Bath Belles

by Joan Smith

  “We may end up staying a little longer, since the house is still unsold. As you said, why pay a real estate agent two hundred fifty guineas when we don’t have to? Eliot is bringing the carriage around today, using his own team till he hires me a pair.”

  Eliot, while acceptable, had not found any great degree of favor with Mama and Esther. They went out to inspect the carriage, but when he offered us all a drive to test its springs, they declined.

  “I shall be back within half an hour,” I told them, lest they had any ideas of sending off notes to Messrs. Stone and Duke.

  The privacy with Eliot was welcome, as I had a few questions to put to him. First in importance was the matter of the banknote given to me by Stone. Omitting the incident of the search warrant, I told him Mr. Maitland’s opinion of that note. “You know Stone better than we do, Eliot. Do you think it possible he was involved in that business?”

  “I hardly know him that well. I run into him occasionally at Aunt Yootha’s place. He doesn’t cheat at cards, and he’s well enough to grass that he wouldn’t have to steal, but whether he did it for a lark—no, I hardly think so. You know my opinion as to who is responsible for the theft,’’ he added. “Mr. Maitland rigged the whole thing himself to do Pelty out of his five thousand. He’s probably pulled off this stunt a dozen, times. Did you notice this cut in the banknote?”

  “No, but I really don’t think Mr. Maitland would be looking so hard for the money if he had had it all the time,” I pointed out.

  “What better way to convince the world he’s innocent?”

  “If one of the Lloyd’s agents is responsible, it is surely Mr. Pelty. He is the one who actually handled the transaction. Mr. Maitland was out of town that night.”

  “That’s exactly what makes me suspect him. Mind you, it could be Pelty. He’s only a name to me.”

  Our conversation was punctuated with comments about the comfort of the carriage and about the country wedding Eliot had attended. The next item pertaining to the case was the miniature I carried in my reticule. I decided to show it to him, and I asked if he recognized the girl.

  His fingers made a spontaneous grab for it. “Where did you get this?” he asked sharply.

  “I found it in Graham’s room. You obviously recognize her. Who is she?”

  He took a few seconds to consider before replying, but when he spoke it sounded like the truth. “It’s a woman Graham was seeing before he met you. I don’t know her name, but he used to take her out to an occasional play or dinner.”

  “Perhaps Yootha will recognize her.”

  “I said a woman, not a lady.” He turned a sober mien toward me. “Belle, let sleeping dogs lie.”

  “I wouldn’t call her a dog! She has a kittenish prettiness about her. What kind of a woman is she?”

  “The kind of woman a young, lonesome bachelor takes up with. That’s Graham’s past—distant past. Don’t sully your memories of him by harping on it. She meant nothing to him once he met you. Please give me the thing and forget you ever saw it.”

  My answer was to put it in my purse and snap the fastener. Graham wouldn’t have had it under his pillow if she meant nothing to him. “You are being extremely unhelpful, Eliot. Your reticence only makes me more curious than ever. I mean to discover who the girl is.’’

  He turned sulky. “What about the carriage? Will you keep it or put it up for sale?”

  “I shall keep it, by all means, and hire a team of job horses. Will you handle that for me?”

  “You could get more than a hundred guineas for the rig,” he tempted.

  “Yes, and I could pay twice that for a new one. Ours at home is a disgrace. I shall keep it.”

  “Have you had any offers on the house?”

  “No serious offers.”

  “Why don’t you put it with an agent?”

  “Because I’m all skint. I don’t want to pay the commission.”

  “I’ll be happy to act as your agent without a fee. Truly, I shouldn’t mind at all.”

  “You sound mighty eager to be rid of us, Eliot!” I eluded playfully.

  “Rid of you! Belle, how can you say such a thing? I am only thinking of your best interests. Why, the whole family has been deriding London since the moment you arrived. I thought you were eager to go home, but if you plan to make a longer stay of it, we must organize some entertainment for you.”

  I found Mr. Maitland much more entertaining than Eliot and didn’t encourage this line. After a quarter of an hour, the carriage was turned around and we went home. I invited him in for wine, but he had an appointment and couldn’t accept. He promised to bring a team around for my inspection in the very near future, and he left.

  After I had removed my bonnet and pelisse, I put my three mysterious clues on the bed and sat looking at them. A painting of a woman, a key to an unknown door, and the address book bearing the name K. Norman of Fleury Lane. The three items lying there together fell into place so easily I could only stare at my own stupidity in not assembling them mentally before now. The girl was K. Norman, and the key was the key to her flat—and I didn’t overlook that Graham had still had the key on his key ring when he was killed.

  I was overcome with morbid curiosity. What kind of a man had I been engaged to? I even found myself wondering if Graham had ever intended to return the case of money to its rightful owner. And if he had been in love with K. Norman, why had he proposed marriage to me? He was no fortune hunter—if he had been, he would have looked beyond my pittance.

  No, he had loved K. Norman, but had he loved me? K. Norman was not a lady, according to Eliot. Had Graham been tempted to marry her anyway, and had he taken the step of allying himself with me to prevent such a social disaster? After my amorous experiences with Des, I realized Graham’s lovemaking had been extremely perfunctory. Any woman but a greenhorn would have realized it, but to me it had been a magnificent affair. How many handkerchiefs had I wet with my salty tears?

  My aim now was to go and visit K. Norman. I mentally christened her Kitty, to match her face. Both Eliot and Des had said K. Norman no longer lived in Fleury Lane, but they had only wanted to save me the embarrassment of learning about her. That was why Des had so adamantly refused to take me there. It wasn’t the neighborhood, close to Long Acre, but the occupant of Fleury Lane, 2B. I didn’t care a fig that Eliot knew, but it stung to think Des knew I had never been loved.

  I was on thorns to see Kitty but didn’t want Mama to learn a thing about her. On the other hand, I could not go alone. Esther? It wouldn’t do that flirt any harm to see how she might end up if she didn’t mend her coquettish ways. In the end, I decided to take only Hotchkiss with me and to go as soon as Eliot got me a team.

  This happened more quickly than I expected. That same afternoon the pair was brought around, but Eliot did not accompany them. He had sent his groom instead, but I packed him off for privacy’s sake.

  “Come back in an hour and remove the carriage. Where is it to be stabled?”

  “With Mr. Eliot’s, for the time being,” the groom said. He scampered away quite happily.

  Unfortunately, Esther took it into her head to accompany me, and I had uphill work convincing her that I was only going out to pick up some books at the circulating library. That finally subdued her interest. Books were a plague to her, and a library under quarantine.

  Hotchkiss was as nervous as a deb on his maiden journey into the heavy traffic of London. We stopped to buy a map at a news stall and pored over it together, searching out Fleury Lane. It wasn’t that far away, but the streets resembled a patchwork quilt, and Hotchkiss got lost a dozen times. The better part of an hour had passed before he discovered the little road, really no more than a back alley bearing a sign, “Fleury Lane.” It was entirely disreputable. How was it possible Graham had sought out a woman in this neighborhood—or, worse, established his mistress here?

  The roadway was littered with the debris of humanity: papers blowing in the wind, an old abandoned boot, broke
n wine bottles, and a skinny brindled cat. Hotchkiss drove at a slow pace to allow me to scan the house numbers. There it was, No. 2, halfway down the lane—a shabby old stone building three stories high with a faded blue door bearing no knocker. I was frightened to enter the place alone and afraid to leave the carriage untended.

  “If I’m not back in five minutes, Hotchkiss, come to my rescue,” I ordered.

  I had confessed the purpose of the visit to him, and he had agreed to accompany me only when I had threatened to go alone in a hackney. “You’re mad as a hatter!” he warned, and he handed me a little paring knife from Ettie’s kitchen. I put it in my pocket and marched bravely to the blue door. My first knock brought no answer. My second knock was louder, and a dissolute-looking old hag in a mobcap came limping to answer.

  “I’m looking for K. Norman, at 2B.”

  “Upstairs,” she growled, and returned to her own lair.

  The staircase was narrow, steep, and dirty. Even the air was foul, reeking of boiled cabbage and squalor. I lifted my skirts, avoided any contact with the banister, and went up. At the top of the landing I saw rows of doors down either side of a hallway. The first on my left said 2B. I tapped sharply on the door and held my breath.

  There was no answer, but I heard light footsteps and tapped again.

  “Who is it?” a soft voice called.

  “It is a friend, to see K. Norman.”

  “Oh, a lady! I—I suppose that would be all right.”

  Within two seconds the door opened inward and I finally beheld K. Norman in the flesh. She seemed like a delicate flower blooming amid the garbage of Fleury Lane. She was a perfectly exquisite little thing, even prettier than her picture. Her gown was old and frayed, but clean and once fashionable. I wondered if Graham had given it to her. While I stared at her she narrowed her incomparable eyes and examined my bonnet and gown. The vision of loveliness opened its lips and emitted an atrocious accent.

  “What do you want?”

  “I’m looking for Miss Norman.”

  “I’m her. Who sent you?”

  “May I come in?”

  “My gentleman told me not to see anybody.”

  I noted that she had replaced Graham. “I didn’t come to harm you. I have something that belongs to you.”

  “What is it, then?” she asked suspiciously.

  I drew out the ivory miniature and handed it to her. While she examined it I slid in past her and found myself standing in a low, dark hallway, but at its end a brighter living room received the sun. I couldn’t see anyone else, and I felt emboldened to walk toward the living room. “Here, where are you going?” she called, hurrying after me.

  “I thought we might have a little chat, Miss Norman.”

  “My name’s Kate.”

  “How lovely.”

  She kept looking at the miniature. “Grame had this painted. You knew Grame?”

  “Yes, I knew him.”

  A frown creased her brow as she looked again at the miniature. “Are you Mrs. Mailer?” she asked.

  Concealing my identity seemed a good idea, and I said, “Yes, Graham’s aunt.”

  “I thought you’d be older,” she said doubtfully, but in the end she accepted me. I daresay my twenty-three years seemed old enough to her. She was still not more than eighteen, I figured, and must have been—my God!— younger than Esther when Graham was with her. I felt a deep disgust with him, worse than anything before.

  The only emotion I could feel for the girl was pity. I wanted to do something for her, give her some money. We sat down in her little living room, a cozy tidy place. It bore some evidence of Graham’s bent for finery. Velvet draperies at the windows contrasted sharply with the bare wood floors and chipped furnishings that graced the modest room. A framed painting of Graham sat on a desk in the corner.

  “You are managing all right since Graham’s death, Kate? You have found a new protector?”

  “I have now,” she answered, and smiled. An enchanting pair of dimples quivered at the corners of her lips. “My new gent’s moving me to the country.”

  “Will you like that?”

  “I don’t mind. And it will be good for Baba.”

  “Ah, you have a child!” Another arrow pierced my heart. “Will your new gentleman marry you?” It was a gauche question. If he had meant to do so, he wouldn’t have waited till the child was born.

  “Gents don’t marry the likes of me. Especially with the baba,” she added bluntly. Child that she was, she had already learned the harsh realities of the world.

  “Your gentleman is not the child’s father, then?”

  My meddling question made her withdraw into herself. She didn’t answer but only stared at me. While we sat, a wailing began in another room. Without speaking, she darted up and ran off to the child. She was gone a few minutes; I heard her talking to the baby, and some gurgling sounds in return. She seemed a doting mother, despite her youth.

  The gurgling sounds drew nearer, and I knew she was bringing the child for my inspection. I already regretted my visit. It had been nothing but ill-bred curiosity. I would leave immediately—give her whatever money I had in my reticule and flee. Then she was at the door, proudly holding her baby up for my inspection, and any thought of flight vanished. Even if the child’s age—somewhere near a year and a half—hadn’t told me the name of its father, the characteristic hairline would have done so. I sat mutely staring at a miniature Graham, his noble brow and widow’s peak recreated in miniature. The eyes, too—it was a devastating experience. I felt as though I were looking at Graham grown all young and innocent.

  Somehow I found my voice. “He’s beautiful. What do you call him?”

  “Grame, after his da. Say hello to Aunt Yootha, Baba.”

  Then she handed the bundle to me, and I was forced to accept the child. It gave me an excuse to keep my head lowered and conceal my disordered state. Kate waxed quite eloquent over the child’s accomplishments, and I found myself nodding and trying to smile and praise, but I hardly knew what I was doing.

  “He can walk. Baba, show the nice lady how you can step along.”

  The child took two steps and fell on his behind. As she returned him to my lap I inquired for his age.

  “A year and a half, ma’am. He can say mama, too, but he’s shy. We don’t see many strangers.”

  She offered tea, but I knew that was beyond me. “I really must go. I just wanted to—to meet you.”

  “Why did you wait so long? Grame said if anything happened to him, you’d come and look after me.”

  “When did he say this?” I asked, staring at her in fascination.

  “The night he brought the case of money. He said you’d know what was to be done with it, and I mustn’t use any of it, not a penny.”

  “The money! He did come here the night—”

  “Oh, yes, Mrs. Mailer. He came pelting to the door and threw it in that closet there.’’ She pointed to a small door across the room. “He was frightened half to death. I told him not to go out there again, but after fifteen minutes he was sure the man was gone. He said he’d leave the money in case he was ambushed. I didn’t know what to do with it. I tried to find you, Mrs. Mailer, but I didn’t know where you lived, and when I went to the West End looking for you a lady had the Bow Street Runners called. She said trollops ought to know their place. She didn’t know where you lived,” she added forlornly.

  I thought my ordeals were bad, but what cruelty this child had been subjected to, and only because she was trying to be honest! “That is a great pity, Kate. The fact is, Graham didn’t give me your address, either.”

  She accepted this nonsense humbly. I realized that Yootha had known all about Kate Norman. She had known what a miserable state the girl had been reduced to when Graham was unexpectedly killed, and she hadn’t stirred a finger to help her. She’d have been here fast enough if she’d known about the money! The money was still to be handled. I felt sure I could convince Des to give Kate a good portion of it
as a reward.

  “About the money, Kate. As I am here, I shall take it with me.”

  She looked puzzled. “But it’s gone now. I gave it to my new gentleman two days ago.”

  I sat still, trying to figure out what had happened, who her new gentleman was. “Mr. Stone, you mean?” I inquired.

  “Oh, no. It’s Mr. Maitland. He explained that it was his money all along. He gave me ten pounds’ reward and is going to move me and Baba to the country. He told me not to see anybody, but I don’t care what he says. I couldn’t bar the door to Grame’s aunt.”

  “Mr. Maitland!”

  “Yes, the Lloyd’s agent. Such a fine gentleman.”

  I sat, numb, trying to make heads or tails of her story. Two days ago Des had collected the money. He had had it when he brought Officer Roy to search my house. Eliot was right, then—he was planning to bilk Pelty out of his five thousand. Surely she was mistaken! “A tall, dark-haired gentleman, is he?”

  “And handsome. We had such a jolly time out looking for a cottage. Oh, Baba will like the country!” She smiled happily.

  “I’m so glad.”

  I wanted to leave, but I sat holding the gurgling little pledge of Graham’s love and trying to think of a polite way to leave. It was the sound of Hotchkiss’s feet on the stairs that finally got me up. Kate grabbed her child and ran to lock the door.

  “That will be my groom. I must go now. I’ll be in touch with you, Kate. I’ll write a note....”

  “That’ll be nice. Desmond will read it for me. That’s Mr. Maitland’s name,” she said, again with that little trace of pride. Baba and Des—the two bright spots in her poor, tawdry life.

  I should have felt some resentment that she had stolen the two men I loved, but I was numb. “Yes, well, goodbye, Kate. It was—nice meeting you.”

  “Grame told me so much about you. We’ll keep in touch.”

  Hotchkiss’s knocking grew louder. I said good-bye and stumbled out the door. Loud recriminations rang in my ears as we hurried down the steep staircase. Hotchkiss had a deal to say about the fright I had given him. Ten minutes I had been gone, and such a parcel of ragamuffins had clustered around the carriage that he hadn’t dared to leave it unattended.