of her emotions showed on her face, or Ben Wolfe was mind reading, for he said gravely, ‘What are you thinking of, Miss Beverly, that causes your smooth young brow to furrow and your eyes to harden as they examine me in my own drawing room?’
‘That you are a ruthless man, Mr Wolfe, and that I should not like you for an enemy—and that once you have set out to perform some action, whether lawful or lawless you are not easily deterred from carrying it through.’
‘Bravo, Miss Beverly!’ exclaimed Madame de Saulx, ‘our friend Ben Wolfe is often in need of hearing some plain speaking and in this case you are the right person to supply it!’
Susanna’s eyes glowed with honest indignation. ‘He is not my friend, Madame, and it was an ill day when he mistook me for another woman. I shall accept his help in restoring myself, unstained, to society again, for he owes me that favour, but afterwards I shall thank him, bid him goodbye and try to forget that I ever met him.’
This brave and spirited declaration was admired by all three of her hearers, including Ben Wolfe. Madame clapped her hands together, and Jess could not restrain himself from saying, ‘Well spoken, Miss Beverly, but may I be excepted from the interdict which you have proclaimed against Mr Wolfe since I should so wish to meet you again under happier circumstances?’
He avoided looking at Ben as he came out with this small act of defiance. His reward for it came when Susanna, regarding him thoughtfully, said, ‘So soon as I am settled in life again, Mr Fitzroy, you may call upon me. More than that I cannot say. I must remember that you were merely carrying out your employer’s orders, and only those like myself who are in a similar subordinate position can sympathise with the necessity to do so in order to earn one’s bread.’
‘Earn one’s bread!’ exclaimed Ben sourly, glaring at Jess’s peacock-like splendour. ‘I pay him much more than that, I think, if he can turn himself out like a Bond Street dandy, ready to make eyes at any pretty woman.’
Jealous! thought Madame, he’s jealous because Miss Beverly spoke kindly to his aide, but not to him. Whoever would have guessed it? Now, what does that tell me? She examined Ben with knowing eyes. That’s the first time in our long acquaintance that I have ever known him display such an emotion or care two pins about what any woman thought of him—or any man, either. Always excepting myself, that is.
Goodness, does that mean that he thinks of me as pretty? was Susanna’s response. And could he possibly have been hurt because I spoke kindly to Mr Fitzroy and not to him?
Ben, indeed, scarcely knew what to think of himself. He waved a hand at Jess who opened his mouth to answer him. ‘No,’ he said, ‘forgive me. I have made enough mistakes, as well as one unwanted enemy today, without my being graceless to my most faithful friend—for that, Miss Beverly,’ he added, turning to her, ‘is how I think of Jess.’
Jess, surprised by this unwonted declaration mumbled, ‘You do me too much honour, Ben,’ while Susanna murmured,
‘So you can be kind, Mr Wolfe, and, after a fashion, you have reprimanded me, for the Lord tells us to forgive our enemies, and now that you are not even my enemy I should have answered you more kindly.’
‘And that,’ announced Madame firmly, ‘is enough of that. Heartsearching is a thankless occupation if overdone. Do you sing or play, Miss Beverly? Ben has a fine Broadwood piano and I have a mind either to play it, or to hear you play.’
‘I can play a little, but I am a better singer,’ answered Susanna.
‘Good,’ said Madame, ‘then we shall entertain the company. Are you acquainted with Mr Tom Moore’s songs?’
‘Certainly. My favourite is “The Last Rose of Summer.”’
‘How fortunate, for it is also one of mine! And, that being so, let us perform it first of all. Shakespeare has said that music hath charms to soothe the savage breast. Let it soothe ours and we shall all sleep the more easily.’
Was it a coincidence that Madame was gazing at Ben Wolfe when she came out with this? Ben thought not. As he listened to Susanna’s pure young soprano soar effortlessly towards the painted ceiling, the power of the music lulled his restless mind and his busy plotting brain into temporary tranquillity, as well as increasing his unwilling admiration for his unwanted guest.
What had he done to his calmly controlled existence by dragging Miss Susanna Beverly into it? For the first time in his life he found himself considering a woman as something more than someone there to entertain him briefly and then be forgotten.
Chapter Five
‘Has no one any notion where the wretched woman was going?’
Mr Western, on the urgings of his wife, was interviewing the servants two days after Miss Beverly’s disappearance. Any hope that she might suddenly return was fading, and since an examination of her room had shown that she had taken nothing with her except the clothes in which she had left the house, it was beginning to appear extremely likely that some misfortune had befallen her.
The butler answered for his staff. ‘None at all, sir. As you know, we had little to do with Miss Beverly, nor she with us. She exchanged no confidences with anybody—indeed, until she failed to return, no one was quite sure why she had left the house.’
‘Then we must inform the authorities of her disappearance,’ said Mr Western gloomily. ‘She is, after all, of good family, and we must not appear to be negligent or careless concerning her safety.’
‘Oh, we must be seen to be doing the proper thing,’ said his wife contemptuously. ‘For my part, I still think that she has run off with someone. Such creatures are more trouble than they are worth.’
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