Bath Belles (11 page)

“Nothing interesting. It’s personal.”

His hand reached for the book. Esther was watching, and rather than make a show in front of her, I let him take the book. He studied it, flipping back through a few pages. I knew when he discovered the K.N. entries. The pages stopped flipping, and a puzzled frown settled on his brow. He didn’t ask to keep the book but returned it to the drawer and said, “This is dry work. Do you think we could have a glass of wine?”

Esther was bored and hopped up to fetch it. Desmond waited till she was beyond hearing, then asked, “Do you recognize the initials K.N.?”

“No, I don’t. Do you think it refers to a person?”

“I assume it does. The initials aren’t any recognized abbreviation.”

“Maybe Graham was supporting a needy relative. I’ll ask Mrs. Mailer and Eliot Sutton. It has nothing to do with your money, in any case. The last K.N. entry occurred in August, months before he was killed.”

“I noticed.”
He looked around the room and saw the bundle of Graham’s clothes on the bed. “What’s that?”

I told him quietly while I stared at the unhappy bundle. His hands came out and grasped mine in a warm grip. His voice was low-pitched, sympathetic. “What a sorry business for you, poor Belle. Not at all the way you envisaged your first trip to London. Have you looked through that parcel?”

“Not yet. I couldn’t...”
My voice broke, but I blinked away the hot tears that wanted to ooze out. His fingers squeezed mine so hard it was painful. I pulled myself together and looked at the parcel. “It must be done sooner or later. If there is anything of use to you, that’s where it would be, isn’t it? That’s what he wore that night.”

Desmond lifted the jacket and shook it out before looking through the pockets. “His watch and so on were in a separate packet with his keys,”
I explained. “Bow Street must have emptied them.”

“They would. Perhaps the waistcoat ...”

He began a rapid search of it. There was only one item, a small address book in the pocket. I had often seen it, for Graham always carried it with him. Desmond flipped through it, one finger tracing the columns. His pointing finger stopped, and he gave me a quick, worried glance.

“What is it?”
I demanded, and went to peer over his shoulder. I read,
K. Norman, 7 Fleury Lane, 2B.
“That must be K.N.! Where’s Fleury Lane?”

“It’s a short street, near Long Acre, just west of St. Martin’s Lane,”
he replied. “Not a choice district.”

“Long Acre?”

“Near there, yes,”
he said, and gazed at me thoughtfully.

“That’s where the necklace was given over—where Graham hit the man and took the money. Desmond, do you think Graham might have dropped the bag of money off there? I mean, it’s very close, and if he knew someone was following him ... Oh, we must go and see K. Norman.”

“I’ll go. It’s not an area to take a lady.”

“Fiddlesticks! What do I care for that? I’m going with you.”

“I admire your enthusiasm, but stop and think a minute. If K. Norman has had that money for two years and not seen fit to return it, well, that gives you some idea of his character. I couldn’t possibly take you there. It would be unconscionable.”

“If K. Norman was a friend or pensioner of Graham’s, then he was no criminal. I have a right to go. This involves me, too. You’ve already brought a common thief into my house, so never mind pretending you care a fig for propriety.”

He smiled his submission. “You aren’t going to forgive me for introducing Grant to you, are you, Belle? Very well, I’ll take you, but under protest. Whoever and whatever K. Norman turns out to be, the acquaintance is on your own head.”

We heard Esther’s footsteps on the stairs. Then, when she had made the trip, we both decided there was nothing further to be done upstairs and went down to join Mama.

We discussed our small find with her. “K. Norman,”
she said, and her spectacles glinted in the lamplight. “Graham’s mama was named Leader before marriage, so it cannot be kin on that side. He had a cousin Kenneth, but the last name was Sutton. K. Norman. It means nothing to me.”

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.’’