Bath Belles (21 page)

“I beg your pardon?”
he repeated.

“Don’t bother. My pardon is withheld. I cannot condone your manner of doing business.”

He threw his hands out and stared incredulously at me. “Belle, what in hell’s name are you talking about? I haven’t seduced anyone, and if you know who has my money, I wish you would tell me.”

My thin veneer of patience broke, and I shouted like a harpy. “Don’t bother lying to me! I tell you I know the whole squalid story. How you went chasing after that girl, got the money from her, hustled her out of town. You shouldn’t have let her return. Oh, I know you directed her not to talk to anyone, but she mistook me for Graham’s aunt, you see, and told me everything. I think you are a disgusting, contemptible cur. No, that’s an insult to curs. You’re worse—”

He took a step forward and clamped his hands on my upper arms. I was subjected to a severe shaking that left me winded. “Get your hands off me, you vile creature!”
I gasped.

“Will you please settle down and tell me what happened? I went once to Fleury Lane, I met Miss Norman and heard her story. I recognized her as the girl whose picture Sutton had under his pillow. She denied knowing anything about the money. I went back after that cut banknote turned up, and an old woman downstairs told me she had gone to the country. I admit Grant broke in and had a look around her flat. He found nothing. Are you telling me Miss Norman had the money all this time?’’

“Are you telling me
you
didn’t take it? She said she gave it to Mr. Maitland, the insurance agent. She described you.”

He paced the floor, rubbing his chin. “I didn’t call myself Maitland.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t want to frighten her, and if she had the money, the last person she’d tell about it was me. If she was criminally involved, I mean. How did she describe me?”

“Tall, handsome, jolly, dark hair ...”

“Then it was him.”

I blinked in complete ignorance. “Who?”

“Eliot Sutton. Belle, the reason I came here is to tell you I learned where Stone got that pound note. He was playing cards with Eliot and won. Eliot gave him three pound notes. One he must have given you, one was spent somewhere, and he still had the other. It was Eliot who went masquerading as me in Fleury Lane.”

“Oh, my God! It can’t be!”
I was shaken at the possibility, yet not unwilling to believe it. I looked hopefully for confirmation.

“Of course it is, and he got the money from that credulous girl by pretending it belonged to him.”

“But how would he know ...”

“Didn’t
you
direct him to her, as you directed me?”

“We discussed her.”

A look of deep aggravation settled on Desmond’s countenance. He looked ready to throttle me. “I thought we were going to trust each other. You actually believed me capable of behaving—”

It seemed the judicious moment to distract him with more bad news. “Des, he’s with her now. I told him about you ... I mean what Kate told me about Mr. Maitland. What will he do?”

“You idiot! He’ll kill her! He’s already killed once for that money. How long ago did he leave?”
He was darting for the door as he spoke, and I not a step behind him.

“Not long—fifteen minutes.”

He rammed his hat on his head, grabbed his coat, and pulled the door open. He stopped only long enough to push me back inside. I heard the door knocker fall off with the force of the door slamming. His groom already had the horses whipped into motion, and I saw Des running along beside the carriage, opening the door, and clambering in as the pace picked up.

I wandered in a daze back to the saloon and sank on the sofa to try to organize my muddled thoughts. To add to my confusion, I was aware of a rising joy that Des was exculpated—again. It was Eliot who had tricked Kate Norman, and I who had led him to her. And he had sat there with that sanctimonious face throughout my story to hear just how much I knew. But Des had accused him of even worse than this.
“He’s already killed once for that money."
Killed his own cousin.

How had he engineered it? He had known Graham’s plan to recover the funds. I remembered Yootha saying he had tried to talk Graham out of it. He claimed to have been out of town that night, but he recognized that as a suspicious alibi. He had held the same thing against Des. He had even known what waistcoat Graham wore that night. How would he know that if he hadn’t seen it? He had let Graham take all the risks while he sat waiting for him, right in this house. How had he gotten in? Did he have a key? The open cellar window—he might have opened it himself. He was often down there with Graham, arranging the wine racks.

My skin crawled as I thought of the coldblooded planning that had gone into his crime. And he had done this to his cousin and best friend! After that monstrous betrayal, he could accept Graham’s watch as a token of affection and use it, carry it in his pocket. He valued it equally for the “owner and the donor,”
he had said. I knew then how high I stood in his esteem. He would have killed me without blinking if I hadn’t been of use to him. How eagerly he had offered to be the guardian of Kate’s money. He planned to bilk her out of it.

Maybe even kill her, Des thought. And if he planned to kill Kate, it wasn’t likely he’d stop at killing Desmond, if he arrived in time to catch him. Did Des have a gun? I was up from the sofa, cursing myself for not having kept the carriage standing by. I’d have to run into the street and try to find a hackney. I grabbed my pelisse and ran like a frightened deer, gathering some very odd looks from ladies and gentlemen out for a stroll. I nearly capsized Mrs. Seymour and her husband, and I hadn’t time to stop and apologize. She shouted after me as I careered along to the corner, waving my arm to attract a cab’s attention. Two drove past as though I were invisible.

I determined I would stop the next private carriage that came along. I was in the road waving, and it was an unexpected piece of luck that Ralph Duke was the first one to come by. He was coming to call on Esther, driving a sporting curricle. He jerked to a stop and stared at me. “Good day, Miss Haley,”
he said in a questioning voice.

I vaulted up on the perch beside him. “Drive to Fleury Lane,”
I ordered.

“Eh? What would you want to go there for, Miss Haley?”

“Never mind, just whip those nags up and drive.”

“Well, if you say so. Sure you wouldn’t prefer thepark?”

“Quite sure.”

“Er—
Fleury Lane—not sure I know exactly where it is.”

“Near Long Acre.”

“I don’t know that part of London.”

“East—drive east.”

“But I don’t know that—”

I pulled the reins from him and we were off, and a very bizarre team we made, to judge from the stares bestowed on us as we rattled along. My having forgotten to don a bonnet might have had something to do with it, I daresay. It certainly played havoc with my hairdo.

“We really ought to switch to my closed carriage,”
he suggested. “I could have it brought around in—”

The horses were bolting dangerously, so I returned the reins to him. “Just be quiet and drive. Turn left here. Can’t you go any faster?”

“This is a city team, miss.”

“Give them the whip.”

“Maybe you’d care to take the reins yourself, Lady Lade.’’

“Don’t be impertinent!”
I said coldly, though I hadn’t a notion what he meant.

After a few false turns I espied Fleury Lane and directed Duke down it. I saw only Desmond’s carriage standing in the street, but it was hardly reassuring. If Eliot had come with mayhem in mind, he wouldn’t have left his rig there to be seen.

“That looks like Des’s rig!”
he exclaimed. “Now, what the deuce would he be doing here?”

I turned to hop down from the perch, and Duke looked around for a boy to hold the reins.

“Wait here! I want you to wait for me.”

I didn’t want his two left feet making a racket on the stairs.

“I think I should go with you—. I mean to say—”

“Wait. I won’t be long.”

I jumped down and ran toward the blue door. The bitter taste of fear was in my throat. My heart hammered painfully and my breath was short. What scene would await me? Eliot with blood on his hands, or a gun in them? I needed a weapon. I looked at Duke’s whip, but I wanted something more manageable. I ran to Des’s carriage, hoping to find a gun in the side pocket. All I found was another bottle of wine. I hefted it and deemed it heavy enough to knock Eliot out if I gave it a hard swing. With the bottle concealed under my pelisse, I returned to the blue door. I didn’t knock this time but crept in and up those steep, dark stairs as quietly as a mouse, with my ears cocked for sounds of violence.

Kate’s door was closed, and no shrieks or sounds of gunfire came through it. As I drew nearer I heard the wail of a distressed Baba. His crying overrode the quieter hum of adult voices. I first placed my ear against the door, and when this told me nothing new I put my eye to the keyhole. All I saw was a dark wall at close range. After a moment, I realized I was looking at the back of a man’s blue jacket. Either Des or Eliot was standing a yard from the door, facing the room. The child stopped crying, and the buzz of voices cleared to recognizable words.

“Don’t even think about it or she’s dead, and the kid, too,”
Eliot said. He shifted aside, and I caught a partial view of Kate from the shoulder down. She held the baby in her arms and was standing right in front of Eliot. Her fingers moved convulsively, making it easy for me to imagine her fear. Eliot was using the mother and child as a shield to get out of the room. Des must have a gun, then.

“Kate, get his gun. Put the kid on the floor, right here at my feet. If you want him back alive, you won’t try anything.”

Kate made a low moaning sound, like a dying animal, but did as he said. She handed Eliot the gun and picked up her baby again. “That’s fine. That’s just fine,”
Eliot purred. Knowing him for what he was, I thought that purr sounded as menacing as the cocking of a pistol. He wouldn’t leave them alive to report on him. He’d shoot Desmond first, then Kate.

Much good a bottle of wine would have done when he came out that door and saw me! I lifted the bottle and stared at it, regretting it was not a pistol. I would have to open the door and try to crash the bottle against Eliot’s skull before he turned around and shot me. I checked his position one last time and noticed that he had edged a step closer to the door. He wasn’t more than eighteen inches from it now. I wouldn’t be able to get it open without hitting him.

I couldn’t see him raise his gun and take aim, but Kate’s agonized wail told me that was what was happening. “You can’t ...”
she whined. Of Desmond I saw nothing, not so much as an inch. Eliot’s hateful back blotted him out entirely. By the time I saw him he’d be dead on the floor. The image rose up in my mind, showing me what would happen if I didn’t move fast.

If I couldn’t knock Eliot out with the bottle, I’d hit him with the door and knock him off balance. I clutched the handle and pushed the door fast and hard, with all my might. It opened ten inches, met resistance, then suddenly gave way, and I nearly fell into the room. My first glance was to Desmond. He was alive—looking very like a ghost, but alive. While I stood staring, he moved forward, quick as a lizard. At my feet Eliot sprawled, still clutching the gun, with Kate wedged beneath him. Baba had flown out of her arms and sat, stunned, halfway across the room. Des was already lunging for Eliot, but I was closer and got in the first crack. I lifted the wine bottle and brought it down across Eliot’s skull with enough force to break the bottle. I doubt that hard head cracked as easily. Wine trickled down his noble brow and splattered his jacket, but he was unaware of it. He was completely unconscious.

There was a mad, incoherent scramble as Des pulled the gun from Eliot’s fingers, Kate eased herself out from under his prostrate form and soothed the squalling baby, and I gave Eliot’s leg a kick for good measure. My toe ached worse than ever.

Then Des turned to me, with the gun dangling from his fingers, and asked in a shocked voice, “What are you doing here, Belle?”

Witless with shock, I said, “I just came. Duke brought me.”

A smile trembled on his lips. He pulled me into his arms and said, “I love you.”

I pushed him away. “I bet you say that to everyone who saves your life.”

He took a long look into my eyes before speaking and reached for my hands. “No, only to you.”

“I wish you’d put that gun down before you shoot someone.”

When we had all ascertained that none of us was mortally hurt, Des asked for ropes to bind up Eliot. I suspected that he had regained consciousness, but he played dead rather than face our wrath and contempt. When he was safely bound I hobbled downstairs to send Duke off to Bow Street. Before I could argue him into going, Bow Street came to us. Desmond had sent his groom there before coming to Fleury Lane, and we all went up to 2B.

“That looks like Eliot Sutton!”
Duke exclaimed. “Dead, is he?”

“We should be so lucky!”
I answered.

“What happened to him?”

“I hit him over the head.”

“Ah.”
He stepped back a pace, beyond my reach. “You should have asked me for my pistol, Miss Haley. I was just coming from Manton’s, and I have a brace of them in my curricle. But then, you wouldn’t need a pistol,”
he decided.

“No, I usually kill people with my bare hands, Duke.”

He backed away another step before he realized I was joking. Soon Officer Roy took charge, but it was an Officer Roy grown gracious to atone for his former rudeness. His condescension when Desmond explained events was hardly less repulsive than his other mode.

“So this brave little lady has saved the day, eh?”
He beamed and patted my arm.

“Regular Turk,”
Duke informed him.

“I knew you wasn’t the sort to put up with any shillyshallying,”
Roy said aside, and gave me a wink. “Knocked him galley west with the door, there’s the ticket.”

“Get this carcass out of here as soon as possible. We have to clean up this mess,”
I told him, and went to get the broom to sweep up the broken glass before Baba and Duke got into it, for Duke had taken control of Baba and was playing with him on the floor.