The Wolfe's Mate Part 14

Ben sighed. Jack said quietly, 'Ignore the young fool. He's a spoilt boy, the unpleasant sprig of an unpleasant sire.'

He had not needed Jack to advise him but, knowing that Jack was a hot-tempered man who did not suffer fools gladly, he also knew that he must have good reason to suggest that he did not rise to young Darlington's bait.

Young Darlington, however, had no mind to let the matter rest. Secure in his rank and surrounded by a group of his friends, he was foolish enough to forget the lesson Ben had taught him at the Leominsters' ball and continued to insult him.

'I had thought,' he said, 'Mr What-ever-your-name-is, that the attack on you the other evening would have convinced you that you are not wanted in London. One supposes that you find it impossible to take a hint-else you would not attend a place where gentlemen congregate.'

On hearing these words, Jack Devereux gave a low moan. Small chance now that Ben Wolfe would restrain himself after being offered such an insult.

He wronged Ben, though. Suppressing his very real desire to seize young Darlington by the throat and throttle the life out of him, Ben merely looked coolly around while saying politely, 'Are you referring to me? Or is some other unfortunate the victim of your bile?'

Several of George's companions t.i.ttered at this. George himself flushed scarlet, and answered in a high voice, 'You know perfectly well that my remarks were addressed to you. Who else in this room is so patently not a gentleman? Who else uses his hands to hump loads in the port of London?'

'Why, no one,' riposted Ben. 'Looking around me, I can't see anyone other than myself, or Devereux perhaps, who is in sufficiently good condition to do any such thing. Lifting a lady's fan-or her skirts-looks beyond most of you.'

Jack Devereux did not help matters by laughing loudly at this sally, and saying, 'Oh, come, Darlington. Give over, do. Neither Wolfe nor I intend to be provoked into folly by your lack of manners. Go and insult someone who punches your own weight-I commend you to the dwarf at Greenwich Fair.'

'My quarrel is not with you, Devereux,' said George, a trifle fearfully, for everyone in the room knew that Jack was a master of weaponry and was not to be trifled with by anyone. 'My quarrel is with him-and his presence here.'

'And with Louis Fronsac who runs this salon,' said a new voice, that of Fronsac himself, who, attracted by the noise, had left the private room where he had been instructing a personage so grand that he never used the public rooms. 'It is I who determines who practises here, not some young gentleman with his mother's milk still on his lips. If you have a quarrel with Mr Wolfe, then pursue it somewhere else.'

Furious, George said unwisely, 'I would have thought that since we pay you highly we have a right to say with whom we might mix.'

'Then you thought wrongly. Indeed, since you are here and have chosen to pick a quarrel with Mr Wolfe and Lord Devereux, then you must settle your difference with one of them in a practice bout with the foils, or suffer banishment from my salon in future. The choice is yours.'

George looked wildly around him. His supporters remained silent. Louis Fronsac was held in high esteem, not only by the Grand Personage who stood in the doorway of the private room, but by most of society. He had hoped to bait Ben, secure in the knowledge that if Ben challenged him he could always refuse to fight someone so patently not a gentleman. Louis Fronsac had taken that choice away from him.

Louis stared at George, raising high-arched brows. He was a handsome man in early middle age who had been an emigre from France during the late Revolution there: a member of a n.o.ble family who had chosen-like many-not to return to his native land.

'You have not answered me, Monseigneur. Either agree to a practice bout-or leave. Have no fear, you will only be fighting with b.u.t.toned foils. Whether Mr Wolfe or m'lord will insist on meeting you at dawn tomorrow for a more serious bout is their choice to make once they leave my rooms.'

Neither Ben nor Jack spoke while Louis was laying down the law. There was no need. He was doing their work for them. Desperate, and aware that he was about to be humiliated, George ground out, 'I'll fight him,' pointing at Ben.

Louis Fronsac smiled thinly. 'Not like that,' he told him. 'What Mr Wolfe is, is neither here nor there. You pretend to be a n.o.bleman-and a gentleman. That being so, challenge him in proper form or forfeit those t.i.tles yourself.'

'Bravo,' said the Grand Personage from the doorway, leaving George no choice but to do as he was bid.

He bowed, lifted a tormented face and said through gritted teeth, 'I would be honoured, Mr Wolfe, if you would agree to a practice bout with the foils.' He added conciliatingly, 'M. le Marquis de Fronsac, to give him his proper t.i.tle, will agree to adjudicate between us, I am sure.'

Ben, his face a polite mask, bowed back. 'It will be a great pleasure, m'lord, to oblige you. A very great pleasure.'

Jack Devereux choked back a laugh at this two-edged reply. Ben might not be his equal with the foils, but he was more than a match for anyone he had ever tutored at Fronsac's: the Grand Personage included.

'Very well,' said Louis. 'I will give you ten minutes to prepare yourself whilst I clear the room and ask his Royal Highness to be good enough to allow me to conclude his lesson later-or resume it at another time. You will excuse me while I consult him.'

His Royal Highness, it appeared, was more than happy to abandon his lesson in order to watch a practice bout which promised more fun than most. A chair was fetched for him by one of the courtiers who had been attending him in the private room, and was placed in a most favourable position.

'Haven't enjoyed myself so much at Fronsac's for years, what!' he exclaimed loudly. 'Nor since I was last on a man-of-war.'

'You must understand,' Jack whispered to Ben while they waited, 'that HRH's presence made it impossible for the young idiot to back down. The Duke of Clarence suffers neither fools nor cowards gladly.'

Ben nodded a trifle glumly. This piece of flummery-for such he thought it-was not of his making, nor to his liking. 'You can say that,' he whispered back, 'since no one is asking you to make a raree show of yourself.'

'Oh, come,' riposted Jack briskly, 'the only person in this room who answers to that description is young Darlington. All you need to do is make sure that he learns his lesson: not to taunt those who are in a position to make him pay for his folly. It's a great pity this bout is only a practice one. A bit of bloodletting would do him no harm at all.'

Ben privately agreed with him, but said no more, simply moved into the middle of the room to wait for his enemy-wis.h.i.+ng that it was the father, not the son, he was about to face. Jess Fitzroy's enquiries were making it more and more likely that Babbacombe was behind the attack on him.

Fronsac was pitiless. He made young George go through all the lengthy formalities required of one who was fighting another gentleman and George could do nothing about it. At this late stage, to withdraw under any pretext would place his own reputation for courage and fair play at risk. After all, most would ask where was the harm in a bloodless bout.

'Three hits or three disarmings and the bout is over,' declared Fronsac, immediately before the antagonists a.s.sumed the en garde position, both stripped to their s.h.i.+rts and breeches. Ben was fighting barefoot and George was wearing light shoes. The spectators lined the walls, standing: None could be seated now that the Duke was-unless he gave the word, and he was not doing that.

The contrast between the two men could not have been greater. On the face of it George, tall and slim, ought to have the advantage over Ben who was also tall but built like a bruiser-their skills being equal, that was.

The younger and less experienced men were betting on George. Most of them knew that Ben had served in the ranks and would therefore, in their opinion, be less skilled with a small sword, always considered to be a gentleman's weapon. Older heads were betting differently. Some of them had been watching Ben and Jack Devereux fence and had noted that Jack's superiority was not all that great.

Clarence did not bet at all, but kept up a loud running commentary on the bout which began slowly, both partic.i.p.ants being wary of the other.

Ben was keenly aware that he was the outsider here-even though it was plain that George was not greatly liked. He soon knew that George was in no way his equal and that he could therefore do one of two things. He could either restrain himself and fight a tame draw, or he could throw tact and caution to the winds and teach George a shameful and humiliating lesson.

He had just decided on the former-which would save everyone's face-when, in a lull in the bout with the pair of them warily circling around one another, he heard a voice behind him drawl, 'The big fellow's all wind and importance, ain't he? No finesse there-ought to be in his proper place, the prize ring, not pretending to equal his betters. Glad my tin is on Darlington.'

Red rage roared through him: the rage which he had known from childhood but which he usually kept under strict control as a wise man would keep a fierce dog on a leash. Occasionally, though, the rage, like that of the dog's, would be so strong that it would snap the leash and run riot.

The world around him disappeared. All that was left in it was George opposite to him and the fierce desire to show those who secretly mocked him that he was not to be trifled with, for, although the rage was red, inside it he was icy calm.

In a moment he was through George's weak guard like a knife slicing through b.u.t.ter to catch George's foil near the hilt with his own. Then, he fiercely twisted his wrist with such force that George's foil was first thrown into the air before falling to the floor.

Both men stepped back, consternation written on George's face and cold savage glee on Ben's as they unmasked.

Clarence clapped his hands together, his florid face on fire. 'Bravo, Wolfe, never seen that better done.'

Ben inclined his head in acknowledgement. Louis Fronsac stepped forward and said, 'First point to Mr Wolfe. Pick up your foil, m'lord, and the bout may start again.'

Again they circled around one another while Ben debated what to do next. He made up his mind quickly, presented his whole left side, apparently unguarded, to George and as George gleefully went in for the touch, he side-stepped, and on the turn wrapped George square on the breast.

'A hit,' someone shouted, as Louis Fronsac separated them again.

'You tricked me,' muttered George through his teeth before they resumed their masks.

'So I did,' rasped Ben. 'I'll show you another ploy in a minute, if you'll only be patient.'

The room had fallen silent. The duel was turning into a ma.s.sacre, as Ben disarmed George again, and for good measure rapped him on the breast having done so. The rage had begun to diminish and for a few moments he allowed George a respite, dancing around him, apparently offering him the chance of a hit, almost inviting him to try one.

George, though, was beginning to learn his lesson. He would not be caught again by such an obvious trick, but alas, the third hit which finished the bout was accomplished by a reverse thrust on high which came as such a surprise that George lost his balance and sprawled on the ground so that all Ben had to do was to stand over him and touch his breast lightly again.

The voice which had mocked Ben now mocked George. 'The young cub should be grateful he didn't provoke Wolfe into a real duel,' it said. 'He would have been dog's food by now.'

His rage's appet.i.te satisfied, Ben found his triumph to be an empty one-a common aftertaste, for he disliked not being in total command of himself. He swung round on the mocker and said through his teeth, 'Since you are such an authority, sir, would you care to engage me, and make a better fist of it than Darlington?'

He did not wait for an answer, but swung away, intent on changing into his street clothes and leaving, but he was stopped by the Duke who had risen from his chair, exclaiming peremptorily, 'Come here, Wolfe, I wish to speak to you.'

Ben did as he was bid, bowing as he approached Royalty. The Duke said genially, 'They tell me that you were a soldier in the army in India-and in the ranks at that. You are a gentleman-why in the ranks?'

'I had no money, Your Highness, and no real home. To enlist as a private soldier gave me both. I feel-and felt-no shame at earning my living in the only way I could.'

He was aware that he sounded defiant and wondered for a moment whether he had been wise.

The Duke suddenly gave a great bellow of laughter. 'You are an honest man, Wolfe, and have given me an honest answer. You have also provided me with amus.e.m.e.nt in the way in which you disciplined Babbacombe's young puppy. My grat.i.tude is such that should you need a favour, you may call on Clarence to provide you with one. What do you say to that, hey?'

What could Ben say? He was well aware of the caprices of the Royal Family, from those of the mad King George III downwards. Clarence was brave, choleric-and irresponsible. He might forget immediately what he had promised-but he might not. Everything and nothing was possible.

So he bowed, and murmured, 'I shall not forget your kindness, sir.'

'See that you do not, what? See that you do not! And h.e.l.lo to you, Devereux,' he said to Jack. who was standing beside Ben, before calling to his equerry who had been standing at a respectful distance. 'Time to leave, I have had my fun. Fronsac may give me another lesson on another day.'

Jack murmured in Ben's ear, 'Put not your trust in princes, Ben. He'll probably forget you before he climbs into his coach. On the other hand, Clarence is the best of a bad lot. And before I forget, why did you trick me into believing you a relative novice with the foils? Fronsac tells me that one of your moves was a favourite of his old master Jean Dupuy, and that if he taught it to you he thought you were something of a master, too, because only a master could perform it. Is Fronsac right?'

Ben shrugged a little shamefacedly. 'A man does not confess to everything he knows-or can do-if he is wise. You should know that, Jack. As for Dupuy, he ended up in India teaching anyone who would learn. I was one of those who wished to.'

'I'll remember that the next time we practise together-for I shall give you no leeway at all. I was easy with you-but never no more-that I promise.'

'I shan't come to Fronsac's again,' said Ben dourly. 'I lost my temper, and I don't care to put myself in the way of doing so again.'

'Fool's talk,' said Jack rudely. 'Don't let the smug swine who run London society drive you away. Take no notice of them. I never do.'

This was so patently true and was said in Jack's most aggressive manner, which drove Ben's megrims away and set him laughing.

'Well, I see that I cannot play the coward when you do not, so I'll withdraw my resolution.'

'Then we may still be friends. I see that that cub you've just thrashed is sulking in a corner. He grows more like his father every day. A word of warning, Ben, Babbacombe is dangerous because he is stupid. Guard your back against the bludgeoneers.'

'You have heard something?' asked Ben quickly, thinking of the recent attack on him.

Jack shook his head. 'No, I only have my hard-earned knowledge of the world and the fools and knaves who live in it to guide me. I see that you have agreed to employ a bodyguard-most wise of you. But remember, a man may be attacked in other ways than the physical.'

Jack Devereux was a good friend, and would also be a dangerous enemy, thought Ben as he was driven to Madame's once his session at Fronsac's was over. He had tickets for a performance at Astley's Amphitheatre and thought that Susanna-and Madame-might be pleased to accompany him. These days it was always Susanna he thought of first.

In fact, if he were truthful he thought of her first, last and always-a new thing for him.

Madame, the butler informed him, was not at home, but Miss Beverly was, and he would ask if she were prepared to receive him.

Ben stood in the grand hallway with its black and white flagged tiles and its vases of flowers on tall occasional tables, hoping against hope that Susanna would break all the rules of conduct and entertain a single gentleman on her own. The expression on the butler's face when he returned gave nothing away.

He put out a hand for the hat which Ben was holding and enunciated clearly and disapprovingly, 'Miss Beverly will receive you, sir, in the small drawing room. Please follow me.'

His heart beating violently, Ben allowed himself to be ushered into the room where Susanna rose from her chair after putting down the book which she had been reading. She looked so enchanting that Ben could barely wait for the butler to leave before he told her so.

Susanna, her own heart b.u.mping in the most alarming way-for was she not breaking every rule by which she had lived all her life?-said as soberly as she could when he had finished, 'You need not flatter me, Ben. I am dressed quite simply because I did not foresee that I should have company this afternoon-Madame has gone to the French Emba.s.sy to visit an old friend.'

'Then you should always dress simply,' declared Ben in his usual downright fas.h.i.+on, 'for it suits you even more than dressing grandly does-and I must thank you for receiving me when you are on your own.'

'More flattery-' Susanna smiled, '-and, seeing that we are now old friends, I have allowed myself the luxury of your presence.'

Ben could not help himself. The sight of her in her plain white muslin gown with its pale blue ribbons and its modest high neck, her hair dressed simply, so that one curl was allowed to coil around her graceful neck, was having the most disturbing effect on him, so that he blurted out, 'Friends! I should hope that we are more than that!'

And then, as she offered him a dazzling smile, he continued, the words pouring from him like water cascading downwards, out of control, 'Marry me, Susanna, at once, or I shall immediately expire, or dissolve spontaneously into a flaming pyre like the ones on to which Indian ladies fling themselves after their husbands' death.'

This extraordinary proposal, totally unlike anything which a young gentlewoman of quality ought to expect, might have overset many young women, but it was so like the man making it in its downright extravagance, that it had no such effect on Susanna.

'Do but consider what you are saying, Ben! Did you really come here this afternoon to propose to me?'

'No,' he said, all sense deserting him, aware only that he would go mad if somehow or other he did not get her into his bed. 'Not at all, but the sight of you provoked me to it. Have you no notion of the effect which you have on me? Have had since I first clapped eyes on you. Only the presence of Madame in the past and now the conventions which bind us both in the present are preventing me from falling on you and physically demonstrating the pa.s.sion which I have come to feel for you. It is highly inconvenient-particularly since you are not at all the kind of young person whom I have always thought of marrying!'

As soon as he had finished speaking, Ben knew that he must have dished himself by being so tactlessly truthful. Yes, he had thought that he would marry a biddable, pampered young woman whom he could shape and mould to his heart's desire, not someone like Susanna whose character and temperament had been sharpened and strengthened by the troubles through which she had pa.s.sed-but he shouldn't have said so.

Before she could answer him he apologised humbly, 'Forgive me, that was no way to speak to the lady whom I have come to desire beyond reason, but I have been a blunt man all my life, and it is difficult for me to change now.'

Susanna, her whole body singing a triumphant song, yet could not contain her amus.e.m.e.nt at her suitor's bluff and brusque proposal.

'Why should I wish you to change?' she enquired sweetly. 'I like you as you are. I admit that you could have made me a more elegant proposal. There are women who might be offended on learning that their suitor thought his pa.s.sion for them to be inconvenient, but I am not one of them. In return, may I inform you that you are the last man I could ever have imagined either proposing to me at all, or to whom I could consider giving a favourable answer-which makes the fact that I am about to say "yes" to you even more remarkable. I once thought Francis Sylvester to be the kind of paragon whom I would wish to marry-and I cannot imagine anyone more unlike you than he is!'

Ben stood dazed, trying to work out exactly what she was saying to him. 'Do I infer that you are accepting me?' he came out with. 'If so, your answer is a good match for mine in its crossgrainedness!'

'True,' replied Susanna, 'but that is probably why we shall deal well together. Who else would wish to marry either of us? Seeing what an unlikely pair we are.'

He exploded into laughter, throwing his head back, behaving as usual totally against all the rules of polite society which demanded that a gentleman should never display strong emotions in public: a laugh should always be a pleasantly controlled thing-if one had to laugh at all, that was. Susanna's amus.e.m.e.nt at his frank enjoyment of her saucy sally set her laughing, too.

Wiping the tears from her eyes, she said, 'Oh, dear, now you have set me off as well. The late Lord Chesterfield would have been most ashamed of us.'

'Why so?' asked Ben curiously, his life not having been spent in reading elegantly phrased letters by elegantly living peers.

'He wrote letters to his son on how a gentleman ought to behave in which, among other things, he said that no true gentleman-and presumably gentlewoman-ever laughs aloud. The letters were published because it was believed that his advice on etiquette was so wise that all the world ought to know of it.'

Ben thought for a moment before answering her. Then, 'You really ought to marry me, if only because you know so much of these matters and I know so little. Between us you could turn me into a paragon who would know everything about Prince Hamlet and when to simper rather than laugh aloud.'

Susanna shook her head. 'Not at all. I much prefer you as you are. If I had wanted to marry a simpering gentleman, I should have accepted Francis Sylvester's second proposal.'

'Does that mean that you have accepted my second proposal?'

'I think so.'

'That is not an answer which a man of business like myself understands.'

'Which is precisely why I made it.'

Her face on throwing this conversational t.i.tbit at him was so piquante and alight with mischief that Ben's self-control flew away. He gave a little groan-and swept her into his arms.

His little groan was matched by her little cry on finding herself brought smack up against his broad chest.