!”
    “Ashamed of me? Why is that, Aunt Bertha?”
    “You know why it is.” Bertha shook her head, and the wattles on the sides of her neck shook and trembled. “Because you persist on letting that policeman become engaged to you.”
    “But I love him, Aunt Bertha.”
    “Nonsense!”
    “It’s nonsense to be in love?” Lady Margaret spoke up. “I can’t believe you said that, Lady Mulvane.”
    Bertha Mulvane had been the wife of a baron, and when he had died, the title passed with him. She had no right to be called “Lady,” but she insisted on the title.
    “It’s a shame that we have to have actors and policemen invading our home.”
    Serafina wondered why it was suddenly “ our home” when Lady Bertha had her own place. She forced herself to listen as Lady Bertha continued to speak, and once again Serafina could not understand the woman. She had watched her earlier steal a spoon—there was no other way to put it. She had slipped it into a bag she carried with her, and Serafina knew that somehow she had managed to take many things from the Newton household. Even some of their furniture had mysteriously disappeared and reappeared at Lady Bertha’s small cottage.
    Margaret finally turned and, ignoring Lady Bertha, said, “Why do you like Mr. Tremayne so much, David?”
    “Oh, because he plays with me all the time. He does all the things I like to do. He can play soldiers up in the attic. He goes with me to find birds’ eggs. He takes me fishing. And he tells the most wonderful stories!”
    “He tells the most fanciful stories I ever heard of,” Serafina said wryly. “I tried to get David to see that they’re not good for him, but, of course, Dylan tells them so well it’s like seeing them unfold. He reads him fanciful books too.”
    “But he’s so much fun.” David turned and said to Lady Margaret, “If Mum would marry him, he could play with me all the time.”
    Serafina’s cheeks suddenly burned. “I’m not marrying a man just so you have someone to play with.”
    “Well, there are worse reasons for marrying a man,” Margaret said. “Men marry women for their money and then pay them no attention. Women marry men for their titles and have no love for them at all. I would say those are worse reasons than marrying to get a playmate for such a good boy. You ought to think about it, Serafina.”
    Serafina glared at Margaret and knew she was being teased. She said quickly, “Children, go get ready.”
    “What are we going to do, Mum?”