Free Wiles of a Stranger by Joan Smith Page A

airily.
    This absolutely confirmed in my mind that the man was an impostor. After the defeat of Burgos nearly half the English Army ended up prisoners, whereas the French seldom left many soldiers behind. Wellington had been confused at the reason for finding so few stragglers, and concluded that the French marched more quickly, and kept closer ranks. I rather wondered that Beaudel did not realize Burgos had been no victory for us, but the battle had taken place some time ago, and our defeats always received less publicity than our victories.
    If Major Morrison was not a real major, then who was he, and why was he here? I have already indicated that he directed a good deal of attention to Lucien, which is not to say he omitted Mrs. Beaudel from his observation, or myself either. He was a very sharp observer of us all.
    The hostess could not be accused of outright flirtation, with her husband sitting beside her. She actually said very little, but she managed her heavily-lidded eyes in such a way that before long, the major began directing the better part of his conversation to her. After some interchanges between them, he returned his attention to Lucien.
    “So you are the little fellow who owns the Beaudel collection,” he said heartily, while his fingers massaged his quizzing glass. “You are pretty young to own a boxful of diamonds and jewelry. I hope you take good care of them.”
    “My uncle takes care of them for me,” Lucien replied, in his foggy little voice that could still surprise me by its deepness. “A man tried to steal some a few days ago, but Uncle caught him.”
    “That is a shocking thing!” the major exclaimed, looking to Beaudel for confirmation.
    With my mind alive to some charade on this man’s part, I began to see playacting in every move be made. I took the notion he was no more surprised at the story than I was. He knew it all along. It is not that he did not react strongly enough. Quite the contrary, he overreacted. His gray eyes widened, his brows shot up. The whole performance smelled of Covent Garden.
    “I was very surprised,” Beaudel allowed. “He was an eminent authority in the jewel world. I had not thought Diamond Dutch would sink to stealing, but he was caught with a few stones in his pocket.”
    “No better than he should be, I daresay,” Morrison said.
    I glared at him, the gorge rising in my throat. He lifted his quizzing glass and regarded me for a longish moment, while I stifled my anger, unable to retaliate. Then he turned back to Beaudel. “Were they valuable stones he stole?”
    “As to that, he did not have access to anything worth real money. They were not flawless gems, nor very large. Some of the pieces my brother picked up in India for an old song, but very likely he did not know that.”
    “If the foremost diamond expert in the county did not know it, who would?” the major asked, his head at a haughty angle.
    For half a moment, I felt it would be possible to like the major. It was an excellent point. If my father were to steal, which he never would do, he would not bother to pick up a handful of flawed or small stones worth very little. He soon rattled on to earn my disgust.
    “Of course if he were short of blunt, he might very well sink to stealing baubles. Well, he did do it, so there is no point in discussing the matter. Shall we have a look at the Italian jewelry now, sir? I shall return tomorrow to see them in the light of day, of course. I hope it will not be cloudy. How about it, Lucien? May I see your jewels?” he asked, turning to the boy.
    “You will have to ask my uncle,” Lucien told him.
    This was not necessary. Beaudel was already arising to go for the key, while his wife took advantage of his absence to roll her eyes at the major, and he took advantage of the opportunity to compliment her on her appearance, finding it eligible to tell another man’s wife he was surprised to discover one quite unsuspected jewel at Glanbury Park.
    It was