by Joan Smith
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.
“That’s wise of you.”
“I found out, however, that Billie the Slash did nick her necklace, so I no longer suspect her—not in the necklace affair, though Morrison still feels she might have stolen her own ring the year before. It never turned up at Stop Hole Abbey. But the fact is that Bow Street claims the thieves followed Graham and retrieved the loot. They didn’t, so where is it? That’s what intrigues me. If there’s a new racket being used, it’s crucial that I find out about it.”
“Do so by all means, but it has nothing to do with me. I would still like to go home.”
“Where else can I turn but to you? There has to be some clue, something we’re overlooking. You have his house, his private papers and effects.”
“You’ve been through them all. I can’t help you. I wasn’t here at the time. I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time and your talents, Mr. Maitland, to say nothing of your flowers and treats.”
A slow, disparaging smile crept across his handsome face, and he shook his head at my temper. “I wouldn’t say the flowers and bonbons were wasted. The nuts, I see, failed to charm. And speaking of nuts, Lady Gray will be waiting for us.”
“I would really like to go home now, please.”
“I shall make your apologies to Lady Gray. May I tell her you’ll be back tomorrow?”
“You’ve gotten what you wanted from me. If anyone delivers a bag of old banknotes to my door, you may be sure I’ll send them on to you, Mr. Maitland.”
“I would appreciate that, Miss Haley. And incidentally, they weren’t old banknotes; they were crisp, brand-new ones. Unmarked, too, as the locks don’t care to have their fees fiddled with. But it isn’t just information I want from you.”
�
�What else, then?”
He reached across the ledgers and took my hand. The old laughing mischief was gone from his eyes. He looked serious, even grave. “I want to be Desmond again. I want you to be Belle. Unlike some people, I have nothing against mixing business and pleasure. It has been a great pleasure doing business with you. You know how ill the business end of our relationship has fared. The pleasure wasn’t in that. I wish we had met in some other way, but I would rather have met you like this than not have met you at all. It’s hard for an old sinner like me to have the memory of a saint for competition, Belle. Give me a little time to grapple with it.”
The breath caught in my throat, and I felt a warmth around my collar. I looked down at my lap and saw his long fingers clasping mine. His fingers moved, and one hand rose to tilt my chin up till we were gazing at each other. I knew by the soft, lambent glow in his eyes he was going to kiss me, right there in broad daylight in the middle of a busy street. Graham would have been scandalized.
“Desmond, I ...”
“Hush!”
His lips brushed mine, lightly as a breeze. I heard a faint gasp, knew it was mine, then forgot it as his lips firmed and his arms went around me in a crushing embrace. I heard the ledgers hit the floor—I think he pushed them off the seat on purpose to be closer to me. It was unthinkable that I, the tyrant of Bath, was allowing this to happen. I made an ineffectual effort to push him away but found my fingers weakening to water, then moving around his neck. I felt the exciting bristle of rough hair under my fingers, felt his lips bruising mine, and became aware that my body was turning to a quivering blancmange in his arms. Kissing Graham had never been like this. This violent chemistry was something else entirely. His lips were a spark to the dry tinder of my being, and the flame showed some sign of burning out of control.
For all my preaching propriety, it was Desmond who brought it to a halt. He pulled away and looked wild-eyed at what had happened between us. “Belle, forgive me. I shouldn’t have—” He sounded aghast.
I may be a Bath Miss, but at least I am not a hypocrite, and I had no intention of laying the whole blame in his dish. “It’s no matter. It won’t happen again.” My brave words were rendered quite ludicrous by the breathless voice in which they were uttered. I had never felt such a fool in my life, but I had been struck nearly dumb by that ruthless embrace.
He just went on looking in a strange, incredulous way. I busied myself picking up the ledgers, and he felt obliged to help, as he had knocked them off on purpose. When the battered books had been replaced in the carton with as much care as though they were a stack of priceless Gutenberg Bibles, we sat back and tried to think of something to say to break the tension. I looked down at my shoes, out the window, and finally up at the clouds, but from the corner of my eye I saw Desmond staring at me.
At last I could take it no more and glared at him. “That’s better,” he said, and smiled nervously. “I’ve had the cut infernal, the cut indirect, and even the cut sublime. That baleful glare is a relief, I can tell you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“More cant, but this one is less reprehensible. At Cambridge, where I studied, there is a system of renouncing acquaintances by staring at other things while meeting them. Each has varying degrees of opprobrium. You spared me the cut direct, for which I thank you. No doubt that will come the first time we meet on the street.”
“You are making much to-do about nothing. I’m not angry at all.”
“Then why are you refusing to visit Lady Gray? Come on, Belle, think of the poor thing, shivering in the cold, starving, waiting for her nuts. She probably has a litter to feed.” As he wheedled he pulled a bag of nuts from the side pocket of the carriage.
“You’re the most unconscionable rogue in London, Desmond Maitland. You’d sink to any depths, even using an innocent animal to get your own way. Let us go, then, before the brood dies of malnutrition. I expect you’ve completely spoiled her for foraging. She’ll be sitting on her fat haunches, waiting for you to serve her. How does it come you don’t bring a silver platter?”
He relaxed into a normal smile. “I tried it. She prefers my fingers.” He pulled the check string again, and at the first corner the carriage turned toward Hyde Park.
The remainder of the afternoon passed pleasantly, with no further mention of K. Norman, Graham, the infamous kiss, or the missing money. Desmond told me about himself, his being only a younger son, but one who was fortunate enough to have a wealthy uncle who left him an unspecified sum of money, which he used to establish himself as an underwriting merchant at Lloyd’s. I regaled him with the tedium of my days at Bath but didn’t mention how Graham had changed all that.
“Less and less can I understand your eagerness to sell the house and return to Bath,” he said, shaking out the last of the nuts onto the grass.
“Bath may be dull, but at least it’s a known evil. It takes courage to change for the unknown. Besides, it’s not only myself. There’s Mama and Esther to consider as well.”
“You don’t strike me as a lady lacking in courage. What the three of you need is a husband—each, I mean.”
“I didn’t think you meant we should share one. I doubt very much that our tastes would be similar enough for one to please us all.”
“What sort of gentleman would please you, Belle?” He realized as soon as he had said it that my choice had already been established with Graham. I could tell by the quick frown that he regretted the question, and I decided to put him out of his discomfort.
“When you reach my advanced state of decrepitude, you cannot be particular. I mean to give Mama a run for Mr. Stone’s affections. That’s why she rouged her cheeks! Desmond, I bet he’s calling this afternoon. She was as nervous as a kitten. I know she didn’t put on her best lace collar only to impress the modiste. And Esther was very skittish, too. That wretched Duke will be there as well. I must get home!”
He was amused at my concern, but he called the carriage. “I can’t be sponsor for Mr. Stone’s intentions, but I assure you Duke is a decent fellow. He’s already wondering whether Miss Esther would prefer a diamond engagement ring or sapphires to match her eyes.”
“She’s only seventeen years old!”
“He’s only twenty-four.”
“Yes, but he’s—oh, you knew,” I worried. “Can’t these nags go any faster?”
He gave the groom some signal by jiggling the check string, and before long we were rattling through the streets at a breakneck pace. I was right to have been worried, too. Both Mr. Stone and Duke were in the saloon, drinking Graham’s wine—one empty bottle sat on its side on the table with a small puddle of wine dripping from its mouth, and another was nearly empty, giving the scene a disreputable air.
They were eating Desmond’s bonbons and nuts, laughing and talking most foolishly while a table of cards sat abandoned. Plans were afoot for all manner of outings—-a play, a drive in the country, and, to assuage Mama’s conscience, a return to St. Paul’s. Really it was the nature of the conversation that displeased me most. Mr. Stone spoke quite openly of mistresses and lightskirts and something called the Green Room at the theater, which sounded a very den of iniquity. Mama looked quite shocked, but she didn’t do a thing to stop him. She wouldn’t know how, the innocent soul. I think even Desmond, who was hardly a stern moralist, was surprised to see such familiar carrying on.
In a voice that would freeze an Eskimo, I pointed out the hour, and the fact that we had to clear away the mess and prepare our own dinner. It was actually not late at all, but no one had the courage to tell me so. Finally Mr. Stone got to his feet. “I’ll call on you tomorrow, then, Bridget,” he said on his way out the door. He had battered down Mama's defenses. Reverend Strong had been hinting for six months to call her Bridget and had always met with a simpering put-off.
Once Stone was gone, I didn’t mind calling her to order in front of Duke and Desmond. “Mama, I’m surprised at you! You hardly know that old man, and to let him
talk so broad in front of Esther! Look at this mess—sluicing wine and gossiping. Don’t pretend there was any serious discussion going on here.”
She looked properly chastened and tried to appease me by saying our gowns would be ready in a few days. “I don’t care about the gowns. I have a good mind to take the pair of you home to Bath at the crack of dawn tomorrow.”
“But Hotchkiss and Ettie arrive tomorrow, Belle,” she pointed out. “You cannot load them back on the coach the very day they arrive. You know how tired and shaken we were when we reached London.”
Duke cast a look of terror at me but firmed himself up to do battle. “Just telling your mother, Miss Haley—ought to wait till spring. Deuced hard traveling in winter. Snowbanks, roads a regular hasty pudding.”
“I prefer snowbanks and bad roads to Mr. Stone.”
“Mr. Stone is Duke’s uncle, dear,” Mama warned me, with an apologetic smile at Duke.
I gave Duke a withering stare and said, “I am quite aware of that fact.”
“Only on my mama’s side,” Duke offered in atonement. “I ain’t a Stone myself.”
I said not a word about blocks or blockheads.
Desmond got a hand on his friend’s elbow and began leading him toward the front door. Duke’s protestations were quite audible. “Woman’s a dashed shrew.” Desmond pulled him along faster. “Don’t know how you can call her an Incomparable. Regular Tartar.”
Desmond pushed Duke into the hall and turned to make his adieux. “Good afternoon, ladies. Thank you for your help, Belle. I’ll drop around—er—before you leave?” There was more laughter than fear or chagrin in his flashing black orbs.
“Then you had better make it very soon. Good day.”
They left, but within ten seconds the knocker sounded, and Des was back with the carton of ledgers. “You did say to come back soon,” he pointed out. “Don’t bite my nose off. Duke has just been prophesying you’ll break my spine in three places and snap off my nose. He thinks me a very brave soul to have entered a carriage alone with you. When can we do it again? You aren’t really leaving very soon, are you?”