A Conspiracy of Ravens Read Online Free PDF Page A

sitting beside him.
    Serafina took the situation in at once. She had just prepared the bed and had asked Dylan to sit down while she checked the bandages to see if they were firm. He had put on a pair of linen drawers but wore nothing else. His chest had been tightly bandaged and his left leg as well. She had instructed him to sit there while she took his pulse and had sat down beside him to reach him more conveniently. She was amused by the shocked looks on Lady Bertha and Alex Bolton’s faces and said quite calmly, “Good afternoon, Sir Alex.” She knew that her aunt was desperate for her to marry into nobility, as if another title would help Lady Bertha’s lineage.
    Bolton was at a loss for words and could only say, “Ma’am . . .”
    “I don’t believe you’ve met my friend Mr. Dylan Tremayne. Mr. Tremayne is an actor, one of the rising stars in the world of the theatre. Mr. Tremayne, this is Sir Alex Bolton.”
    Bolton had no idea how to respond to the introduction. Actors were, of course, on the lowest scale in the social order—beneath the scales of most people, as a matter of fact. He finally inclined his head, and Dylan watched him, a curious smile touching his lips. “Happy it is I am to meet you, Sir Alex. How are you, Lady Bertha?”
    Bertha’s face turned red, and she demanded stridently, “What are you doing, Serafina?”
    “Well, I was about to order tea for Mr. Tremayne. Perhaps you’d care to join us.”
    Bolton regained his wits. “It . . . ah, doesn’t seem an opportune time, Lady Trent. Perhaps I could come another day.”
    “Oh, certainly. You must come back again. Will you show Sir Alex to the door, Lady Bertha?”
    As the two left the room, Dylan turned and said, “Who was that fellow?”
    “Oh, just a man who wants to marry me. Here, let me help you lie down.” She assisted him in moving into a comfortable position and said, “I know you must be in pain. Those are terrible wounds.”
    “I’ve had worse, me.”
    “Here. I want you to take some of this. It’ll make you sleepy, but it’ll take the pain away. Dr. Goldsmith will be here soon, I’m sure.”
    “Why is he coming?”
    “To check for other injuries.” She looked down then, and a silence fell between the two of them. Finally she said, “Dylan, I’ll never forget what you did. David would have been killed if . . .” Serafina paused.
    “Well, we couldn’t have that, could we now? The world can wag on without me, can’t it? But not without David.”
    Serafina was caught by his words. “Why would you say that, Dylan?”
    “Why, I’m nothing but a poor actor. That boy, he’s going to be a very important man.” He lay there for a while, and already the drug was affecting him. He spoke slowly and with some effort. “And, after all, Lady Trent, he’s your son.”
    Serafina did not speak but saw his eyes close, and he began to breathe deeply. She struggled for a time to put away the awful and catastrophic result that might have come if Dylan had not been there, and her heart seemed to fill. At that moment she knew something about the nature of his emotional state, which she usually tried to avoid. This was not something she could put in a test tube, nor was it a matter of little concern to her. She thought of David, and his face came before her—the bright eyes, the fair hair so much like her own. She thought of his playing in the yard with Napoleon, the enormous mastiff who guarded him like the crown jewels, and riding his horse, Patches. Despite herself, her eyes misted over. Suddenly, unable to contain herself, she reached forward and picked up Dylan’s hand. She held it in both of hers and then kissed it, something she had never done in her entire life.
    “Thank you, Dylan. I will never forget it,” she whispered with a half sob.

    As always when Inspector Matthew Grant approached Trentwood House, he felt a sense of apprehension. This feeling was otherwise unusual, for he had proven his physical courage