by Joan Smith
“I’m much too upset to decide anything. Just put those on the table, please. I don’t know what you must think of us after coming into such a scene of debauchery.”
“I come to think your Mama and Esther and I would deal famously. You’re the last holdout, Belle.”
“You’ll have to be satisfied with bigamy.”
“I’d settle for monogamy, if it were the right mono. I don’t mean mono-tony.” I clenched my lips to restrain a smile, but he misunderstood it. “I’ll let you back to your duties. Give ‘em hell.” He smiled and whisked out the door, laughing.
I stayed alone in the hall a minute to compose myself. I had overreacted to Mama’s little dissipation. It was as much the shock as anything else that accounted for it. To see your own mother flirting with an old roué, and in front of her young and impressionable daughter, was most annoying. To be perfectly truthful, I would have been less angry had Desmond not been witness to the scene, after my having given him a good Bear Garden jaw for his lax morals.
Actually, I had done worse than either Mama or Esther. I had allowed that scamp to kiss me in broad daylight. The whole Haley family was on the road to disrepute, and to judge by the snickering giggles from the saloon, they were enjoying it thoroughly. The glowing image reflected in the mirror told me my own aversion to vice was not so strong as it should be, either. I was thinking of Duke’s protest. “Don’t know how you can call her an Incomparable.”
I schooled my features to anger and returned to the saloon.
Chapter Nine
That evening, Eliot dropped in around nine to report that he had delivered the parcel to the home for retired clerics, where it had been very welcome. He didn’t stay long—it was a courtesy call only. I wanted a little private conversation with him, and when he pulled out his watch—Graham’s watch that I had given to him—I rose to accompany him to the door.
“You don’t know how I treasure this timepiece,” he said, gazing at it and rubbing his finger over the glass. “It was thoughtful of you to give it to me.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“It is not a question of liking; it is the original owner, and more particularly the donor, that makes me cherish it.”
This was accompanied by an admiring glance at me. In the hall he espied the stack of ledgers, which led naturally to the business I wanted to discuss.
“Where did these come from?” he asked.
I knew his poor opinion of Mr. Maitland, and to prevent any disagreeableness I said only that Mr. Sinclair had given them to me. “These last bits of business must be attended to while I am here. The odd thing is, Eliot, that there is no mention of K. Norman in the ledgers.”
“But there wouldn’t be, Belle. It wasn’t a business expense. Graham paid Norman out of his own pocket.”
“You mentioned some large case Graham had won. That isn’t in the ledgers either. All his cases were small.”
His noble brow creased while he considered this oddity, but eventually he figured out the mystery. “I see what it is now. He handled a case for an uncle of his—old Elmer Sutton from Norfolk. It had to do with some neighbor trying to diddle Elmer out of a strip of land. Graham wouldn’t take a fee for it-—you know Graham! He never put self-interest before family. But Elmer insisted on rewarding him all the same and gave him a thousand pounds. It seems Graham considered it a gift or inheritance, not a fee, so he didn’t enter it in his business ledger.”
“When did this occur?”
“It was just before you and Graham became involved, I believe. That’s why you didn’t hear of it.”
“But I didn’t see any such deposit in his personal bank account either.”
“We can only conjecture, but he probably decided against depositing it. I know he mentioned that Elmer--he’s quite an eccentric—paid him in golden boys from his own vault. Very likely Graham kept on hand the cash he didn’t give directly to Norman and used it for expense money. And, of course, as soon as Graham met you he began looking about for a house and furnishings and so on. I remember he paid for many things in gold sovereigns. Something of the sort must be the explanation, as you say there’s no record of the transaction anywhere.”
“Yes, that would account for it. It’s not important, but I just wondered, you know.”
“As you said, you’re clearing up all the odds and ends. There is one detail I was to arrange for you. About Graham’s carriage, Belle—when do you want me to hire a team and get it out of storage for you?”
I was torn on that matter. “A carriage would certainly be convenient in town, but on the other hand, till I sell the house, I don’t like to take on the added expense. Perhaps I’ll just sell the carriage.”
“Why don’t I hitch up my team and bring the carriage around for your inspection? There are two advantages. It will give you a chance to decide whether you want to hold on to it till you leave and take it to Bath with you. It’s a very pretty rig.”
“Yes, it’s much nicer than our own family carriage. And what is the other advantage?”
He gave a slow, intimate smile and said, “It gives me an unexceptionable opportunity to drive out with you.”
That smile was attractive enough to unsettle me. “If you wouldn’t mind bringing it around ... ?”
“Mind? Belle, how could I mind doing it for you?” he asked, and shook his head. “You bruise my feelings, showing this reluctance to use me. Nothing pleases me more than being able to do a few errands for you.”
“You’re very kind. I’ll just run upstairs and get the letter from the solicitor, then.”
“You’ll have to write a letter to the stable as well, giving me permission to act for you. Just a few lines. I’ll wait.”
When I returned from dashing off the letter Eliot was taking a glance through Graham’s ledgers. “I believe Graham made a mistake in setting up his shop on Jermyn Street. He would have gotten more interesting cases had he paid a higher rent in a more fashionable district. Real estate and wills—Graham was capable of more than that.”
“He made a fair income, though.”
“He worked hard for it. A regular demon for work.”
“Here are the letters. When will you bring the carriage?”
“I wish I could say tomorrow morning, but my trip to the country ... It’s a wedding, or I’d put the trip off and get the carriage first. Can you wait three days?” I nodded my approval. “Oh, by the way, I dropped around to Fleury Lane. There’s no longer a K. Norman living there. No one even remembers him. It’s the kind of neighborhood where people are moving all the time. Little better than hovels, really. Not the sort of place I should like to think of you going to. I’d be uneasy all day, worrying about you. You won’t go, will you, Belle?”
I was flattered at his concern. “I have no intention of going. Thank you for all your help, Eliot. You must come to dinner after our servants arrive and make us respectable.”
“I look forward to it. Good night, Belle.” I reached to shake his hand, but he lifted my fingers to his lips and kissed them. As he bent over my hand I saw his face at an odd angle, with the widow’s peak and high brow thrown into prominence. Such an odd sensation, as though it were Graham. I waited for the old familiar lump to rise up in my throat. It didn’t happen. I enjoyed the unaccustomed flattery of a man kissing my fingers, but I did not feel it was Graham come back to me. I was coming to appreciate Eliot for himself.
After he left, I took the ledgers and added them to the carton of items to be thrown out. Eliot and Graham were both in my mind. Graham was the worthier man, but Eliot was undeniably more attractive. Graham slaved all day in that little cubbyhole of an office, and he didn’t even have to. He had an income, whereas Eliot lived a butterfly existence. Nevertheless, the butterfly was very kind and courteous to me. A little more than kind, really.
The mood in the saloon was so sullen when I rejoined the family that the tyrant admitted her plans to remain in London, but she laid down some pretty stiff rules of conduct
for her mother. She was not to drive out alone with Mr. Stone nor to entertain him without myself to chaperon them. We retired early and spent the morning cleaning house for the arrival of the servants. Hotchkiss was not demanding, but Ettie would be disillusioned with us if she found any dust on what would soon be called “her” tables.
The servants came at noon and bustled noisily about. After delivering a fairly extensive diatribe on the evils of coach travel, they had to decide whether or not they approved of the house. “A regular shoebox is what it is!” Ettie told me. “How that Mr. Sutton ever expected you to live in four rooms is above and beyond me!”
“He didn’t, Ettie. He expected me to make use of the upstairs as well as down.”
“Fine talking, miss, but where are me and Hotchkiss expected to lay our heads? That attic is like an icehouse, and there’s no beds neither.”
“Esther and I will move into the master bedroom. You and Hotchkiss will have the rooms we are using at present.”
“Sleep on the same floor as the family?” she asked, outraged.
“We won’t bite you. It is only for a week at the most.”
“There’s a deal of linen to be changed, then, and all the unpacking to do. I’ll get at it and send Hotchkiss out for real food.”
Ettie was a fan of square meals, preferably a roasted joint large enough to feed an army, which means it feeds a small family for half a week,
Mr. Stone came to call in the afternoon as threatened. “I’ve left the carriage standing by, Bridget,” he said, and cast a sheepish eye at her.
“You had best tell your groom to drive along,” I informed him stiffly. “My mother wishes to remain at home this afternoon.”
He glared at me from his bloodshot eyes but sent word to his groom before taking a seat and looking around for a bottle of wine. “Would you care for a cup of tea, Mr. Stone?” I asked.
“Eh? I could use something to take off the chill.” His eyes wavered to the wine table.
“Fine, I’ll call for tea,” I said, and pulled the rope.
At two-thirty Mr. Duke was added to our party, and he accepted a cup of tepid tea, for I did not call for a new pot. Duke was completely terrified of me. He sat silent as a Trappist monk, though his expression was less resigned than frustrated. He never glanced at the wine table at all. He scarcely even dared to roll his eyes at Esther. I was sure such Turkish treatment would shorten their visit, but when Yootha landed in at three, my rule was at an end.
“We’ll want fresh tea, Belle,” Mama ventured.
“Tea? Don’t trouble your servants with tea, Mrs. Haley. Wine will do fine for me. Ah, Esther! I see you have attached yourself a fine young beau. Didn’t I tell you how it would be? And you, you old reprobate,” she said, turning to Mr. Stone. “I hope you are behaving yourself!”
“I’ll help you to wine, Mrs. Mailer,” he said, and jumped up to fill two glasses. He brought the bottle to the table and made great inroads into it. Duke looked longingly at the bottle, fearfully at me, and sipped his tea.
“Well, you are all very dull, I must say,” Yootha remarked when I began extolling the virtues of St. Paul’s. “Shall we have a hand of cards to pass the time?”
The table was hauled out, I was required to fill the fourth seat, and Duke at last got hold of the wine and some privacy with Esther. The conversation at the card table involved gowns, parties, personalities, and such elevated gossip. The only pleasing aspect to it was that I won rather a lot of money: a pound note from Mr. Stone, who didn’t resent it, and a shilling from Yootha, who did.
I was just ushering them out the door, though Mr. Duke still clung to the sofa like a barnacle, when Mr. Maitland came pouncing in. He exchanged curt greetings with the parting guests. I could see that Desmond was excited about something, and it wasn’t a happy excitement. Mama busied herself tidying up the card table while I led him to the sofa across the room from Esther and Duke to gain some semblance of privacy. I doubted the others could hear our talk over Esther’s giggling. Mr. Duke was beginning to find some favor in that quarter.
“Have you seen Eliot Sutton today?” he asked.
“No, he’s out of town. Why do you ask?”
“Whereabouts?”
“I don’t know. He had to attend a country wedding. Why do you want to see him?”
“No special reason. I thought he might throw some light on this business of Graham’s ledgers. The two of them were close as inkle weavers.”
“I asked him about the ledgers,” I said, and explained why the entries were not there.
He listened with sharp interest, but when he spoke it was about another aspect of the matter. “I see! He has been to call, then!” A quick flash of suspicion shone in his eyes.
“He came by last night,” I said, suddenly angry with myself for feeling I had to explain anything to this impertinent stranger. “I expect to see him again tomorrow. He is attending to a personal matter for me.”
“What personal matter?” he demanded.
“Personal means one’s own private affair, Desmond. May I know why you’ve developed this sudden interest in Eliot?”
He put on a conning smile and tried to get around me. “Now, you must know I am interested in any gentleman who is trying to cut me out with the shrew.” Duke apparently overheard the last word, for he darted a frightened glance at us, expecting me to go into a rant. I smiled at him very sweetly to let him know I didn’t plan to assassinate anyone.
“I have no time to think of romance.”
“I deem it a mistake for any unmarried lady to let herself become that busy. Let me share your labors. It is not having a carriage and your stubborn refusal to use mine that is keeping you too busy for romance. I believe you inherited Mr. Sutton’s carriage. Why don’t I hire you a team and have it brought around for your use?”
“Thank you, but that is already being taken care of.”
“Would you call that a very personal, private affair?” he asked, and laughed. I had the feeling he had known all along what matter Eliot was handling for me and had needed only to confirm it.
“How did you find out?”
“I went to the stable and tried for a look at the rig. I know Graham was on horseback the night—that night, but I thought he might possibly have hidden the money there. It was a long shot. They refused me permission to see the carriage, but I know you will inform me if you find a pleasant bulge in a side pocket.”
“But Eliot’s not retrieving the carriage till tomorrow.”
“Yes, that’s what they said. His groom had been around with your letter and orders to have it cleaned up for duty. And other than the heavy burden of issuing that order to Eliot, what has kept you too busy for romance?”
“Trying to bring this brood of mine to respectability. I want you to know I was a perfect ogre all afternoon.”
“Some traces of it still linger.”
“I kept the wine bottle closed—well, at least till Aunt Yootha arrived.”
“Aunt Yootha? Surely she was Graham’s aunt, not yours?”
“That’s true, but in the family we were in the habit of calling her Aunt Yootha We have known her for eons at home.”
“Now that Yootha’s uncorked the bottle ...” He looked to the sofa table, where there was still one drink left.
“Help yourself.”
“Shall I help you, too? We’ll need another bottle.”
“It’s in the cellar. Hotchkiss is out shopping, and Ettie is changing linens. It’s too much bother.”
"Come along, lazybones. I’ll go down with you and help you select.” He helped me up from the sofa and we got a candle to go downstairs.
“I hope you don’t think we are always so informal, Desmond. I usually run a tighter ship, but with this move we’re all at sixes and sevens. Here we are,” I said as we reached the cellar landing.
Desmond walked down the aisle, lifting an occasional bottle to read the label. “You have some good stuff here.”
“Rum goo
ds, Grant called them.”
“I was careful to avoid the vernacular, as you had an aversion to it. Slang is strangely seductive, though—I’ve heard even bishops use it.” He set the candle on a barrel and lifted a dusty bottle. “I wonder where he got hold of this claret. An excellent vintage.”
“Eliot could tell you. He was Graham’s mentor in the wine-department. Eliot managed to get these racks from some house that was being wrecked. He suggested putting the racks here, too, away from the window draft.”
His nostrils pinched in, but he managed to control his sneer and settle for mere sarcasm instead. “Then I shan’t dare to tell you they ought to be farther away from drafts, where the temperature is more stable. I am beginning to learn that Eliot’s word is not to be trifled with. Do you think Eliot would permit our sharing this bottle?” he asked.
“He is only my friend, not my master.”
“A very good friend, Belle?” he asked, staring through the shadows at me. “Have you known him a long time?”
“I never met him before this visit. He must have visited Yootha in Bath, but I never chanced to meet him.”
“He is a completely new acquaintance, then?”
“Yes, but the friendship was hastened along because of his being Graham’s cousin and friend. They are very similar—in looks, I mean.”
“Looks can deceive.”
“I am not deceived regarding Eliot. I know he’s a butterfly, but butterflies can be charming. And even useful--he’s been helpful to us in many ways.”
‘‘What ways were these?”
The cellar was an odd place to choose for a conversation, but it gave us privacy, and neither of us made any move to leave.
“He took Graham’s personal effects away for us; he’s going to bring his carriage around tomorrow. Oh, and incidentally, he checked out Fleury Lane for me, too. K. Norman is no longer there.”
There was a long, uncomfortable pause. A disbelieving pause, somehow. Desmond looked on the verge of saying something, of contradicting me.
