by Joan Smith
We discussed our evening and were all pleased with it. “What did you think of Mr. Stone?” I asked Mama.
“Poor Mr. Stone, he is not at all well,” she said, shaking her head and happily taking on his troubles. “The gout, you know. He drinks a little more wine than he should. I wonder if your papa would mind my playing cards for money. Dear me, and I fear I lost nearly a shilling, Belle. Mr. Stone is such a clever hand with cards.”
Esther and I outlined the afternoon we had arranged and discovered to our astonishment that Mama had made plans of her own. “Mr. Stone is taking me for a drive,” she said, and giggled like a schoolgirl. “I thought you would be here to stay with Esther, Belle. I had no idea Mr. Sutton would ask you out.”
“Mr. Stone—that old soaker! I wouldn’t be seen dead in a ditch with him if I were you. It’s no great matter. Esther and I will go together with Mr. Sutton and Mr. Duke.”
Esther was very happy with this arrangement. I was less happy, and quite unhappy that Mama was showing such signs of giddiness over Mr. Stone. I was sure she would ask Esther and Mr. Duke to join her, but she made no such offer,
“I begin to think it is you who need a chaperon, Mama!” I said in jest.
“At my age? Why, Belle, you cannot think it is romance! We are only going for a drive, and Charles mentioned stopping off to visit his daughter.”
“Charles, is it?”
“He asked me to call him Charles, but I did not ask him to call me Bridget.”
“Who is this Charles Stone, anyway?” I demanded. I heard echoes of Papa’s stern tone and noticed that Mama assumed the mousish look she had worn whenever Papa was angry. I regretted it as soon as I had spoken.
“He’s a very fine gentleman, Belle. He used to be an M.P. for some place in Wiltshire. Quite unexceptionable, and besides, I am only going for a drive with him.”
“Oh, Belle, you’re as bad as Papa!” Esther chided.
“Your papa was not bad!” Mama said, and burst into tears.
That was the conclusion to our evening out. Such unusual social activity had left us all on edge. The tyrant relented and said more calmly that we must all be a little careful with London gentlemen.
“You weren’t so careful with Eliot Sutton,” Esther reminded me.
“That’s different. He’s Graham’s cousin,” I defended.
We soon went up to our beds. Memories of the evening floated through my mind as I lay trying to sleep. I thought of the little brass key and wondered whose door it opened. It niggled at my mind, but it didn’t prevent me from enjoying my memories. Mostly I thought of Eliot Sutton, who was so very much like Graham. Was it possible he and I ... But it was early yet for that.
Chapter Six
We had just finished breakfast and were putting on pelisses and bonnets for our shopping spree when there was a knock at the front door. “Maybe it’s someone to see the house!” I exclaimed, and rushed to admit the caller.
I stood blinking at Mr. Maitland, accompanied by Mr. Duke, and a very odd pair they made, the one so tall and gallant, the other so stumpy and rumpled.
“As you see, it’s me again, Miss Haley,” Mr. Duke said, and stepped in uninvited.
“We are just going out,” I objected. Mr. Maitland had enough manners to stay on the doorstep, but in the end I nodded him into the hall, as Mr. Duke was already in the saloon, babbling some inanity to Esther.
“Jolly fine day, only as cold as bedamned, and a miserable gray sky,” I heard him say.
“At least it’s not raining—or snowing,” Mama replied.
“We’ve come at an inconvenient time. We’ll return later,” Mr. Maitland said.
I was very curious to learn why he was here at all, and I gave some indication of this. “I must talk to you,” was all he said, but he said it rather imperatively.
“There are a few things I’d like to say to you as well,” I shot back swiftly.
He cast a disarmingly intimate smile at me. “I wager there are. Who could blame you? But I want a chance to explain my farouche behavior.”
“As you can see, we were just leaving. I can’t disappoint Esther and Mama.’’
I soon deduced that Mr. Duke had been brought along for a purpose. While Mr. Maitland stood in the hallway, Esther came out wearing her bonnet. "Mr. Duke has offered to drive me and Mama to Bond Street, Belle, while Mr. Maitland drives out with you to discuss the house. We are all to meet back here at noon, and you’ll have to give us some money for the material.”
“What an excellent idea!” Mr. Maitland exclaimed. He tried to pretend the notion had come from Duke, but I knew whose conniving mind was responsible.
“You’d best give me the spare house key as well, Belle,” Mama said, “the one you found in Graham’s parcel—in case we get home first.”
I went to get the key, and she came after me. “Don’t bring Maitland into the house if I am not home yet,” she cautioned. “What do you suppose he can have to say for himself?”
“I shall soon find out."
“You don’t mind going with him?” she asked doubtfully.
“Of course not. He isn’t a villain, after all.” Excitement was my prime emotion—excitement and determination to call him to account.
Mr. Duke’s carriage was every bit as fine as Maitland’s. A very handsome pair of black carriages was soon bolting down Elm Street. Inside Mr. Maitland’s there was a long silence till we reached Bond Street. I was collecting my thoughts and deciding how harsh I should be with him. Thus far I had only practiced my tyranny on such helpless victims as Mama and Esther.
Before I spoke, he entered into an apology that did much to disarm me. “You’ll be thinking London is even worse than you imagined, Miss Haley. I am sorry to bring Duke down on your head, but I was afraid if I came alone you’d set the dogs on me. I acted unwisely in trying to hide my true business from you. Duke tells me the term ‘havy-cavy’ was being bandied about last night with regard to my charade. If I had had any idea how agreeable you are, I would have approached you openly in the first place and explained my business. Once I had ensnared myself in that tall tale, I could find no graceful way out. The fact is, people have the idea that robbing an insurance company is like robbing the government—it’s their constitutional right. But in this case, it is my partner and I who are each out five thousand pounds, and naturally we had to make some effort to get our money back.”
I thought of Two Legs and Yootha and had to admit Mr. Maitland had not behaved so very badly. He had had no idea of my character; plenty of people would have tried to diddle him out of his money. “Of course you had, but really, Mr. Maitland, to get my hopes up that you meant to buy my house!”
He looked pleasantly surprised at the mildness of my attack. “The oddest thing of all is that I do want to buy it—or, at least, I have an aunt who has expressed interest. But, of course, that is not why I had Grant ripping up floorboards. I was looking for my money.”
“It’s not there. Whoever killed Graham took it, as Bow Street thinks.”
“But then why was the house searched afterward?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I only know the money is not there now. Whoever did the searching must have found it eventually.”
He examined me a moment with his dark, intelligent eyes. “That’s not what the local locks say.”
“The locks?”
“The fencers, the men who deal in stolen goods in London. In my line of work I have to maintain close contact with them. Stolen goods usually turn up there, and it’s cheaper to redeem them than to repay the whole insurance premium. Of course, it’s reprehensible to have to dole out money to thieves, but what’s our alternative? At any rate, the word among the locks is that the money was never recovered. Jay Grant, my friend who frisked your ken, is in touch with the criminal element.”
“What about your partner, the Mr. Pelty who actually performed the transaction? Is it possible he ...”
Mr. Maitland shook his head. “No, he’s above re
proach. Pelty is almost too honest. Certainly he was too naive at the time to have engineered anything of the sort. I’m sorry he ever told Mrs. Mailer about the transaction, but she was hounding the daylights out of us, and to keep her quiet he told her my plan. I don’t want to offend you, but it struck me as odd that Mr. Sutton ever involved himself in the business. It had nothing to do with him.”
“He was too honest, too, Mr. Maitland. Any dishonesty was anathema to him. He was a solicitor, you know, and he hoped to become a judge eventually. He would have done the thing out of principle. Don’t think he was criminally involved, for he was not. You don’t know my fiancé if you can think that for one minute.”
He looked skeptical. “I didn’t know him; that’s true. I have been judging him by his cousin, Eliot Sutton.”
I bristled in Eliot’s defense. “Surely you’re not suggesting Eliot Sutton is a thief!” I objected.
“Not at all, but one has to wonder about a gentleman with no income who doesn’t work yet manages to live fairly high on the hog.”
“Does he not have any income?” I asked. Graham had a couple of thousand a year outside of his work. Yootha was also rich, and I had assumed Eliot was similarly endowed.
“I’m only going by gossip. He sold his little country place a few years ago to settle his debts. Perhaps he has enough to live and stave off his creditors till he marries some well-dowered lady.”
“You may be sure he has a competence,” I said firmly.
“In any case, Eliot Sutton has nothing to do with my affairs,’’ Mr. Maitland continued in a voice that suggested he would be happy to change the topic. “As you have surprised me so agreeably by being an honest and reasonable lady, I want to impose further on your kind nature and ask you to help me find my blunt.”
“How can I possibly help you, Mr. Maitland? You and your bloodhound have been through the house with a fine-tooth comb.”
“I haven’t looked through your fiancé’s personal effects.”
“A parcel containing ten thousand in banknotes isn’t sitting in a jacket pocket.”
“Not likely, but there might be some clue in a jacket pocket. That is the sort of place I would like your permission to look. Duke mentioned some key, for instance, that turned up last night and seemed to cause a deal of bother.”
“It didn’t bother me! It was probably for something at his workplace.”
“He’d have an office key, of course. And there was just the one key unaccounted for, then?”
“No, there were two,” I admitted.
“Do you have them with you?”
“They’re right here in my reticule. Why?”
“Let’s run along to his office and see if either key fits it. You really should return the office key to whoever hired the place after Graham left.”
“I’m not sure where his office was.”
“It was on Jermyn Street, west of the Haymarket. A Mr. Sinclair has the office now. I met him at the time of my investigations into Mr. Sutton’s affairs. Would you mind if we go there?”
I did mind, somehow, but it was such a reasonable request that I agreed. I didn’t go in, though. I gave Mr. Maitland the keys and I sat in the carriage looking at the modest, tidy little oaken doorway, now bearing the sign “Sinclair and Humes, Solicitors.” Graham had spent five years of his life behind that wall—how strange that I knew nothing of his business there. Whole sections of my fiancé’s life were unknown to me. I hardly knew him at all, really. Just as a tourist visiting Bath. In a moment Mr. Maitland was back.
“One of the keys opens the door. Sinclair never saw one like this,” he said, and deposited the single brass key in my hand. It was taking on a morbid fascination for me. It was more than a key to a door; it was a key to Graham, to some side of him that I didn’t know.
The carriage returned westward to the more polite part of town, and we sat in silence a moment, thinking. “You haven’t given me your answer, Miss Haley,” he said a little later. “Will you give me permission to look over Mr. Sutton’s private papers and effects? There might be some clue to what door that key unlocks and, more important to me, a clue as to where the money is.”
“Yes, you have the right to look.”
“Can we go now?” he asked eagerly.
“I’m afraid not. Mama is out, and this afternoon we are all going out. Tomorrow is the earliest....”
“Are you busy tonight?” he asked.
“No, we can’t go out till we get some gowns. You may come early in the evening, if you’d like.”
His smile was approving—more than approving. It was a compliment. “That’s very kind of you. I want you to set your wits to work and think how I can repay you. I have already offered you the use of my carriage. Now I want to offer it in a way that will dilute your reluctance. This wretchedly rag-mannered man who has been annoying you—myself—don’t necessarily come with the rig, you know. Let me put it and a driver at your disposal while you are in London.”
I was touched by his thoughtfulness. “We couldn’t rob you of your carriage for a whole week, Mr. Maitland.”
“Of course you could. Be hard, Miss Haley. You’ve seen how your polite virtue has been rewarded: by more incursions on your patience. You must learn to demand payment for your cooperation.”
“No, really—you are so busy.” Something in his smiling eyes led me on to roast him a little. “Why, you’d be late for settling up day at Tatt's and for your dinner party with Lady Higgins if I took your carriage.”
“Not at all. I’ve already settled up at Tatt’s, and I’ll hitch a drive to Lady Higgins’s rout with Duke. It’s a pity you don’t have your gowns, or you could all come with Duke and me.”
It pierced me like a knife that we had been such ninnies as to come to London without proper clothing. How dashing it would have been to attend a fashionable rout party, but it was not to be. “Lady Higgins would be delighted to have three Bath provincials dumped on her, no doubt, but I’m afraid we must decline.”
“I know you must, this time, but I give you fair warning my sister is a hard partier. She’ll be having more dos while you’re here, and next time you won’t have the excuse of no gowns.”
His eyes began an examination of my pelisse that made me terribly aware of its age and lack of fashion. “You will, though, if you don’t select your material. Your young sister and mama will have the jump on you. Shall we stop and select something for you now?”
I was thrown into a pelter at the thought of shopping with a strange gentleman. “That’s not at all necessary.”
“I am a famous judge of ladies’ toilettes, Miss Haley. Liz—that’s my sister—bores me all to flinders with the latest styles. I can give you the names of the most dashing coiffeurs and milliners and modistes. You’ll be top of the trees in no time.”
“No, really!” I protested weakly. I don’t know why I bothered protesting at all. There was an irresistible force in Mr. Maitland that didn’t take no for an answer.
“If you prefer, we’ll just drive along Bond Street and see if we can’t find your family,” he said.
We alit when we reached the shopping area, and we strolled along the busy street, jostling elbows with the ton. Mr. Maitland was sure enough of himself that he wasn’t embarrassed to have an unfashionable lady hanging on his arm, gawking at the traffic and shop windows like a regular flat. He knew a great many people, at least to bow and nod to.
When we passed a drapery shop he said, “This is where Liz buys her dress materials. Perhaps we’ll meet your mother in here.” As he spoke he held the door open for me to enter. I knew perfectly well I wouldn’t find Mama in such an elegant place. She’d feel even more out of place than I did. But my timidity fell from me as I was confronted with whole walls of silks and sarsenets and Indian muslin.
“What color did you have in mind, Miss Haley?” His eyes flickered from my hair to my eyes, over my face, glancing off the blue pelisse I had on. “What would go with that soft brown hair, just tou
ched with gold, and topaz eyes? With winter coming on, you’ll want a deep shade. Emerald green would suit you, or bronze. A bronze shot silk, perhaps. . , . There’s a lovely ell,” he said, pointing to the shelf.
As the shop was busy, I had some hope we’d get out without being served, but a clerk apparently knew Mr. Maitland and came hastening forward.
“The lady would like to see that bolt, third from the top, if you please,” Mr. Maitland said.
I stood blushing like a bride while the clerk scrambled up on a chair and brought down the bolt. Mr. Maitland, who seemed to make himself at home everywhere, went behind the counter and took it from the man. “While you’re up there you might as well hand down the deep green one as well.”
Before I knew what was happening to me, he had my bonnet removed and a piece of the green silk draped over my shoulder. I knew the next step would be to lead me to a mirror to observe myself, and I dreaded it worse than a trip to the tooth drawer. I never wore such rich colors. The emerald would overpower my pale complexion, but there was no avoiding the trip to the mirror. The outing, or the discomfort of shopping with a gentleman of fashion, had put an unaccustomed wash of color on my cheeks and a flash in my eyes. I could nearly carry the color. I looked at Mr. Maitland’s reflection in the mirror, for he stood right beside me the whole time. I saw the indecision in his eyes.
“Would you like to try the bronze?” he suggested.
The clerk darted forward, removed the green, and draped the bronze across my chest. It was a taffeta that glinted in the sunlight and made me feel as if I were shining all over. Some reflection of the sheen was cast on my face. I looked almost pretty, and when I glanced uncertainly at Mr. Maitland in the mirror I saw his lips lifted in approval.
