Bath Belles (12 page)

“He’d never do that, Eliot. He’s a very nice fellow,”
Mama assured him.

“I only know what I hear from Mrs. Mailer. I know he was very reluctant to pay her when she had her necklace stolen. Some of his questions went beyond impertinence to an assault on her character. Graham certainly held him in contempt. I think that was half the reason he was so determined to recapture the money, so that Maitland could not bruit his unfounded suspicions around town. If Maitland had let Pelty pay up the twenty-five thousand as he had planned to do, Graham would be alive today. Can you of all people, Belle, really blame me for disliking him and being shocked that you are ready to receive him in this house?”

I felt quite weak with guilt after this attack.

“What has he found out so far? Anything of interest?”
Eliot asked.

I was the only one who knew about K. Norman. I knew Mama wouldn’t approve of my going to Long Acre, and I didn’t intend to tell her, though I wished to discuss it with Eliot. “No, nothing,”
I said.

“I wish you would keep me informed. I mean to watch that bird. In fact, I’m going to follow him now and see what he’s up to.”

I went with him to the door. I had put the little address book in my skirt pocket and drew it out before he left. “Eliot, do you happen to know who this K. Norman is that Graham has in his book?”

He took the book and examined it. “K. Norman,”
he said, shaking his head. “No, I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

“The thing is, he was paying K. Norman money,”
I said, and went on to explain the amounts and times.

“January to August, you say. Yes, that brings it back. I remember it vaguely now. It was a client of Graham’s. The man was badly beaten in a back alley one night. He had a leg broken and his face badly mauled. He recognized one of his assailants and swore out a complaint against him. Graham took the fellow to court and lost the case. He felt it was his own fault for having presented it badly, and he undertook to keep Norman himself till he was able to work again.”

“Why did he feel he was responsible? Surely he didn’t pay all the clients whose cases he lost.”

“Of course not, but when he was representing Norman he had another, much larger case going, and he felt he hadn’t given his best attention to Norman. The defense had a line of character witnesses for their man, and I don’t know what all else. When Graham got a very large fee from the other client, he decided to share it with Mr. Norman. Well, you know Graham—honest almost to a fault.”

“I see. I was wondering about it because of the address—close to Long Acre, where Graham retrieved the money that night. I thought he might just possibly have left the money there—if he knew he was being followed, you know.”

“I shouldn’t think it likely, Belle. People like K. Norman are transients. I doubt very much if he’d still be living in Fleury Lane two years later. And he’d be the last sort of person Graham would have entrusted that money to, but if you like, I’ll look into it for you.”

“No, don’t bother. I was just curious.”
I felt there was no longer any use in going to Fleury Lane at all, but Mr. Maitland had the address, and no doubt that bulldog would pursue it.

Eliot left, and I went back to Graham’s room to tidy up and throw out the few oddments of worn garments not worth delivering to charity. The desk had to be cleaned out, too. I didn’t want to leave such items as my letters to Graham for the purchaser of the house to read. I found a carton to hold the things and began sorting and discarding. I had to interrupt my work for lunch and to prepare myself for Mr. Maitland’s visit.

The visit no longer held any charm for me. Eliot had been quite right; I ought not to be on such easy terms with the man who was at least partially responsible for Graham’s death. Oh, not legally responsible, but involved all the same. How had I let myself be conned into receiving him at home, achieving a first-name basis with the whole family? It was his easy manner, his quick smile, his well-practiced charm. Esther was victim to it as well. Even Mama was not entirely immune, but I was the one who had opened our doors to him after he had come with his deceitful story of wanting to buy the house. And he was still using that old stunt. Now it was a relative who was interested. He must have taken me for an idiot.

I had worked myself into a raw mood when the expected tap came at two on the dot.

“Your carriage awaits, madam,”
Mr. Maitland said with a graceful bow, and strode into the hall. On this occasion his only gift was a recent copy of
La Belle Assemblée.
He handed it to me with one page turned down. “Liz suggested this one for you,”
he said, flipping the magazine open to display a gown of daring cut that would be a nine-day wonder in Bath, if I ever found the courage to wear it there.

“Liz obviously has no idea of my style, or lack thereof,”
I replied coolly

“
Au contraire!
By now she is acquainted with all your idiosyncrasies and is on nettles to meet you. I am charged with the chore of delivering the Haley family to her en masse for dinner as soon as the gowns are made up. She was determined to come to call, but I thought you would want to have your servants here before receiving company.”

“Yes, of course.”

I put on my bonnet and pelisse in the hall while Desmond stepped into the saloon to greet the others. When I was dressed, I joined them. “What will you do while I’m gone?”
I asked Mama.

What caused that blush to stain her pallid cheeks? So wrapped up had I been in my own affairs, I hadn’t noticed that she and Esther had made suspiciously grand toilettes for an afternoon at home.

“The modiste is coming to start our gowns, Belle,”
Esther reminded me.

“I have your measurements,”
Mama added, “and if you want to choose a design, we can order yours at the same time.”

I held
La Belle Assemblée
in my hand. Did I dare to order that dashing ensemble Desmond suggested? I could always add another row of lace at the top after we got home, and meanwhile it would suit London very well. I flipped quickly through the pages and noticed that while the recommended pattern seemed daring to me, it was, in fact, more modest than most. “This one, I think,”
I said, and handed Mama the book, open at the page Desmond’s sister had suggested. She stared from the picture to me, her eyes wide in astonishment. “I’ll add another row of lace around the bodice, of course,”
I said, to gain acceptance.

“It’s rather—citified”
was her mild complaint.

Desmond bit back a smile and came to my rescue. “Yes, that’s all the crack in London this season. We don’t want our girl to be out of fashion, but I don’t recommend young Esther tackle a décolletage for a few years. Which have you chosen, Mrs. Haley?”

A discussion of her gown and of the menace of short sleeves in particular, diverted her from further recriminations against my choice. How did he know that Mama liked long sleeves and that the pattern could easily be altered to achieve this antiquity? But he was a regular con artist; he could manipulate everyone. He had managed to make me feel that any gown but the one he had recommended would look dowdy.

We left, and as we entered the carriage I was assailed by a very pleasant warmth from the hot bricks. He had a fur rug waiting as well. “This is unaccustomed luxury for a provincial mouse,”
I said.

“You must have noticed my efforts to citify you before now, Belle. I am still hopeful of keeping you here on Elm Street.”

“That brings to mind your customer for my house. You
did
say an aunt was interested, if memory serves?”

“I’ve given her Grant’s report. She thinks six thousand is steep and has ordered me to haggle you down to five, including the furniture. She’d go for five
sans
furnishings, however, and you could make another five hundred if you auctioned off the bits and pieces. We’ll let her stew awhile, to turn her tender.”

I didn’t believe a word he said. He was too glib, too superficially obliging. “Do you always play these stunts on your family, undermining their transactions?”

“I’m usually on the side of the under-mouse. Aunt Phoebe is well to grass.”

“Pray tell your aunt Miss Haley said six thousand, in a very firm voice. About this K. Norman business, Desmond ...”

“I
do
wish you’d let me go alone. Fleury Lane isn’t a proper neighborhood for a lady.”

“That’s what I want to talk about. I’ve discussed it with Eliot Sutton and no longer feel it’s necessary to go at all.”
I explained who K. Norman was, and the unlikelihood that he would still be residing in Fleury Lane.

Mr. Maitland wore a doubtful face. “Are you telling me your fiancé
supported his client for eight months out of his own pocket, to the tune of some five hundred pounds in all?”

“Yes, I am. You’d have to know Graham to understand. He was like that.”

“I see I’ve been using the wrong solicitor!”

“He earned a very large commission and paid Mr. Norman out of that. Conscience money, really, as he felt it was partially his fault for losing the case.”

“I didn’t see any sign of that large commission in his bank statement last night.”

My annoyance with him came to a quick boil. “Why can’t you believe Graham was good? Why are you so suspicious of everyone and everything? The whole world isn’t like you, Mr. Maitland!”

“It has been my experience that most of the world is a deal worse!”
he snapped back.

“What can you expect when you choose to surround yourself with thieves and criminals? You should see if you can find a few decent friends.”

“Such paragons as Mrs. Mailer and Mr. Eliot Sutton, you mean?”

“They’d be an improvement over Mr. Grant, at least.”

“Mr. Grant is more a business associate than a friend.”

“You should be careful of your associates. A man is known by the company he keeps.”

“So is a woman!”
he shot back angrily.

“Very true. In future I shall be more careful. And perhaps you’d be kind enough to have your carriage turned around now. I want to go home.”

His dark eyes snapped. "This is your Bath Miss way of saying you don’t want to see me again. Is that it? Not high enough in the instep for you? I prefer plain speaking, Belle. What’s got your nerves in an uproar? Are you really petty enough to dislike me because my work involves a few disreputable types? Or is it my honesty in admitting to a doubt about Eliot Sutton’s fairy tale? If you trusted Graham as much as you say, you wouldn’t fly into the boughs at my doubts. You’d explain rationally why you think I’m wrong. You know in the bottom of your heart neither Graham Sutton nor any other solicitor ever forked over five hundred pounds to a client with no real reason. It isn’t done. No man would do it.”

“Graham did it!”
I said in what I hoped was a rational voice.

“Then he wasn’t a man; he was a saint. Are you firmly enough convinced to let me put it to a test?”

“Go to Fleury Lane, you mean?”

“No, I was an idiot ever to agree to take you there. I mean let us go to Sinclair’s office and get your fiancé’s ledgers. They’re there in a box at the back of the office. Sinclair didn’t know what to do with them.”

“You should have told me!”

“I told him I’d pick them up today and deliver them to you for disposal.”

“Fine, let us go now.”

He drew the check string and directed his driver to Jermyn Street. I had to go in and sign for the box. It was a harrowing experience to encounter yet another ghost of Graham. He had rented the office furnished. There, at that desk where the skeletal man with spectacles worked at his papers, Graham had sat. He had spent years of his life in this dull, horrid little office. I had pictured him in some grander place, surrounded with beautiful things. This didn’t look like my Graham. He loved luxury and beauty.

I signed a paper and Desmond took the carton to the carriage. He directed his groom to drive around town while we went through the ledgers right there in the carriage. We knew what period of time we were looking for and found the entries from January to August with no trouble. I was surprised at the trivial nature of Graham’s business. When he had spoken of his work he had mentioned briefs and precedents and settlements in a vague but impressive way. He didn’t make more than ten guineas for most jobs, though he had a great many small real estate and will-related clients. There was no K. Norman listed at all, and no large fee that would have allowed him to pay K. Norman five hundred pounds. I stared in disbelief at the ledgers.

“There must be some mistake. These can’t be all the records. What’s in that book?”

He opened another ledger, and another, till we had scanned them all, going back five years. “I don’t understand. Eliot said ... I think we should go to Fleury Lane after all.”

But he had become cold and withdrawn. “You changed your mind about going; now I’ve changed mine about taking you. It was a bad idea.”

“Very well, I’ll have Eliot take me.”

“No!”
The word was a bark.

I didn’t bother arguing. Mr. Maitland had nothing to say about where I went, or with whom. “Shall we go back to Elm Street now?”

He grimaced and wiped his chin with his fingers. “Belle, we’ve got to talk. Quite frankly, I don’t care a tinker’s curse about the money. Well, maybe one little profanity, but there is something very weird going on here. I know you disapprove of my association with coves like Grant, but the fact of the matter is that there really
is
such a thing as honor among thieves. That ten thousand pounds didn’t find its way to Stop Hole Abbey. That’s the chief rendezvous of thieves. You might think that’s no tragedy—that they didn’t deserve it in the first place—but it’s put a spanner in my business. I depend on the fencers to save money on settling claims, and since that time they’ve been very reluctant to deal with me. I’ve had to make some whopping payments. I first thought Mrs. Mailer had arranged to have her bauble stolen, and I was very reluctant to pay up. She had had another large claim a year before, and that always makes us suspicious.
We
don’t claim to be saints,”
he added, taking a jibe at Graham.