Bath Belles Part 14

"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 ident.i.ty 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 G.o.d!- 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 n.o.ble 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 h.e.l.lo 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 ragam.u.f.fins had cl.u.s.tered around the carriage that he hadn't dared to leave it unattended.

I was still numb when he dispersed the boys and the carriage clattered over the road back to Elm Street. Graham was a father, though he had never seen his son. Kate must have conceived shortly before his death-about three months before. And he had been engaged to me at the time. So much for Eliot's a.s.sertion that the affair had happened long before Graham had met me. He had juggled the two of us, mistress and fiancee. It was a terrible shock, but my former suspicions had helped to prepare me for the pain. It was of Desmond's treachery that I thought as the carriage pounded along.

He had gone darting off to Fleury Lane and had learned the story from Kate. He had sweet-talked the money out of her and had muddied the trail by pretending to believe that I had it. He had subjected my family to that ign.o.ble search and had known all the time that we were innocent. It was perfectly clear why the neighborhood had been so unsuitable a place for me to visit. And he was still pestering me to reveal what Eliot and I were up to. He knew Eliot had been there once and feared he would return, too, for Kate had been warned not to let a man in. "A lady" she thought it safe to entertain. In his generosity he had given her ten pounds and a promise to set her up in the country-to get her out of the city so no one would learn the truth.

Where should I go with my knowledge? Bow Street seemed the likeliest place, but I wouldn't go alone. I needed moral support. Mama? No, she would hate it. Eliot? Wouldn't he crow "I told you so!" And so he had. He had warned me away from Fleury Lane and Mr. Maitland. I wished I had heeded him. Regret clung to me like a shadow as we retraced our path to Elm Street. But it wasn't a shadow; that requires a source of light, and there was no light in this dark business.

Chapter Thirteen.

I had not taken the precaution of forbidding Mama and Esther to go out. Ettie told me Mrs. Mailer had called and was driving them to Bond Street. Once I had determined there were no gentlemen in the carriage, I was happy they were out of the house, as it gave me privacy to settle the unsavory Maitland business. I chose Eliot as my protector, mainly because his groom was to arrive shortly to remove the carriage. I would order Eliot off to Bow Street to report the affair. I took some cold comfort in imagining Mr. Maitland in the dock, revealed as the scoundrel he was.

What charges would they lay against him? Stealing? But recovering your own money is not illegal, and he would doubtless claim that he meant to give Pelty his share. Leading poor Kate Norman astray? That would hardly land him in jail, or half the male population of London would be behind bars. Graham himself would be, if he weren't buried. There had to be something! It wasn't possible a man could behave as badly as Maitland had and not be held legally accountable for it. But my best efforts at conjuring up an indictable offense brought only frustration. He would get off scot-free to ruin other women and pester other law-abiding ladies.

Eliot's groom received the brunt of my humor when he arrived late to take the carriage away. "I told you one hour!" I scolded.

"I was here an hour ago and waited in the kitchen till I was led out the door," the saucy fellow replied in the most insolent way imaginable.

"I want you to go to Mr. Sutton at once and ask him to come here. It is a matter of utmost urgency. And don't dawdle along the way."

He did not verbally acknowledge my order but turned an impudent shoulder on me and ambled from the room. I thought he had moved swiftly in spite of his bold show, however, when Eliot arrived at the door within fifteen minutes.

"That's a nasty piece of merchandise you've hired to run your stable, Eliot," I chided him. "I never saw a more rag-mannered boy."

"City servants are impossible," he agreed. "What did you think of the team I got for you?"

"They're fine, but that's not why I sent off such an urgent summons. Eliot, I've been to Fleury Lane."

He made an involuntary jerk toward me, and his eyes grew wide with dismay. "What? Belle, I told you not to go there."

"Don't dismay yourself, Eliot. I wasn't harmed."

He settled into a disparaging smile. "Then you've seen how Kate Norman and her sort live. Not a pretty sight. I only misled you to spare you the pain of discovery, Belle. You must not think too badly of Graham. It is regrettable, but many fellows do the same. If you had met Kate, you would have seen that at least she is a genteel soul, not vulgar and common as so many women of that sort are."

"Genteel? That was not my impression!"

He started up from his chair. "But surely you didn't meet her! I told-I was told she had moved to the country when I stopped at Fleury Lane. Oh, dear, then you know about the child. I had hoped to spare you that, at least. Still, you must have wondered why Graham bought such a small house for himself. It was the other family he had to provide for, of course, that necessitated it. I tried to talk him out of it, but you know Graham. He introduced me to the girl once-I don't know what he saw in her."

I waved these details aside. "It is all a hum that she's moved to the country!" I exclaimed, and had the pleasure of outlining the true story for him. He was nonplussed. "I didn't think you would be so surprised. You told me all along Maitland had the money."

"Yes, Belle, but I had no idea Miss Norman was involved."

"She is innocently involved. Maitland is paying her off with ten measly pounds and the promise of a house in the country, with himself playing her protector. His aim is to remove her from the city so Pelty won't learn about her, of course. At the very least I mean to write Mr. Pelty a note and report on Maitland. I wish I could see him behind bars."

"He's shifty as a snake. Pelty will stick by him in the end. You'll see. It is a waste of time to bother going to Bow Street, though I should, perhaps, warn Miss Norman."

"Poor Miss Norman. What will become of her and the child?" This had been bothering me, and a plan of action had begun to form. It was a radical one, but right.

"It's generous of you to worry about her! She'll land on her feet. Her sort always do, and she has youth and beauty on her side for a few years."

"I have determined to help her in some way. Financial help, I mean."

"Fifty guineas, perhaps ... And I'll kick in the same amount, for Graham's sake."

"That is kind of you, but a hundred guineas won't see a boy reared and educated. You will think I've run mad, but I mean to do more-a great deal more."

He looked at me uncertainly. "How much ..."

"Everything Graham left me. The house-I can't bear the sight of it since I have learned the truth. He ought to have left it to his child, Eliot, not to me."

"No, really, this is too much! You're agitated. Think about it for a few days."

"No, I'm afraid I'll change my mind, and I know this is the proper thing to do."

"She wouldn't be at home in a neighborhood such as this."

"I know that," I agreed, with a wistful memory of the story of her being run out of the West End. "I'll sell the house and set the money up in a trust for her, giving her an income that she can't be bilked out of. She is such a naive, gullible girl, it is the only thing to do. Perhaps she could buy a little cottage in the country. She seemed to like that idea."

"It wouldn't take all the money Graham left you."

I shook my head. "Eliot, I expected better of you. This is Graham's son we are speaking of-your cousin."

"Damme, who is to say Graham was the father?"

"Oh, if you had seen the child, you would not say that. He is the image of his father.''