by Joan Smith
It was frustrating to think I knew so little of Graham’s life. “It’s probably some client,” I decided.
“In that case, K. Norman would have been paying Mr. Sutton, and not the reverse,” Desmond pointed out.
We had soon exhausted that topic and chatted about other things. “Are you ladies settling in comfortably?” he asked.
“If you look very closely, you won’t see any crumbs on the carpet tonight,” I assured him. “Mama has learned how to get the stove going. She pours grease on top of the papers and logs.”
“Grease? That’s dangerous, ma’am! You’ll start a conflagration in the chimney. How much longer will you be without servants? I ask because I could spare you a fellow till yours arrive. I don’t like to think of you here unprotected.”
“It’s good for us,” I assured him. “It teaches us independence. Why, I am thinking quite seriously of putting the door knocker on myself. I discovered a toolbox in the kitchen.”
“Let me do it for you,” Desmond offered.
Mama was quite shocked and protested, but before you could say one, two, three, he had gotten the screwdriver and attached our brass acorn to the door, only a little crooked.
“Are there any other odd jobs I can do while I’m here?”
“Oh, dear, no, so very kind,” Mama said. She was beginning to be quite relaxed with him.
I reminded him that he was going to be late for his sister’s rout. “Good,” he said. “This is really a business party to entertain her husband’s associates and their families. These associates have mostly daughters—antidotes, every one of them. Why should I spend my whole evening with antidotes when I could be with the three prettiest newcomers in town? Newcomers have a special cachet, you must know. I’ve had not fewer than three gentlemen asking for your name, Belle, after seeing us on the strut on Bond Street this morning. I told them I didn’t know,” he added facetiously. “I didn’t want to subject you to calls from dukes and barons.”
“Desmond!” Esther squealed. “I should adore to meet a duke!”
“You’ve already met one, my child. Mr. Duke speaks of nothing else but your blue eyes and golden hair. And something else—what was it? A nasty temper, I think it was.’’’ But he said it so charmingly that she appeared to take it for a compliment.
“I mean a real duke.” Esther pouted. Mama clucked, but forgivingly.
Desmond tossed his shoulders and said, “Duke’s as real as they come. You can’t wish him away. You’ve attached him, my girl, and don’t think you won’t be the envy of a round dozen older ladies who have him in their eyes. Mr. Duke may not be the prettiest blade in London, but he’s well connected and a good bloke, too.”
“Good gracious, what should you want with a duke, Esther?” Mama asked. “You wouldn’t even know how to address him.”
“I hadn’t planned to write him a letter!” she said.
“Nor to speak to him either, apparently,” I added.
It was well after ten when Desmond finally rose and took his leave. “Even a barnacle must go eventually. I’ll send my groom around in the morning for your orders,’’ he said.
“Not that again! I told you we don’t want your carriage.”
“And I told you that you shall have it, want it or not. You aren’t the only one blessed with stubbornness, Belle. Devon breeds a famous mule. Or do I mean an egregious ass?”
Whatever it was that was bred in Devon, the carriage was at the door at nine on the dot the next morning. I sent the groom off and determined that I would have Eliot hire us a team and get Graham’s carriage from the stable very soon.
Eliot arrived at ten, as arranged. Mama came to the bedroom with us when I took Eliot up to pack Graham’s belongings. Eliot had brought a trunk, which he and his groom hauled up the staircase. We soon had the packing down to a system. Mama and I folded the garments, and Eliot arranged them in the trunk.
“This is sorry work,” he said, running his fingers over a jacket of blue Bath cloth. “I was with Graham when he was fitted by Weston for this jacket. We had an argument over the buttons. I still think they’re too large, even if Weston did approve them.”
“What will you do with these things?” Mama asked. “I mean, you can hardly offer used clothing to gentlemen, and they are really too fashionable for a workhouse, or for charity.”
“I know of a home for retired clerics—impoverished gentlemen. They are always happy to accept donations of this sort,” Eliot explained.
Mama liked that it was her special favorites, clerics, who were to receive the trunk. The job didn’t take long. The shoes were the last to go in, wrapped in paper. Just before the lid was closed, Eliot frowned and looked at the empty closet. “Where is the jacket Graham wore the night he was killed? I know he wasn’t buried in it, for I made those arrangements myself. It was an older jacket and a striped waistcoat he had on that night.”
I looked to the bed and saw the parcel was missing. “Did you see the bundle that was here, Mama?”
“I just set it there at the foot of the bed, Esther got the bedcovers all mussed last night, and I wanted to tidy them. Here it is.” She lifted the parcel to the bed, and we folded in the last of the clothing
“Well, that’s done!” Mama exclaimed.
I wanted to show my appreciation to Eliot and decided to give him Graham’s watch. I took it downstairs and, after he and the groom had taken the trunk out, I gave it to him.
“I know you already have a watch, Eliot, but I’d like you to have this. I’d never use it, and you were Graham’s best friend as well as his cousin.”
His lips clenched in emotion, and for a horrible instant I thought a tear was quivering at the corner of his eye. I know his fingers trembled when he reached for the watch, and when he spoke his voice was unsteady. “This means a great deal to me, Miss Haley. It is thoughtful of you.” He stood, just gazing at it, then drew a deep sigh and put it in his pocket.
“Will you have a glass of sherry before you go?” Mama offered.
“That would be lovely.”
I went to get the glasses and a plate of biscuits. When our glasses were filled, Eliot took the notion of proposing a toast. “Shall we drink this bumper to Graham?” he suggested. I looked at his noble brow, so familiar to me through my fiancé, at his sad, thoughtful eyes, and felt a lump rise up in my throat. I couldn’t speak. The others said, “To Graham,” and we all drank.
Eliot looked around the little saloon. There was a wistful air about him. “Every item in this room reminds me of him,” he said. “This sofa, Miss Haley—how many we looked at before finding just the dusty shade of blue that ‘Belle’ liked. He always spoke of you as Belle to me. I feel I ought to call you that myself.”
“I wish you would. We would have been connected if ... Please call me Belle.”
“If you—you all—will call me Eliot,” he said, including Mama and Esther in the bargain.
We continued drinking, but it was a heavy atmosphere that sat with us, that ghost of the past. “An excellent sherry, if I do say so myself. I put Graham on to this lot,” Eliot continued. “How excited he was, setting up his cellar. What do you think of those wine racks, Belle? They came from a mansion in Grosvenor Square that was having its cellars redone. Graham had them under the windows, but I advised him to move them away from the draft, and he did so. They’re more convenient for you, right at the bottom of the stairs.”
“Too convenient. We’ve made some inroads into the collection already.”
“Why not? It will go with the house, and won’t add much to the price, either. I don’t expect you’ll be carrying the wine off to Bath, at least?”
“Oh, no.”
“Have you had any more customers come to look at the house?”
“Not a soul,” Mama told him, but I remembered Desmond had mentioned knowing someone who was interested.
As though the memory conjured up the man, Desmond came calling not two minutes later.
I went to answer the
door and found him admiring his own handiwork—the acorn knocker. “That’s a fine job of carpentry,” he said, and gave it a tap. “I’m here to lodge a complaint on behalf of my groom. He wants to know why you refused to drive out with him.”
The only way to handle such nonsense was to ignore it. “Desmond, would you like to come in? Eliot is here to take away Graham’s personal effects.”
“Perhaps it’s not a good time for me to call, then. I just wanted to set an hour for our visit to K. Norman, if you’re still interested.”
“Of course I am! But I have to get rid of Eliot first. Oh, dear! That sounds dreadful, and he’s been so kind.” Yet despite his kindness and despite his resemblance to Graham, I was impatient to see the back of him so that I could go to visit K. Norman.
“When shall I come back? It really must be done in daylight. I refuse to take you there after dark. Damme, I wouldn’t want to go myself.”
“He’s leaving soon. Is two o’clock all right for you?”
“Fine. I’ll see you at two.” He tipped his hat and strode off to his carriage.
I was shivering from the cold wind of the doorway when I rejoined the party. They all looked expectantly to see who was at the door. “That was Mr. Maitland,” I said briefly.
“What did he want?” Esther asked.
I did a little prevaricating. “He just asked if he could perform any errands for us, as he knows we don’t have a carriage.”
“He’s been very kind to us,” Mama said, and went on to discuss his various chores.
Eliot looked unhappy when the name Maitland was mentioned. Before her story was done, a frown settled between his brows. “I wouldn’t have much to do with Maitland if I were you,” he said. “He’s only using you.”
I felt a hot rush of anger and hurried in to defend him. “He’s trying to recover his money, Eliot. There is nothing wrong in that.’’
“His money? It was only half his. The other half belonged to Pelty. If you want my opinion, I think Maitland knows more than he lets on. He’s always been thick with the criminal element. It would be a nice windfall for him if he could find the ten thousand and just keep quiet about it to his partner. He only paid five out of his own pocket.’’
“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.
Chapter Eight
“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.”
“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.”