Wiles of a Stranger by Joan Smith Read Free Book Online Page B

I could feel a trace of roughness on the edge where it had been chipped against the real diamonds. A true diamond does not chip. What I had was very likely a zircon, baked in an oven to remove any traces of color. Zircons chip rather easily. The examination was a mere formality.
    I mumbled the word “interesting,” and asked if I might look at another of the small stones. The others examined were all genuine diamonds. Somehow, one false stone had gotten passed to me. I considered telling Beaudel so, but even a cursory examination of my position showed me this was unwise.
    Mrs. Beaudel was removing the necklace and asking to see other pieces. “You know I do not keep the Jaipur here,” he told her, with a repressive stare, perhaps because of my presence. He gave no indication where he did keep it, whether in another part of the house or elsewhere, in a bank vault.
    “I don’t mean the Jaipur. Let me see the star sapphire,” she replied.
    He reluctantly opened another drawer to show her this expensive trifle, then another to allow her to pin a ruby brooch on her gown. None of these was examined by me, nor was I so much as allowed to touch them, but they had the look of genuine jewels Soon Beaudel closed up the box, returned it to the safe, and locked it, pocketing the key.
    “Let us have a cup of cocoa and go to bed,” he suggested.
    From the corner of my eye, I saw Mrs. Beaudel’s jaw tighten, but she smiled and agreed to it. “Please join us, Miss Stacey, and you too, Lucien.”
    “Lucien should be in bed,” I pointed out, as it was close to nine o’clock. Eight was a likelier hour for a child to be asleep.
    “He can sleep in tomorrow. There is nothing to get up for,” she added grimly. “Major Morrison does not arrive till afternoon.”
    This blatant and public admission that the only pleasure the morrow offered her was the arrival of another gentleman caused Mr. Beaudel to smile deprecatingly. I was sorry I had looked at him.
    “It is a pity Algernon decided not to join us for the spring holiday,” he said to her. “He would liven us up. We have great times when Algernon is here.”
    This was easy to credit. A young man of twenty-odd years would be of definite interest to Stella, who was not above flirting with a six-year-old child, and her butler.
    “My brother is gone to visit Sacheverel for the holiday,” Lucien explained to me. “I wish he had taken me with him.”
    “He is bound to drop in on his way back to Cambridge. It is hardly out of his way at all,” Beaudel consoled him.
    “He was here for Christmas,” Stella reminded them. “It is only right he spend some time with his maternal relatives as well.”
    It struck me as decidedly odd she would not be more eager for the company of a young gentleman, but she sounded peevish at the very mention of his name. I wondered if she had come to cuffs with him.
    “It is hardly the same thing. Glanbury Park is his own home, it belongs to him,” Beaudel remarked.
    “Yes, he is not reluctant to remind us of it,” she answered sharply, confirming my suspicion.
    “Well, shall we have that cocoa?” Beaudel said heartily, to smooth over the incident.
    Lucien and I drank ours up quickly. The very mention of Algernon Beaudel had put Stella in a pucker, and she was poor company. But before we left, she roused herself to a smile.
    “Time you were in your bed, rascal,” she said, giving Lucien’s cheek a pinch. “We don’t want this guy’s pretty complexion fading from late nights.”
    He pushed her hand away, disliking the childish treatment. “Good night Aunt Stella, Uncle,” he said, with a proper bow, then he reached for my hand, the first childish move I  had seen him make. “I hope you have a good night,” he added over his shoulder, as he accepted their wishes for a good sleep.  Wiggins was hanging about the hall, trimming the lamp wicks.
    “Good night, Miss Stacey,” he said, with a bold smile. “The servants are having a cup of tea