The Wolfe's Mate

by Paula Marshall

  The true reason for his intervention was his very real jealousy at the sight of another man entertaining Susanna and fixing admiring eyes on her.

  He gained his reward when Jess looked away from her and turned towards him, saying, ‘I was informing Miss Beverly of the Regent’s remarking that he could not wait to rid himself of his elderly, plain and ill-dressed wife to his latest female favourite who is, if anything, even older, plainer and worse dressed.’

  ‘An old Hanoverian custom, I understand,’ remarked Lord Lowborough. ‘Ever since the Royal family came over to rule England in 1714, their monarchs have always favoured plain women. I understand that, when the Regent becomes King, he will immediately press for an Act of Parliament to be passed to permit him to divorce his wife. Divorced or not, he will not allow her to be crowned with him.’

  Ben was happy to notice that talk now became general, centred mostly on the Regent’s affairs, with Jess’s attention diverted from Susanna, who conversed instead with Lord Lowborough, who was recently and safely married to a wife whom he loved. No danger there from him: Susanna might talk to him as much as she wished.

  Later, alone with the women, whilst back in the dining room the men drank port at their leisure, the conversation again turned to the Princess of Wales, the Regent’s unhappy wife.

  ‘One has to say,’ remarked Madame de Saulx, ‘that the poor woman has a certain amount of right on her side. Whilst we may not agree with the London mob that she is a totally wronged woman, nevertheless we must always remember that she was given in marriage to a man who treated her abominably from her wedding day onwards. She may have acted unwisely on occasion, but how has he behaved?’

  It was plain that all the women agreed with her over the Regent’s bad behaviour, even if they did not condone his wife’s. ‘Nevertheless,’ said Jane Lowborough slowly, ‘I am happy that she is rarely received in good society. None of our husbands would be safe, I understand, if she were.’

  ‘True,’ said Madame. ‘And more’s the pity. The greater the persecution which she suffers, the more she becomes a driven woman.’

  After that the conversation took a lighter turn, ending with a discussion of the first Canto of Lord Byron’s latest poem, Don Juan, which, among other things, contained an unkind portrait of the poet’s estranged wife.

  ‘But,’ said Madame, when that subject was almost exhausted, ‘we must confess that, as always, he mingles his satire with the most divine poetry. Who can disagree with him when he writes,

  Man’s love is of man’s life a thing apart,

  Tis woman’s whole existence…

  For do not men have many worlds to range to which we are not admitted? We are but wives or daughters: but they are not only husbands or sons.’

  Susanna clapped her hands together and exclaimed impulsively. ‘How true—and how ironic that a man like Lord Byron, who has always behaved so badly towards women, should at the same time be aware of how circumscribed we are.’

  She was thinking of the ruin which had almost overcome her when she was neither wife nor daughter, just an unconsidered and unwanted spinster with no profession, and no occupation. Even the meanest of younger sons had more than that to expect from life.

  No time to revisit the unhappy past, though, for the men were returning and the present became all-consuming again. Ben made his way to where Susanna and Jane were and took a seat between them.

  ‘Lowborough has proposed a game of whist,’ he told them, ‘and, since the party is large enough to make up three tables, I hope that the ladies will all consent to play.’

  Jane said, a trifle agitatedly, ‘I’m afraid that my card-playing skills are not good enough to allow me to take part. We rarely played at home, and Henry has been trying to teach me.’

  ‘And I am in a similar situation,’ added Susanna.

  As might have been expected, this did not deter Ben Wolfe at all. ‘Splendid,’ he exclaimed, lying in his teeth. ‘I can think of nothing better than spending an evening trying to teach my partner how to play. Now, if you partner your husband, and Miss Beverly agrees to partner me, we can have a happy hour enjoying ourselves and leave such experts as Madame de Saulx and Tom Wilson to play the game with those others who share their grim determination to win. They can play for money; I propose that we play for bonbons, eh, Henry?’

  Madame said, ‘That’s the most remarkable proposal I’ve ever heard, seeing that it comes from a man who once earned his living playing every card game ever invented!’

  ‘Did you?’ asked Susanna, fascinated by this new revelation about Ben’s past. ‘Earn your living by playing cards, I mean. Oh, forgive me, I shouldn’t really question you about such matters—or so I used to tell my charges.’

  ‘You may question me about anything, Miss Beverly,’ said Ben. ‘And yes, I did. But I have forgotten everything I ever knew.’

  ‘And that’s a Banbury tale if ever I heard one,’ drawled Lord Lowborough. ‘Seeing that you emptied everyone’s pockets playing whist the other night at White’s.’

  ‘Oh, I only forget everything I know about cards when I play with those innocents who genuinely know nothing—other than anything necessary to teach them the rules of the game, that is.’

  ‘You should have been a lawyer, Ben,’ laughed Tom Wilson, ‘or a member of Parliament, you play with words so well. I propose that we play cards immediately so that we may have the pleasure of watching you join with Lowborough in playing for nothing rather than for something. I cannot believe that you ever did such a thing before.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Ben, rising. ‘Let us begin, if only to stop these unwarranted attacks on my reputation. Before we do, however, I hope my two pupils already know that there are fifty-two cards in a pack.’

  ‘Really?’ exclaimed Susanna, putting on what Ben recognised as her teasing face. ‘I thought that there were only twelve.’

  Before Ben could tease her back, Jane Lowborough said mournfully, ‘Oh, are there? I had thought that the number was fifty-two—but I suppose that I am wrong. I am usually wrong about figures.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Ben firmly. ‘Miss Beverly knows exactly how many cards there are in a pack. She is teasing us so that when we begin to play we shall underrate her and thus enable her to win more bonbons than she ought.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Lord Lowborough. ‘Jane, you may sit opposite to me, and I shall endeavour to explain the game as we go along. Wolfe, you may do the same for Miss Beverly—but none of your tricks, mind.’

  ‘As though I would,’ returned Ben, putting on a mournful face. ‘The footmen have finished setting out the tables, so let us begin. The rest of the party may arrange themselves as they please.’

  Afterwards, Susanna was to remember that evening as one of the last for some time that she and the rest of the party spent in innocent pleasure. Ben used his tutoring of her as an excuse to tease her. He also whispered confidentially to her while he taught her—despite Lord Lowborough’s warning—some of the tricks of the game. For the last few years Susanna had been outside the magic circle of fun and laughter at such parties, condemned to watch others enjoy themselves, and now she was inside that circle again.

  The evening passed so quickly that she could scarcely believe that it was over when Madame whispered to her that it was time to leave and their carriage was waiting for them.

  ‘Oh, I have enjoyed myself tonight,’ she told Ben before they left.

  ‘So you will come again soon?’ he asked, taking her hand and pressing it gently.

  ‘Of course, if you invite me,’ she told him, a little breathlessly, her eyes shining as her whole body vibrated at his touch, telling her that for good or ill she had fallen in love with Ben Wolfe.

  ‘Never fear,’ he said. ‘You will always be at the top of my guest list.’ He relinquished her hand reluctantly.

  Jess Fitzroy, watching them, knew that he had lost her, but then, he had never possessed her and now never would. Damn you, Ben Wolfe, he thought, if you mistreat
her, however loyal I have been to you in the past, my loyalty would not survive that!

  He was not the only one who had guessed Susanna’s secret. Madame de Saulx, seated opposite her glowing protégé on the drive home, was also aware of it and was making Ben a similar promise to that of Jess’s.

  If Ben could not see what a suitable wife Susanna would make for him, seeing that she was one of the few women who would stand up to him, then he was less shrewd than she had always thought him.

  Despite the success of his dinner party, Ben found it difficult to sleep that night. It was not only the memory of Susanna’s face which haunted him, but something which Lowborough had told him: that, as well as the rumours which Babbacombe was spreading about his legitimacy, he was also resurrecting the old scandal about his father and mother.

  He thought grimly that, whilst he was redressing other people’s wrongs, he ought to find time to right some of his own.

  Morning found him tired but resolute. He had business to attend to at his counting house in the City of London before he talked in the afternoon with the Rothschild brothers, with whom he was engaged in discussions about enlarging trade with the United States as well with the East. He acknowledged that his ambitions were limitless—but then, they always had been, even when he had been a private soldier.

  Yet, to his surprise, he found that memories of Susanna’s face laughing up at him whilst he was teaching her to play whist came between him and the papers which he was studying—something which had never happened to him before.

  He smiled ruefully to himself before attending carefully to what Mr Leopold Rothschild was saying to him in his beautifully furnished office.

  ‘My brothers and I will be happy to do business with you, sir. Your reputation as a man of your word is good, your honesty as a man of business is unimpeached, and our investigation of your financial situation shows that the claims you make in your propositions to us are accurate.

  ‘You will forgive my plain speaking, I hope, but our reputation has been built on taking only those risks which are unavoidable—we see little danger of them occurring in our future dealings with you.’

  Ben inclined his head. Mr Leopold was a man after his own heart, downright and straightforward—in speech, if nowhere else.

  ‘I prefer plain speaking myself to the other kind,’ he told them. ‘I take it, then, that our lawyers will draw up the necessary papers between them, ready for us to sign as soon as possible.’

  ‘Indeed, and in the meantime, let us shake hands upon the bargain we have made as surety of our respective goodwill.’

  It was done. All that remained was for him to return to his office and alert Jess and his clerks, inform the lawyers and complete the deal.

  It was well into the dusk of the evening by the time that Ben had finished working. He had sent Jess off in the gig to carry out some necessary errands relating to the business with the Rothschilds, telling him that he need not return to collect him. He would walk home.

  Jess demurred. ‘You heard what was said last night—about it being unsafe at present to walk London’s streets unaccompanied after dark. Let me call for you when I have finished.’

  ‘I thank you for reminding me, but the journey home is not long and I have been cooped up all day. I have a stout stick with me. Do you go straight home when your work is over. You may report to me there later tonight.’

  There was no arguing with him. Jess shrugged his shoulders and drove off. Later, Ben wished that he had listened to him for he was tired and impatient: the day had been harder than he had expected and the walk home seemed less attractive than he had earlier thought.

  He took tight hold of his stick—it was almost a cudgel—and set off through the City’s maze of streets. He was almost out of it when disaster struck.

  A group of men, armed with bludgeons, sprang out of an alley to attack him on a deserted street. He was fortunate enough to glimpse them coming and guess that their purpose was to attack him. Rather than try to defend himself he began to run at top speed, away from them. Only to find himself faced by two more men who had been hiding in a doorway, one of them being armed with a pistol, the other with a cudgel.

  Nothing for it but to try to tackle them. He raised his own cudgel to strike the pistol out of the fellow’s hand and send it skittering into the gutter, although concentrating on him meant that he took a blow on the shoulder from his pal.

  Ben, reeling from the blow, was sent backwards and to the ground, to come up holding the first robber’s pistol which he fired at the man with the cudgel, hitting him in the shoulder. Clutching it, and dropping his cudgel, the robber staggered off to escape further punishment. The man whose pistol Ben had snatched from the gutter picked up the cudgel, raised it, and ran at him.

  By this time the first group of robbers had caught up with him, ready to finish him off, but the noise of the pistol shot had brought workmen from a nearby yard into the street where, after watching the struggle for a few moments they took Ben’s part and a general mêlée broke out. At the same time two watchmen, just beginning their rounds, arrived to join in the battle.

  The thieves, now heavily outnumbered, began to run off, pursued by those men who were armed with the hammers with which they had been working.

  Ben, who had taken several more blows and was now unsteady on his feet, sat down on a nearby wall, still clutching the pistol. Now that the fracas was over, men and women who had been watching from windows and doorways began to emerge from the houses and workshops which lined the street.

  The man who had been in charge of the rescuing workmen came up to Ben to offer him further assistance. On reaching him, he exclaimed, ‘Ben! It is Ben Wolfe, isn’t it? I couldn’t see who you were in the mêlée. Are you hurt? Should we send for an apothecary?’

  It was George Dickson, his friend, business acquaintance and recent dinner guest who owned the saddler’s yard from which the workmen had come.

  Ben shook his dizzy head. ‘Bruised,’ he said briefly. ‘Nothing serious, thank God—and I owe my safety to you and your men. I can’t thank you enough. Without your timely help I should probably be lying dead in the road. One of the ruffians attacking me had a pistol. I shot him with it, but he wasn’t mortally wounded, just ran off. That’s my cudgel over there. I lost it in what followed.’

  ‘Trust you to shoot a man with his own weapon,’ said George, who was himself an old soldier. ‘Come in and let us look after you. Emma can make you a cup of tea—or you can have some brandy if you prefer it.’

  Still talking, he led the dazed Ben into his living quarters which were above his shop and office. The watch, who had failed to catch any of the ruffians, resumed their rounds and, the excitement over, the spectators went indoors again.

  ‘The streets are no longer safe,’ mourned Emma Dickson as she applied salve to Ben’s bruised face. ‘But I haven’t often seen such a large number of men attack one person before. I saw everything from the window, including George’s men rush out to discover what was what when the shot was fired. It was lucky that they were working late on a commission tonight, or you would have had the worst of it.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ben, drinking first the tea and then the brandy. ‘My thanks to them, and to Dickie are heartfelt.’ Dickie had been George Dickson’s nickname ever since he had been a trooper in the army: his friends still used it.

  What the worst of it was he did not tell them immediately. The pistol which he had scooped up from the gutter was an expensive piece, and he was sure had been meant to finish him off. That, and the large number of men involved, convinced him that this had been no chance attack. It had been planned and he had been followed, almost certainly from his counting house.

  How many nights had they been watching him—and who had paid them to kill him? The pity was that they had all escaped in the confusion which had followed Dickie Dickson’s intervention, thus preventing any hope of questioning any of them.

  Useless to repine. Tomorrow he would set men on th
eir trail. He knew that he had enemies—no man in his line of business could escape them—but an enemy who wanted to kill him—now, that was quite another thing!

  As Dickie Dickson said in his quiet way when he offered to drive Ben home in his gig, ‘You ought not to leave unescorted, they might still be waiting for you. That was a hardened crew of bludgeoneers with an upright man in charge—the one with the pistol, I suppose. Who dislikes you enough to want to half-kill you, Ben?’

  He didn’t need to tell Ben that an upright man was the captain of a crew or the leader of a gang: like him, Ben was au fait with thieves’ slang.

  ‘And a good pistol, too,’ said Ben, thinking that Dickie might prove a useful ally. ‘One of Manton’s best with a hair trigger.’

  He showed it to him, saying, ‘Either stolen or given to him to finish me off when the bludgeons had done their work. You might as well know that I think that murder was their aim—theft would have been a bonus. I’ll accept your kind offer of a ride home.’

  Dickie nodded thoughtfully. ‘I thought murder was on their mind—and wondered if you did. Would you like me to make some enquiries? I promise to be discreet.’

  ‘Only if you let me pay you.’

  When Dickie raised his hand and made protesting noises, he said, gently enough, ‘You have a business to run and a young family to look after—I know I’m a friend, but I’m not going to trade on that.’

  Later that night Emma Dickson said briskly to Dickie, ‘I thought more highly of Ben Wolfe tonight, George, than I did when I first met him in his drawing room last night. His bark is worse than his bite and his courage is undoubted. I wouldn’t like to be on the wrong side of him, though.’

  ‘Nor I,’ said Dickie, ‘but he ought to guard his back. I’ve offered him the service of a bruiser I know to act as a bodyguard and he’s almost agreed. He doesn’t like to depend on others, but there are times when one has to.’

  ‘Like Dev and Dickie were,’ said Emma sleepily, referring to her husband’s David and Jonathan-like friendship with Jack, Earl Devereux, when they had been soldiers together.