Bath Belles by Joan Smith

shelf, which had caused the noise.
    “Try to be more quiet, Grant,”Mr. Desmond said severely.
    “No need to ride rusty. Ain’t I dirtying my finest duds for you?”Grant complained, but he picked up the books.
    “About the furnishings, Miss Haley,” Mr. Desmond said, and took my arm to leave the noisy saloon.
    “With a few exceptions, they would be included in the price of six thousand.”
    “And the wine in the cellar?”
    My eyes narrowed at this question. He hadn’t been to the cellar yet, nor had he gone there yesterday. How did he know the cellar was full of excellent wines?
    “What makes you think there’s any wine in the cellar?”
    “Where else would it be?”he asked. “Naturally I assumed a gentleman had put down a cellar.’’
    “Of course he did! The wine is not included,”I said, because I was angry at being made to look foolish.
    “Wine travels poorly,”he cautioned playfully, haggling over it. “Except from cellar to table, and thence to glass, if a gentleman is lucky.”
    He seemed genuinely interested in buying the house, and to keep him in humor I offered a glass of sherry. Mr. Desmond might know something about Graham’s business, but if he was disappointed not to find a bag of money when he moved in, it was hardly my fault.
    Over the wine, conversation turned from business to mere social chitchat. “Are you an established resident of London, Mr. Desmond?”
    “We are a Devon family, but I’ve been in London for upwards of ten years and consider myself a Londoner.’’
    “You must give me some idea what sights are worth seeing. My young sister is eager to tour the town.”
    “And are you, also being a young lady, not curious, Miss Haley?”
    “I shall accompany her, of course.’’
    He regaled me with a list of attractions. Grant stuck his head in at the door and said he was going to “cast his glimms over the dungeon,”after which he went to the cellar.
    “How does it come you employ a man who doesn’t speak English?”I asked politely.
    “Grant’s the best man at this sort of work. Every trade has its jargon.”
    “If I am not mistaken, that particular jargon is neither Gaelic nor related to the building trade. It is thieves’cant.”
    A look of surprise lit his face. “How did you recognize it? Pattering flash at Bath Cathedral these days, are they?”
    “No, sir, I learned the rudiments of the language from Bow Street. I don’t have to ask where you picked it up, and I do not appreciate your bringing a thief into my house. If Mr. Grant has rushed a dozen bottles of wine out the cellar window, I shall expect you to stand buff for it.”
    “I’ll have to buy Jay a muzzle. I knew you’d be worried, so I didn’t tell you the whole truth about Mr. Grant. You need not worry. The spanks he charges, he doesn’t have to nab nowadays.”
    “And in English that would mean ... ?”
    “He’s being well paid.”A shapely finger was waggled in front of me. “A clergyman’s daughter should entertain more charitable thoughts than encumber your head, Miss Haley. I am endeavoring to reform Mr. Grant and a few of his confreres. And here you thought I was in league with the scapegallows fraternity. Jay used to be on the ken lay—he robbed houses after he had carefully inspected them in his regular line of business. I caught him with his daddies in my safe one night. While I was delivering him to Bow Street he told me such a tale of woe that I decided to give him a chance to go straight. That was three years ago; he hasn’t stolen anything since, to my knowledge.”
    “You’re quite a philanthropist,”I said doubtfully.
    “I believe in practical benevolence—Jay provides good services for his keep. And along the way we’ve learned a little of each other’s language.”
    Grant soon joined us and said, “There’s rum quids in the hole, lad.”
    “Much good it will do us. The wine don’t come with the house. I’ll meet you in the carriage, Jay.”
    Grant ducked his