"The picture of the blonde under Graham's pillow?" he asked.

So he had seen it in his searches. My full shame was known by him all along-that Graham had served me false-and I, like an idiot, had been hailing him as a paragon.

"There's no reason to think it means anything, Belle," he consoled me. "She's probably a favorite niece or cousin."

I grasped at this slender straw for appearance's sake. Though Graham had never favored one particular niece or cousin over another, I knew that he had several. "Of course that must be it, but it gave me a bit of a surprise."

Desmond regaled me with imaginary tales of favorite female relatives whose likenesses enc.u.mbered his bedroom, and I, with equal civility, did not call him liar but only asked, "Are you sure you have room for a bed with all those pictures cluttering up the place, Desmond?"

He turned a sparkling eye on me. "Definitely. I consider a bed one of life's greatest necessities-and pleasures, if one has the proper companion."

"In your case, that would mean a female, I presume?"

"A female? I don't accept just any indefinite article in my bed. She must be the female of my choice."

By the time we reached Elm Street all our anger and mistrust had evaporated. I had accidentally called him Desmond once, and it seemed artificial to return to Mr. Maitland after that.

"I'll get onto Stone tomorrow," he said when the carriage drew to a stop. "I'll have Grant take a look around his place. I have a few other ideas as well."

"What kind of ideas?"

"I plan to return to the scene of the crime-not your place but where the trade was made-and follow Graham's route home. We originally thought he might have dropped the bundle off at K. Norman's flat, you recall. He didn't, but I may be struck with some other inspiration as I drive along."

"If you ask me very nicely, I might go with you," I offered.

"Then I shan't ask you nicely. You wouldn't enjoy it."

My extraordinary condescension in offering was rejected out of hand. It was enough to return me to bad humor and make me realize how thoroughly despicable Desmond Maitland was.

"Then I shall have Eliot take me. He's dropping by tomorrow," I said, but I was very careful not to make it sound spiteful.

"That will teach me a lesson! I can be led, Belle, but not by childish threats."

"Do tell me the secret, in case I ever want to lead you anywhere. Coventry comes to mind."

"Most ladies find this the best way," he said, and swept me into his arms.

For the second time that night I was victimized by a person who considered himself a gentleman. Mr. Maitland had been drinking wine, like Mr. Thomson. He was every bit as persistent, yet the overall experience was entirely dissimilar. His young lips burned hot, and mine responded, against my better judgment. The heat radiated through me and around us, firing spirit and imagination with emotions never felt before. As a clergyman's daughter, I made token recognition that this must be wrong, yet it felt absolutely right and natural and inevitable. And rapturously ecstatic.

My voice, when at last I was free to speak, was a trembling whisper. "I really must go now."

"Am I tarnishing your halo, darling?" he teased. His dark eyes caught a light from the street lamps and reflected it just before his head descended again. I turned my halo to escape further tarnishing and discovered a spot more sensitive than the lips. A warm breath penetrated my ear as his lips nibbled at the lobe. Those same breaths entered my body, causing tremendous chaos as they surged to my brain and billowed through the bloodstream to cause havoc in my breast.

I moved again, but his arms prevented any drastic physical estrangement between us. His lips nibbled at my jaw and brushed down my neck to the hollow of my throat, and I could feel my heart pulse at a fast beat. The whole world seemed to be turning faster, at a dizzying speed. His cheek felt warm against my breast, and his hair was as rich and soft as merino under my fingers.

Then he raised his head and gazed at me. With a perfectly serious face he asked, "May I take it you and I are no longer sworn enemies, Miss Haley?"

"I hardly ever permit sworn enemies to compromise me, Mr. Maitland."

A smile broke. "Compromise? I would hardly, say we had gone so far as all that! An Esther might be compromised by a kiss, but surely a woman who has been engaged may be allowed a little more lat.i.tude in her dealings."

"In London, perhaps. In Bath, I a.s.sure you, this engaged lady was never so well handled as she has been this night."

He seemed surprised; taken aback is hardly too strong to describe the startled face he wore. "I'm afraid I got carried away. Next time I shall try to behave as properly as the Bath gentlemen."

"Comparisons are odious, Des. Just try to believe I am not a liar and a thief. That will do for a start."

"Let us both try to develop some trust. I won't believe you want to steal the money if you promise to believe I'm not out to bilk Pelty. That stung, my sweet!"

"Good! Now you know how I felt."

"Angels are subject to revenge, are they?" he asked, and chucked my chin. "My reading of theology is outdated. Your mama will think you one of the fallen angels if you go in looking like this."

I thought I must be showing the afterglow of our embraces, but when he took out his handkerchief and wiped a smudge of dust from my cheek I realized he had referred to my tumble in the dust.

"I see the lights are on, so they made it safely home. They'll be worried about me. I must go."

"Dare I present myself at your door tomorrow?"

"I'll pave the way."

We got out and Desmond walked me to the door. "I'm really very sorry for all the trouble I've caused you, Belle. One day we'll look back and laugh at it, eh?" This intimation of a shared future brought a smile to my face. "I see you can smile already."

"I'm too tired to frown or scold."

"Good, such opportunities can't be wasted." I received another crushing kiss and went in, still hot from lovemaking, to deliver a halfhearted scold to Esther and Mama. But I could not be too severe with them, for they were so very concerned about my safety and the destruction of my new bronze gown. It was a shambles, but not nearly so bad as my coiffure and dirty face-and, of course, my toe, which was rapidly turning a nasty livid shade. I made much of Desmond's heroic behavior in order to pave the way for his return.

"Since he's back in your good books, it's a pity you looked so horrid," Esther pointed out.

"Some people don't judge by looks, Esther," I said grandly. "You, for instance, don't seem to care a groat that Mr. Duke is an ankle biter. I do admire your being able to overlook his appearance. It seems Des doesn't mind my looking like a beggar, either.''

She chose to take this as a compliment on her character, and we all retired happily.

Chapter Twelve.

The tyrant was in top form next morning to trim her brood into line. Mama was subjected to a scold for not having quizzed Mr. Stone about the banknote.

"I did not want to hurt his feelings, Belle. I am more convinced than ever that he had nothing to do with it. It is that Maitland fellow who has turned your head again, even after the way he treated us."

"He treated me very well, Mama. If it were not for him, I wouldn't be here with you today but would be in some home for seduced and abandoned women," I reminded her. "Where Esther will end up if she continues carrying on as she did last night."

Esther paid no heed. She was off in the clouds remembering the glory of Haymarket, or perhaps the grandeur of Mr. Duke's five feet and four inches of chubbiness. After my scold, I had one piece of good news for them.

"I have decided to hire a team for Graham's carriage for the remainder of our short stay."

"Do you think it worthwhile for only a day?" Mama asked.

"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 gra.s.s 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 a.s.sembling 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 embarra.s.sment 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 pa.s.sed 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, broken 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.