‘How convenient,’ she exclaimed, ‘for her to be able to turn a sad accident into something so fortunate in its consequences for us all! You are aware, I suppose, that I am about to marry Viscount Darlington, Lord Babbacombe’s heir, in the near future.’
This was an arrogant statement, not a question, and Madame’s reply, had anyone cared to examine it, possessed more than a touch of ambiguity.
‘Oh, then,’ she murmured, ‘you will truly be needing all the good wishes which I can offer you, my dear.’
‘You are too gracious, Madame la Comtesse,’ Amelia simpered back at her, oblivious of any double meaning—as were her parents.
Only Susanna understood that one was there for anyone who was acute enough to hear it. She wondered briefly why Madame should choose to exercise her wit on the Westerns, but decided that it was merely her idea of amusement. She was beginning to understand why she and Ben Wolfe were such great friends.
Thinking of him made her wonder what he was doing and where he was—and at the same time reproach herself for thinking about him at all.
Back in London again Ben Wolfe was reproaching himself for his inability to forget Miss Susanna Beverly. There were few idle moments in his busy days, but when they came along he found himself remembering her and the way in which she had sparked at him, had refused to bend before his will and had gallantly held her own in every one of their verbal encounters.
He had met prettier women—beautiful ones, even—but none of them had lingered in his memory as she had done. Standing before his desk in the house he owned off Piccadilly, he remembered the morning on which she and Madame had left The Den.
From the window of his study he had watched their chaise and the following heavy coach containing Madame’s most important servants and their luggage travel along the drive towards the main gates of The Den in order to make for the London Road.
He had let the heavy curtain fall as the carriages disappeared and turned to Jess Fitzroy, saying, ‘And that’s the end of that. Now I shall have to make new plans to deal with Babbacombe and his cub.’
Jess said, his voice as unemotional as he could make it, ‘Do you think that’s wise? Was yesterday’s débâcle meant to be a warning to you from the gods? And is your interest in Miss Beverly truly at an end?’
‘I don’t pay you to quiz me,’ returned Ben, seating himself at his desk, ‘but for once I shall allow it—only don’t let it become a habit.’
‘Most gracious,’ smiled Jess. ‘But it would be wrong of me not to point out that the pitcher which too often to the well—you don’t need me to finish that old saying, but you have gone to a great many wells lately.’
‘Which, translated into plain English, means that you are advising me to abandon my vendetta against the Wychwoods because you fear that my luck may be running out. Am I right?’
‘That’s about the sum of it,’ replied Jess carelessly.
‘I can’t do that, Jess,’ he said. ‘I’ve waited long years for this, made myself a fortune to accomplish it. You have no idea what this means to me.’
‘No,’ agreed Jess. ‘I don’t want to know your reasons—unless you tell me them, nor will I refuse to carry out your orders. But a man must speak his mind occasionally.’
‘Very true. And to your last question about Miss Beverly I will reply with another. Did you mean what you said when you asked if you might call on her?’
‘Indeed. There is something about her which—’
‘You needn’t elaborate,’ Ben growled. ‘I accept that she might have certain attractions—for those who like noisy, self-assertive women, that is. So you want an argumentative wife?’
‘Oh, matters haven’t gone as far as that yet,’ said Jess, grinning. ‘But I would be pleased to meet her in happier circumstances.’
‘Well, you are very likely to, for I need to return to London tomorrow, now that this business has fallen through. Be ready to leave before noon.’
‘So noted,’ returned Jess. ‘Do you think,’ he added provocatively, ‘that there is anything significant in the fact that you refused to answer my question about her?’
The look Ben gave him was as fierce as his surname—which was unfair, he knew, for he could not have asked for a better lieutenant: a poor, but clever, gentleman who was willing to work for his living and whose loyalty was unquestioned.
So he said, a trifle less curtly, but still severe, ‘Now that is a question which I shall not dignify with an answer!’
In reply, Jess threw his hands into the air, exclaiming, ‘Pax, I shall say no more—and carry out your orders to the letter!’
‘See to it that you do. When we return to London I need to visit the Rothschilds, and you will immediately begin—most discreetly—to investigate the financial affairs of Bertram Wychwood, Third Earl of Babbacombe. I have lost one lever I intended to use against him and must now contrive to find another.’
He had said no more. Jess, who had hoped that he might learn the reason for the implacable hate Ben felt for the Earl, had shrugged his shoulders and left to prepare to return to the capital.
Ben was recalled to the present by the butler informing him that the chaise was waiting to take him on his delayed visit to Nathan Rothschild. He had called on him earlier before the attempted kidnapping of Amelia Western, only to find that he was away on business in the country but would return shortly when he would be informed of Mr Benjamin Wolfe’s visit.
Shortly might mean now, and his business was urgent. Which meant that Ben was relieved to find Mr Nathan back at his desk and willing to receive him immediately.
The two men, young as the financial world counted youth, bowed and surveyed one another warily.
‘I assume,’ said Mr Nathan, ‘that you have come to do business here, which does not surprise me, knowing of your operations in India. You are to be congratulated in achieving so much in so short a time.’
Ben was not to be patronised. He smiled, showing his teeth. ‘Oh, I had the excellent example of you and your family to urge me on,’ he returned airily. ‘I have not come for a loan, but to discuss the extension of my operations to the Port of London and to gain your co-operation—for a consideration, of course.’
‘Of course,’ said Mr Nathan smoothly. ‘But something tells me that that is not the only reason for your presence here.’
‘Ah,’ returned Ben, showing his teeth again. ‘You are determined to live up to your family’s reputation for shrewdness, I see. No, I have a favour, perhaps two favours, to ask of you. If you are prepared to assist me, then I have further business to throw your way—if you care to accept it, that is.’
This polite form of blackmail secretly amused Mr Nathan, who was rapidly becoming aware that Mr Wolfe was as formidable as his reputation and his name.
‘I will help you,’ he said, ‘if it is in my power to do so.’
‘Excellent. I see that doing business with you, sir, will be a pleasure. My first request is this: do you have any knowledge of the affairs of the late Mr William Beverly who, I understand, was a merchant of some wealth who died about ten years ago? Most particularly as to the extent of his wealth at his death.”
‘Beverly?’ replied Mr Nathan reflectively. ‘The name is familiar, but as to the details of him, no. But take heart—my chief clerk, Willis, is a mine of such information. One moment.’
He rang a small bell on his desk. The door opened and an elderly man, a quill pen behind his ear, entered.
‘Willis,’ said Mr Nathan without preamble, ‘this is Mr Wolfe who wishes to know if we have any knowledge of the affairs of the late merchant, Mr William Beverly.’
‘Mr William Beverly, sir? Oh, a very warm gentleman was Mr Beverly. Made a fortune in the late wars whilst others were losing theirs. Came from poor gentry stock as I recall. Had one daughter, an heiress—oh, very warm she was, too. I have not heard what became of her. Married well, I’ll be bound. Brought her here once when she was a little one, Mr Beverly did.’
He
beamed at both men. ‘Is there anything more you wish to know, sir?’
Mr Nathan said proudly, ‘Willis has the most remarkable memory—you may question him at your will.’
Ben said slowly, ‘Then it would not be true to say that he died a poor man and that his widow and his daughter needed financial assistance.’
‘Indeed, not. A very Banbury tale that, I do assure you. Very warm, Mr William Beverly.’
‘Interesting,’ murmured Ben, after listening to a tale very different from the one Susanna had told him. ‘One further question, Mr Willis, of your goodness. Do you know aught of Mr Samuel Mitchell, whom I believe the Widow Beverly later married?’
‘Oh, Mr Samuel Mitchell, a very sad story that. He lost where Mr Beverly gained. Lately, his career has been different, very different. He has recouped his losses, one supposes, since he, too, is a very warm man these days. Will that be all, sir?’
Ben nodded. ‘I think so. May I compliment you on your knowledge. I will not demean you by asking whether you are sure of your facts: that Mr Beverly died rich, and that Mr Samuel Mitchell, who was poor, has recently become rich. On second thoughts, perhaps you could tell me of the source of his new-found wealth.’
‘There, sir, I must confess that I am nonplussed. A small mystery attaches to it.’
This guarded answer amused Ben. He smiled, and said smoothly. ‘Your discretion is as remarkable as your knowledge. My thanks to you, sir.’
He bowed and, gratified, Mr Willis bowed back. He then looked at Mr Nathan for instruction, who nodded his head to indicate that he might return to his desk.
Mr Nathan said when the door closed behind Willis, ‘You are thinking along the same lines as I am, Mr Wolfe?’
‘Oh, I am sure of it, sir.’ Ben’s voice was grim. He said nothing further on the matter, although he was already turning over in his mind how he could use, on Miss Susanna Beverly’s behalf, the disturbing information offered him by Mr Willis. Instead, he entered into business discussions with Mr Nathan over his own affairs at the Port of London.
He would have relished asking the knowledgeable Mr Willis about the financial affairs of the Earl of Babbacombe, except that the fewer people who knew of his interest in the Earl, the better.
What he did not admit to himself was that one of the benefits of the interview with Mr Willis was that it gave him an excuse to see Miss Susanna Beverly again—and soon.
Chapter Six
‘I think,’ said Jesse Fitzroy to Ben some days later, ‘that you will be pleased to learn what I have discovered, both about Lord Babbacombe and the ineffable Mr Mitchell.’
After learning of Samuel Mitchell’s sudden acquisition of wealth shortly after the death of Susanna’s father and his marriage to Mrs Beverly, Ben had given orders to Jess to find out as much as possible about Mitchell and his firm.
‘Do you want me to drop further enquiries about Lord Babbacombe, then?’
‘Not at all. Carry on with them side by side—but give priority to Mitchell’s business if there is any conflict of time. The other can wait a little. After all, it’s waited for the last twenty-odd years.’
‘Which do you want me to report on first?’ asked Jess.
‘Mitchell first,’ replied Ben. ‘That has more urgency and is probably more easily remedied—if matters are as I think they are.’
Jess pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and began to read from it. ‘Before he married Mrs Beverly, Samuel Mitchell was almost in Queer Street, only just staving off bankruptcy.’ Echoing Mr Willis, he went on to elaborate, ‘After that he became very warm indeed. He paid off his debts and launched several new enterprises but, some years later, shortly before he arranged his stepdaughter’s marriage to Lord Sylvester, he started to fail again.’
He paused. Ben said impatiently, ‘Spit it out, man—or is that all?’
‘By no means. I contacted a friend of mine who has a connection with Mitchell’s solicitors and another at Coutts where Mitchell and William Beverly banked. I also contacted the late Mr William Beverly’s solicitors. I had to pay out good money to discover details from these and other contacts who prefer to be nameless. It appears that shortly after his marriage Mitchell paid into Coutts a large sum of money. He did the same at the time of Miss Beverly’s proposed marriage. The sums were of an equal size, and added together they tally exactly with the sum of money left in trust to his daughter by Mr William Beverly. Mr Mitchell, who had been a friend and associate of Mr Beverly, was the chief trustee of Susanna Beverly’s fortune.
‘Further enquiries revealed that Mr Mitchell had, indeed, twice stolen from the trust, emptying it at the second time, after which he told Miss Beverly that she was penniless—without, of course, informing her that it was he who had made her so. My informant added that it is sadly true that money left in trust to young women heiresses is frequently stolen by the very trustees who are supposed to protect them.’
‘As I thought.’ Ben smiled wolfishly, adding, ‘I won’t ask how you penetrated Coutts’s supposedly sacred records, I’d rather not know. What you can do for me now is set up a meeting with Samuel Mitchell—pretending that I am interested in doing business with him. On second thoughts, you won’t be pretending, I shall be doing business with him—but not of a nature he will relish. I don’t like swindlers who leave young women helpless and unprotected.’
‘And Lord Babbacombe? You wish to hear of him?’
‘Very much so.’
‘Few details, I am afraid. He is virtually penniless, as you suspected. His son is to marry Miss Western in an effort to recoup the family fortunes—both of which facts you already know. What you may not be aware of is that he has mortgaged the family home and all his estates and that his lawyers have not informed the Westerns of that fact when drawing up the marriage settlements since that interesting piece of news has been kept from them by m’lord and his advisers. Were the Westerns to know, the marriage would, of course, fall through. Wealthy though Miss Western might be, her fortune would scarcely cover Babbacombe’s losses.’
‘Excellent, Jess,’ said Ben, rising from his chair as he spoke. ‘Remind me to give you a bonus for good work well done. Now, set about the Mitchell business at once. I would like to see Miss Beverly comfortable again as soon as possible.’
Unaware of the interest which Ben Wolfe was taking in her affairs, Susanna was finding life with Madame very different from life either in her stepfather’s home or in the Westerns. She was being treated neither as somewhat of a cuckoo in the nest nor as a servant to be used and exploited.
Madame’s paid companion she might be, but Madame treated her as a friend and as an equal. She insisted on buying Susanna an entirely new wardrobe, ‘For,’ she said, ‘I cannot be accompanied by a young lady dressed like the under-housekeeper. Pray do not take that as a criticism of yourself, my dear. I know perfectly well the manner in which poor young duennas and companions are treated by their more thoughtless employers—and, from what I saw of the Westerns they were among the more careless it has been my misfortune to meet.’
She must have been talking to Ben Wolfe to come out with that piece of English slang, thought Susanna a trifle irreverently, or she is not quite so purely French as she claims to be. She was shrewd enough to notice that Madame occasionally forgot that she was a Frenchwoman and spoke perfect English without her pretty accent—although never in company, only when she was alone with Susanna.
As a consequence of Madame’s kindness, Susanna, when attending Lady Exford’s ball for the French Ambassador a week or so after Ben’s visit to Nathan Rothschild, was splendour itself. She was dressed in a deep rose silk turnout come fresh from Paris, beautifully cut and sporting the new lower waist and V-shaped neck. Its delicate colour flattered her dark hair and grey-blue eyes and gave a rosy flush to her creamy skin.
Although Madame had offered to lend her some jewels to go with it, Susanna had refused them, wearing only her small pearl necklace with its matching drop earrings and bracelet. Her
fan, another present from Madame, was of a creamy parchment decorated with delicately painted rosebuds.
Thus attired, she came, early on in the evening, face to face with Amelia Western, who was on George Darlington’s arm.
‘Good gracious, what a surprise to find you here, Miss Beverly! I had rather thought that such an occasion would be beyond you,’ was Amelia’s graceless comment.
‘But not beyond Madame la Comtesse de Saulx, I think,’ retorted Susanna sweetly.
George Darlington, who had been staring at Susanna as though he had never really seen her before—but liked what he now saw—said gently to Amelia, ‘Come, my dear. I am sure that—Miss Beverly, is it not?—will accept your congratulations on her good fortune in securing such a kind mistress. Madame’s reputation is a peerless one.’
Susanna was not sure that she cared for the look in George’s eye. He had always previously passed by the somewhat dowdy and wan young person in a duenna’s cap whom she had so recently been, and she was not sure that she wished him to notice her.
On the other hand, he was beginning to teach Amelia the good manners in which her parents were so singularly lacking, so he must be congratulated for that if for nothing else.
Amelia muttered something which could be construed as following her betrothed’s advice. Her betrothed smiled fondly at her, saying to Susanna, ‘We hope to see you, and Madame, later again this evening, but I have a duty to attend on my father as soon as possible to report to him on an errand which he asked me to perform this morning.’
His bow was low, but his eye was insolent and the look he gave Susanna was a meaningful one which she chose to ignore. She was helped in this by the arrival of someone whom she had not expected to see: Mr Wolfe.
Ben was turned out a` point and was more overwhelming than ever with his combination of size and sartorial splendour, above which his harsh face seemed even stronger in a roomful of soft and over-civilised men.
He bowed most graciously to the three of them, finally turning to George, who was staring at his formidable presence, and saying, ‘Forgive me for introducing myself, Lord Darlington. My name is Ben Wolfe. We have not been presented to one another, but you were pointed out to me by no less than our host, Lord Exford. I understand that you and your father have certain business interests in India—although we shall not talk of such affairs before the ladies.
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