The Wolfe's Mate Part 8

Her distress was patent. Not so much because of the loss of the money itself, but because of the hard life she had led until Ben Wolfe had had her kidnapped. The only good thing in the whole vile business was that it had prevented her from marrying Francis Sylvester.

'Does my mother know?' she asked at last.

'I fear so.'

'I ought to help them...' she began.

'Indeed not,' said Mr Herriott vigorously. 'He has caused you a great deal of misery and I understand that neither he nor your mother ever offered you any help during your last few difficult years. They are not in penury and must learn to live on what is theirs and not on what was stolen from you.'

'But surely my mother had no notion of Mr Mitch.e.l.l's wickedness?'

'Possibly not.'

Susanna stared at the breakfront bookcase opposite to her, filled with law books.

'How did you come to know of this?'

'Oh, only recently-and our sources must remain secret. Legal etiquette, you understand.'

Susanna didn't; it all seemed most odd to her. Since Madeira had not served its purpose in preparing her for such good news, Mr Bracewell joined in the discussion by ringing for tea instead and offering Miss Beverly both congratulations and condolences.

'I understand that you are comfortably placed at the moment,' he said kindly.

'Yes, I am the companion of a very gracious French n.o.blewoman, Madame la Comtesse de Saulx.'

'So we understand. You realise that the house in which Mr and Mrs Mitch.e.l.l have been living is yours, part of the estate which your father left you. They quitted it today.'

So Mr Mitch.e.l.l had turned her out of her own home.

'Time's whirligig,' she said aloud.

'I beg your pardon?' said Mr Bracewell gently.

'Shakespeare,' answered Susanna numbly. '"Thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges."'

'Ah, yes,' he answered her, smiling. 'The ancients' Wheel of Fortune. First we are down and then we are up.'

'Or the reverse in Mr Mitch.e.l.l's case,' put in Mr Herriott, who appeared to be enjoying the Mitch.e.l.ls' downfall.

'May I a.s.sure you, Miss Beverly,' he continued, 'that the interest on your fortune will be paid to you quarterly, and that you may return to your home as soon as it is convenient to you. You may call on us for any a.s.sistance you may require when you take up your new life. Before you leave, I must ask you to sign some necessary doc.u.ments to enable us to do so.'

What a difference a fortune makes to the manner in which you are treated, thought Susanna sardonically. Yesterday I was an unconsidered n.o.body, grateful for Madame's kindness, and today, all is changed. The world is bowing and sc.r.a.ping to me and my lightest wish is law.

This was not the sort of comment she cared to make to the Messrs Herriott and Bracewell, however.

She drank her tea and signed the necessary doc.u.ments, both gentlemen a.s.suring her of their good wishes and their desire to help her at all times. Mr Herriott, as the senior partner, escorted her to her carriage, returning to his office to find that Mr Bracewell had been joined by a third party, Mr Ben Wolfe, who had slipped in from another room.

'Your partner a.s.sures me,' he said to Mr Herriott, 'that all went swimmingly this afternoon, and that Miss Beverly is now in command of her fortune again.'

'Indeed,' said Mr Herriott, bowing slightly. 'I wish that you had allowed Mr Samuel Mitch.e.l.l to be prosecuted for his misdeeds-even if you did compel him to make rest.i.tution. It is a bad principle, I fear, to allow the wicked to go unpunished.'

'Not exactly unpunished,' drawled Ben comfortably, drinking the Madeira which Susanna had refused, 'seeing that he was compelled to disgorge himself of virtually everything he possessed. Furthermore, I wished, as I am sure you do, to spare Miss Beverly as much public pain as possible, as well as ensuring that she remains unaware that it was I who uncovered Mr Mitch.e.l.l's wrong doing. I have no wish to profit from that.'

'Very n.o.ble of you,' returned Mr Herriott insincerely, for he thought that Mr Ben Wolfe was as devious a schemer as he had ever encountered. 'It does you nothing but credit, sir.'

'It does, doesn't it,' agreed Mr Wolfe amiably, 'which was probably why I did it, don't you think?' He threw his head back and laughed. 'But of course, you do. Who knows how it may yet profit me? At the moment, though, I must thank you both for your co-operation in this matter, especially insofar as it relates to keeping my intervention a secret.'

He refrained from pointing out that, despite their dereliction of duty in allowing Mr Mitch.e.l.l to deceive them, he was allowing them to take the credit for unmasking him.

Allies were always useful, especially in the game he was about to play-and now he had two powerful ones.

Chapter Eight.

Susanna was seated in Madame's small drawing room, trying to come to terms with the sudden recovery of her fortune, when the butler announced that Mrs Mitch.e.l.l had arrived and wished to speak to Miss Beverly.

She put her canvaswork down and composed herself. Ever since she had told Madame of her good news she had felt that she was living in a dream. Madame had begged her to remain with her as a friend, rather than as a companion, 'Although,' she had added, 'I shall quite understand if you wish to return to your old home immediately.'

'I don't know what I wish,' Susanna had told her. 'If I am honest, I would like to accept your kind invitation, if only because it will give me time to consider my future arrangements.'

She was not sure that she wanted to return to her old home: it held too many unhappy memories-and she certainly didn't want to live there on her own. She was contemplating a number of possibilities when her mother was announced.

Mrs Mitch.e.l.l scarcely waited for the butler to depart before she rounded on Susanna-Madame had already tactfully left the room so that mother and daughter might be alone together.

'Was it you who ruined poor Mr Mitch.e.l.l and banished us to a back street in Islington? Someone must have told a pack of lies to condemn us to poverty so that you might live in splendour. We were given an hour to leave our own home and were not allowed to take anything with us except the clothes we stood up in. Your poor sisters were even compelled to leave their little treasures behind. Such unkindness! I would never have thought a daughter of mine would treat me so cruelly.'

She paused to draw breath before continuing her tirade, looking around the room and exclaiming, 'You seem to be comfortable enough here without needing to vent your spite on us in order to make yourself more comfortable still.'

After hurling this dart at Susanna, Mrs Mitch.e.l.l threw herself on to the nearest sofa and began to howl into one of the cushions on it in the most abandoned fashion, before throwing it on one side and preparing to reproach her daughter again.

Susanna, her face white, had retreated a couple of paces backwards, fearful that her mother might attack her physically. She said, as gently as she could, before Mrs Mitch.e.l.l could speak again, 'I had no knowledge of Mr Mitch.e.l.l's theft of my inheritance until three days ago, nor was I aware that you had already had to leave your home. But aren't you forgetting something, Mother?'

'Forgetting! I!' screamed her mother. 'No, I am forgetting nothing. Oh, the humiliation! The pain!'

'You are forgetting,' said Susanna steadily, 'that your husband, Mr Samuel Mitch.e.l.l, not only stole my inheritance, he also made sure that my marriage with Francis Sylvester would fail, and after that he turned me out of my home-not yours or his-to earn my own living. My father left you a fortune of your own which pa.s.sed to Mr Mitch.e.l.l when you married him, but, not content with that, he made sure that he enjoyed mine. I lost everything-my inheritance, my good name, and my home-through his machinations. It is you who should apologise to me for the wrongs I have suffered, not me apologise to you.'

'Oh, "How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is / To have a thankless child,"' intoned her mother, quoting from Shakespeare and rolling her eyes towards heaven. 'Your father had no business leaving so much to you. Mr Mitch.e.l.l has five of us to keep and there is only one of you.'

'Well, Mr Mitch.e.l.l made sure that I remained only one when he wrecked my marriage, so you had better reproach him. No, Mother-' as her mother raised her arms to heaven like an Old Testament prophet, ready to rain fire and brimstone on her '-I am sorry that Mr Mitch.e.l.l has brought this disaster on you. It was none of my doing, and I agreed with my lawyers that he should not be arrested for his misdeeds. Had I insisted, he would have either been hanged or transported, for those are the punishments for embezzlement. Be thankful that you still have him, and pray that he uses his talents for business more honestly in the future.'

'No,' said her mother, pushing her open hands at Susanna as though she was about to attack her, 'no, I will not listen to you. I am sure that my poor husband is innocent and that the truth will come out one day. Until then I have no wish to see you again.'

'Well, you have lived without seeing me for the last four years, so a longer parting will make little odds.'

She stopped, and then tried to take one of her mother's hands, 'Oh, Mother, remember that I am your child as well, and try to understand how I must have felt when I learned the dreadful truth. And how I feel now when you disown me so cruelly although I have done you no wrong-and have even saved your husband from the implacable hands of the law despite all that he has done to me.'

Her mother pushed her away. 'That is enough. I won't hear any more. Stay with your fancy Frenchwoman-oh, how it hurts me to think that she may be enjoying herself in my home while I suffer the privations of poverty.'

Ignoring Susanna's pleading face, she walked to the door. 'You need not have me shown out. I want no favours from you or anyone who lives with you. I know that you disliked Mr Mitch.e.l.l, but I never thought that you would have gone so far as to ruin him-and us.'

She went. Susanna sank on to the sofa which her mother had briefly inhabited and found that, broken though she was, she could not cry. Or rather, she thought grimly, I will not.

Madame came in a few moments later, took one look at her and rang for the teaboard.

'Dear child,' she said kindly, 'I will not ask you what pa.s.sed. Knowing the world as I do, I a.s.sume that your mother was far from kind to you. No, do not answer me. There is nothing which either of us can say at present other than to admit that life is often too difficult for us to bear. The only comfort which I can offer you is one that I have found to be true- "This, too, will pa.s.s," which is cold comfort enough, I admit. Now, drink your tea.'

Susanna reflected sadly that these days everyone seemed determined to make her drink some liquid or other. Mr Wolfe had begun this apparent ritual and everyone else she had encountered had followed his example. Nevertheless she did as she was bid, wondering what else the afternoon had in store for her.

She was not in the least surprised when Mr Wolfe was announced-he seemed to haunt her these days. Even her refusal of his proposal-of which she had not informed Madame-did not seem to have deterred him.

In Madame's little drawing room he seemed larger than ever. He refused the tea which Madame offered him, saying, 'Another time, perhaps. It is a fine day, I have a new carriage outside and four splendid horses and am determined that, if you have no other engagement, you will allow me to drive you both to Hyde Park to enjoy the sun.'

He could have said nothing more calculated to allow Susanna to recover herself. Before her mother's unhappy visit she would have thought that her reaction to it would have been to wish to hide herself away. Instead, she was possessed with a fierce determination to show the world that she would not be put down. Which was stupid, she thought wryly, because no one but her mother and herself were aware of what had so recently pa.s.sed between them.

Knowing Ben Wolfe as well as she did, she also knew that his new carriage would be as splendid as his horses and that it would be a privilege to sit behind them. Nevertheless, having agreed almost immediately, she was a little perturbed to hear Madame say that she was suffering from a light megrim and would prefer not to sit in the hot sun-if Mr Wolfe would be so good as to allow her to make her excuses.

'In that case,' began Susanna, a trifle unhappily, 'perhaps I-'

For once Madame's perfect manners deserted her. She cut Susanna off in mid-sentence, announcing briskly, 'Do not allow my malaise to prevent you from enjoying a well-earned excursion, my dear. Without yet being past your last prayers, you are mature enough to sit beside Mr Wolfe in a public place such as Hyde Park without causing scandal.'

'Or perhaps because I have already caused so much,' Susanna riposted lightly, 'one more btise will not count against me!'

'Nonsense,' said Madame and Ben together.

'Your presence in Madame's home,' said the latter, 'will suffice to stifle any scandal. And you need a run in the Park. You are a trifle pale this afternoon-too much staying indoors, I presume.'

Madame again answered for her. 'You mistake, Mr Wolfe. Miss Beverly has recently received two pieces of news, one good and the other much less so. The first is that she has received notice that her fortune, which her lawyers had allowed her to be cheated of by her stepfather, has been restored to her, so she is no longer dependent on cold charity. The second is that her mother has visited her and has been most unkind to her because of the change in her own circ.u.mstances. Not that she has told me so directly-it is what I have gathered from her manner.'

'Is this true, Miss Beverly?' asked Ben, his face grim. He had, at Madame's urgings, taken a seat, and he leaned forward from it to add, 'Most unwarranted, if so, seeing that by all accounts her husband stole your inheritance from you.'

'Both statements are true,' she told him, 'but I confess to feeling a trifle unhappy that my good luck is at the expense of my mother and half-sisters' bad luck.'

'Do not reproach yourself,' he said earnestly. 'You have had a great wrong done to you, and your mother and sisters have been living a comfortable life while you have been struggling. You were turned out of your home, were you not?'

Susanna nodded a brief agreement.

'Well, then!' said Ben st.u.r.dily. 'Your sentiments do your soft heart credit, but I advise you to forget the unhappy past, accept my invitation and tell me what you think of my carriage and four.'

'But I am not really dressed to go to the Park,' objected Susanna.

'Nonsense, you look as you always do whatever you wear, quite a` point. You simply need to equip yourself with a parasol to arm yourself against the sun and a light shawl to protect your arms.'

Madame nodded agreement and sent her away to dress herself as Ben had advised. Once Susanna was out of the room, Madame rose and walked to the mantelpiece to rearrange some objects of vertu there.

'Do I detect your fine Italian hand in this sudden access of wealth which Miss Beverly is enjoying?'

'Now, why in the world should you think that?'

'You forget how well I know you, cher ami! What I don't understand is why you don't simply propose to her and have done with it.'

Ben said in his most winning voice, 'Oh, but I have, and...' He paused tantalisingly.

Madame turned to face him. 'You really are provoking,' and her voice had quite lost its pretty French accent and was disturbingly downright in the English fashion. 'I am growing too old to be teased.'

'Never-you are timeless, as you well know,' he said. 'But, all the same, I will oblige you and finish my sentence. She refused me. Perhaps because neither the manner of it, nor the occasion on which it was made, could be described as either tactful or auspicious.'

'You are, as usual, being remarkably cold-blooded about the whole business,' said Madame sternly, 'but that is your way. Are you cold-blooded about her? Do you feel anything for her?'

'You are not to ask me that. I can only tell you that I would not hurt her for the world. She has been hurt enough.'

'Only that? Is that all you feel for her?'

'Better that than loud protestations of undying love which mean nothing.'

If Madame thought that he was not quite telling her the truth, she did not say so. In any case, the arrival of Susanna, looking enchanting in cool pale blue and cream, with kid shoes, bonnet and parasol to match, brought an end to their conversation.

'Charming,' said Ben, bending over to kiss her hand. 'Quite charming. I shall be the envy of Hyde Park.'

He was not far wrong. On his own he would have created gossip, because all the world was excitedly chattering about the mysterious nabob, and the new on dit running around the ton suggested that he was not a member of the Wolfe family at all, but merely an adventurer who had a.s.sumed the name and had subsequently misappropriated what was left of the Wolfe estates.

Escorting Susanna, however, who had remained anonymous for the four years since her jilting when she had made such a scandalous, if fleeting, impression on the London scene, he was the subject of even more gossip and interest. Pieces of excited conversation flew around the Park such as: 'Who is he with?'

'Oh, is that the young woman whom Sylvester jilted? What a beauty she is now. Where has she been?'

'Madame la Comtesse de Saulx is sponsoring her, you say? Then what is she doing with him? Madame is respectability itself.'

'Had her fortune restored to her, I understand. Is that why Wolfe is with her?'

'And Madame is sponsoring Wolfe, as well, is she? Odd, that! Best go over and pay our respects. Wouldn't want to be backward in coming forward if he is the coming man, which they say he is.'

And so on...

Susanna was sublimely unaware of the excitement which she was creating. She only knew that she was happy. Ben had driven the carriage into the shade of some trees and his two grooms were holding the horses steady. She and Ben became the subject of a little court. Men and women on foot, either because they had walked to the Park or had left their horse or carriage for the moment, made their way to them out of sheer curiosity if nothing else.

'I had no notion that you were so popular, Mr Wolfe,' said Susanna, intrigued by all this excitement.

'I am a novelty,' he whispered to her. 'In a few months I shall become a commonplace and a new sensation will be found to exclaim over. And you are a novelty as well, a beautiful woman whom, I dare say, few know. And remember, the story of your lost-and-found inheritance is probably an on dit already. Prepare to be boarded by ambitious and fortune-hunting suitors.'

'I hadn't thought of that,' Susanna admitted artlessly. She had been so busy worrying about all the other implications of her new-found wealth that she had forgotten that one.

'Best to remember it.' Ben's voice was now sober, its usually wryly jesting overtones absent for once.