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- Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
In "A Front of Brass," Fred M. White masterfully weaves a gripping narrative centered around themes of ambition, intrigue, and moral ambiguity set against the backdrop of early 20th-century England. Written in a richly descriptive style, White employs vivid imagery and engaging dialogue, reminiscent of the works of contemporaries like Arthur Conan Doyle. The novel adeptly explores social class dynamics and the psychological complexities of its characters, enveloped in a plot replete with unexpected twists that keep the reader enthralled until the final page. This work exemplifies the transition from Victorian literature to more modern forms of storytelling, reflecting the societal shifts of its time. Fred M. White, a prolific author of the late 19th and early 20th century, drew from his extensive experiences as a journalist and editor in writing "A Front of Brass." His keen observational skills and understanding of human nature shine through the narrative, revealing how personal struggles mirror broader societal tensions. White was known for his ability to fuse sensationalism with thoughtful commentary, making him a pivotal figure in the genre of detective fiction. Readers of historical fiction and crime thrillers will find "A Front of Brass" a compelling addition to their library. White'Äôs intricate plotting and deep characterizations invite readers to ponder moral dilemmas and the consequences of their choices, making it not just an entertaining read but a thoughtful exploration of enduring human themes. This novel is sure to resonate with those who appreciate literature that combines depth with suspense.
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A Front of Brass
Table of Contents
CHAPTER I.—The Shadow.
Hubert Grant stood on the veranda looking over the garden at Ledge Point. Just for the moment he was glad enough to be alone. He wanted to stand there and contemplate his new possession. Everything there was his—the rainbow trout in the pool in the Dutch garden, the starry flowers of the anemones in the larch woods behind the house. And he had paid for it all with his own hard-earned money!
Ledge Point was his ideal of what a country retreat should be. The house was modern, no doubt, but the fact had its advantages, and the rambling white front was covered with a tender green that presently would bear its tribute of blossoms. The big houseplace opened on two sides into a conservatory where the flowers gleamed all the year round. Here were treasures of oak and china and silver gathered by the late owner for many years. To the left was a cosy study; on the right a drawing-room in white and carmine charmingly furnished. Grant's eyes softened a little as he thought of the drawing-room. May Leverton would be presiding over that some of these early days.
Grant had bought the place as much for her as for himself. He had purchased it only a few days before just as it stood, from his partner old Paul Spencer, and he had paid for it with a cheque drawn upon his own private account.
"I'm selling it you cheap," Mr. Spencer had said. "Four thousand pounds is very little. The house cost more than that, to say nothing of the furniture. Ledge Point has been a hobby of mine, as you know, but I shall not need it any more. My doctor tells me that I must live almost entirely in the South of France in future. That means practically giving the whole control of the business into your hands, Grant."
"No hurry for that, sir," Grant hastened to say.
"Perhaps not. But still it has to be done. We must have a big talk over the money side of affairs before long. I've always looked after the money department, as you know. That was part of our original contract. Why, for all you may know to the contrary, the firm of Spencer and Grant may be on the verge of bankruptcy."
Hubert Grant smiled at the suggestion. "I certainly have not worried about that," he said. "There is nobody whose name for sound finance stands higher than yours."
"All the same, you will have to know very shortly, Grant. You are inclined to trust people just a little too far. For instance, it would have been far wiser if you had refrained from paying me for this place till after the conveyance was signed. If anything went wrong with me you would simply lose your money."
Grant smiled again. He was not in a business mood at that moment.
"After all, one can't live entirely without sentiment," he said. "I had a whim to call this place mine. And if I can't trust you, who am I to put my faith in?"
"You have some thought of getting married, I suppose?"
Grant's face flushed slightly. The lines about his square firm jaw hardened. His was not exactly a handsome face, but the regular features were attractive. He had, moreover, that suggestion of physical and moral strength that goes so far with most women. They know by instinct that here was a man who would not fail in the hour of trial, who would stand before the world with a front of brass. He stood upon the veranda in fine contract to his companion.
"I am going to be married," he said. "There are reasons why the matter must be kept a secret for the present, and therefore I am telling you this much in confidence. When the time comes I am going to marry the daughter of Sir Bruce Leverton."
A smile, quick, elusive, sinister almost, crossed Paul Spencer's face. He huddled up in a big deck chair sunning himself on the balcony, he was a little, dried-up man, with a skin like badly tanned leather, his high yellow forehead was bald, he had long ropy hands that trembled as he carried a cigar to his lips. Yet, despite his age, his teeth were wonderfully sound and firm, his eyes shrewd and clear. He had a way of laughing to himself in a sardonic fashion; much as he loved company, he was as secretive as an oyster as to his own affairs. He passed more or less as an invalid, yet on occasions he should sit at the bridge table till daylight. He would take out a gun, protesting that a walk of a mile was dangerous to him, yet at the end of a day over the moors he was as fresh as any of them. And he was reported to be worth a million of money.
Who he was and where he came from nobody knew. He had no relations, he managed the financial side of the business, and Grant knew no more about it than the junior office boy. There were moments when Paul Spencer repelled him. He had one of those old feelings upon him now. For Spencer was smiling in his sinister fashion like some elderly Mephistopheles.
"Do you find the matter so amusing?" he asked, coldly.
Spencer ceased to smile. His leathery features grew grave again.
"It always amuses me to hear a young man talk of getting married," he said. "Didn't some wise man define marriage as an insane desire to keep somebody else's daughter? Well, I suppose that it is necessary for the propagation of the race. But Bruce Leverton's child! My dear fellow, Leverton would never consent!"
"I am aware of it," Grant replied. "My father did Leverton a great wrong. My father betrayed and nearly ruined the best friend he ever had. But that is no fault of mine. I have never been in company with Sir Bruce, and so far as I know he has never so much as seen me. And that is all the greater reason why he should not judge me by my father's standard."
"So you have met his daughter and made love to her? That's very like you, Grant—very like you indeed. And does the young lady know that you are—well, the son of your father?"
"She does. Upon my word, I hardly know why I am discussing this matter with you. It is hardly a subject that is likely to be of interest to a hard-cured bachelor like yourself."
The sinister smile was on Spencer's face again. His deep-set eyes twinkled.
"On the contrary, I am deeply interested." he said. "Some of these early days you will understand why. Now, let me tell you of something more than passing moment. Leverton is a big man in his way. He aspires to belong to the country and his place, Grant Lea, which is not far from here, is a fine old mansion. But he really cannot afford to live in it, and very frequently he is hard pressed for money. I make it a point of knowing these things because they are useful in business. I am telling you this because—well, because you may be able to use the information to your advantage."
Grant shook his head. He did not approve of some of his partner's methods.
"There will be no occasion," he said. "I am going to ask no favour of Sir Bruce Leverton, and I am not going to put pressure on him in the way you suggest. If he refuses his consent to my marriage with his daughter I shall make her my wife all the same. We shall set up housekeeping here, and I can give May everything that she has been accustomed to. Still, the engagement is a secret for the present, and I need not ask you to respect my confidence."
Grant walked to the far side of the balcony with an air of finality. So far as he was concerned the subject under discussion was closed. Spencer watched him with a queer gleam in his eyes. The hard, leathery face was wrinkled with malice; the mouth was cold and cruel. And with it was that furtive mirth that rendered the whole face so hideously repulsive.
"Very well, my boy," he said, "I'll say no more about it. Let us take a walk together round the estate so that I can show you the full extent of your possessions. There is a summer-house on the edge of the cliff beyond the pines that is a very favourite retreat of mine. It is one of the quietest and most beautiful spots that I know."
Grant followed his partner through the charming grounds with a pleased feeling of possession upon him. The Dutch garden was a blaze of yellow tulips, and daffodils and hyacinths edged with masses of some mauve creeper; beyond this the long festoons of roses were bursting into leaf. The young May afternoon was soft and balmy; the air was heavy with the fragrance of white lilac. Away to the left the massed stem of the larches trembled in a sheet of verdure. Up the slope at the end of the woods was a small chalet in the form of a summer-house surrounded by the yellow flare of the gorse, and beyond this again the dancing blue haze of the Channel. The wide stretch of sea lay blue, 200 ft. below.
"Now. What do you think of that?" Spencer asked with some pride. "This is the one thing that makes Ledge Point perfect. It's a little dangerous, perhaps, and if you take my advice you will have the cliff fenced in. You can see for yourself what a sheer drop it is. But for solitude and beauty the place is very hard to beat."
Grant was silent for a moment. He stood there drinking in the marvellous restfulness and beauty of it all. And what an ideal home it would make for May Leverton. What a pleasant surprise it would be when he brought her here for the first time.
"Yes, you are a lucky young fellow." Spencer murmured as if he had read Grant's thoughts. "On the whole I should say that you—well, what is it?"
A servant stood there with a telegram on a tray.
"I found this in the letter-box, sir," the man said. "Perhaps the telegraph boy could not make anybody hear. We were all out in the garden, sir."
Spencer snatched at the orange-coloured envelope eagerly. He appeared to be strangely agitated over it. For a business man accustomed to such things, his agitation was astounding. His fingers shook as he tore off the cover, Grant could see the hard leathery face grow pale.
"There is no answer, Jenner," Spencer said in a hard dry voice.
"Grant, I've got to go over to Fairford on urgent business. I have to meet a man there at once. It is a very unpleasant matter that I had forgotten all about years ago. A trifling indiscretion—. My dear fellow, as you grow older you will find how inconvenient these indiscretions become. I'll try and get back to dinner, but I can be by no means certain about that. If I'm not back by half-past 10, I shall be glad if you will come as far as this place and look for me."
"I—I beg your pardon," Grant stammered. "I am afraid I don't understand—"
"Of course you don't," Spencer said irritably. "How should you? My dear boy, this is a matter of life and death to me. We all have our troubles and anxieties, and they are generally none the less acute because they are of our own making. I wish I could take you into my confidence, but that is impossible. Now, will you do as I suggest? If I am not back by half-past 10 will you come as far as this particular spot and look for me?"
Grant promised in a dazed kind of way. The thing was unexpected, dramatic, inexplicable! Here was black and bitter trouble, perhaps disgrace, for this model of respectability! What did it all mean, and where was it all going to end? Grant was still asking himself this question, when Spencer had turned away and was hurrying along in the direction of the house.
A moment or two later and the big car that Spencer always drove himself was hurrying along the road towards Fairford. The fateful telegram had fallen on a patch of young gorse and lay there fluttering in the breeze. In a mechanical way Grant took it up. The message was by no means a long one, but it was very curt and to the point:—
Must see you at once at the old place in Fairford. You had better not fail.
That was all. There was no name at the end of this insolent missive. It had evidently been sent by a man accustomed to be obliged.
With the tissue still open in his hand, Grant made his way back slowly and thoughtfully to the house. He was filled with an uneasy sense of coming danger.
By the front door stood a visitor asking questions of Jenner. There was something oddly familiar about the girl to Grant. He half stopped to listen.
CHAPTER II.—Why?
"But surely you must the mistaken," the visitor was saying. "Mr. Spencer expects me. I am perfectly certain that he would not have disappointed me. I have come a long way, and—"
"I'm very sorry, miss," Jenner interrupted respectfully. "But my master has been called away to Fairford on unexpected business. It is just possible that he may not get back to-night. If it is any thing to do with business, I am quite sure that my master's partner, Mr.—"
"Oh, it is quite a private affair," the girl said. "I suppose I must call again to-morrow. I am sorry to have given you all this trouble."
The pretty girl with the slim graceful figure turned away with a suggestion of disappointment. As she disappeared round a bend in the drive, Grant followed. He was no longer in doubt now, he knew his ground exactly. He stretched out his hands and laid it on the girl's shoulder.
"May," he said quietly. "May, what are you doing here?"
The girl turned with something like a cry of fear on her lips. The pretty face was deadly pale; the dark gray eyes were full of tears. They were tears of disappointment, as Grant could see. But all the fear and anger were lost now in the pink confusion of the girl's cheeks. From chin to brow the blushes glowed on her face.
"I might ask you the same question," she stammered. "What are you doing here?"
"You forget that Mr. Spencer is my partner. I came down here this week-end on business that concerns you as much as it does me. I had forgotten for the moment that your father's place was so close at hand. And Mr. Spencer never told me that you were in the habit—"
"Oh, I'm not. I'm not," May Leverton protested. "I have never been here before. At the present moment I am supposed to be shopping in Fairford. I came over on my machine. You must not say a word about this to anybody. Hubert."
"But if Mr. Spencer and your father are friends!"
"They are not. My father dislikes Mr. Spencer exceedingly. He does not trust him. Mr. Spencer has never been over to Grant Lea. All the same. I had to come."
"But why, dear? Surely you can confide in me." May Leverton shook her head sorrowfully. There was a pleading look in her eyes.
"Indeed I can't, Hubert," she murmured. "If I had guessed that you were here I should not have come near the place. It is hateful to me to have a secret from you, but it cannot be helped. I have given my promise now, and I cannot go back on it. I have to see Mr. Spencer on the most urgent matter unless it is possible that—"
May's voice trailed away in a whisper, her eyes were far away. Grant could see that her little hands were clenched in a sudden determination. He began to realise that there was a determination here that he had not dreamt of.
"You look as if you were contemplating something desperate," he said. The girl laughed unsteadily. Then the tears crept into her eyes again.
"Oh, I am," she said, desperately. "What am I talking about? But I suppose I must wait now with what patience I am capable of. Don't think badly of me, dear, there is nothing to be ashamed of so far as I am concerned. And—and how glad I am to see you again."
May forced the tears back from her eyes; a charming smile broke out on her face. It was all quiet and secluded there, so that Grant took her in his arms and kissed her passionately. All the jealous uneasy doubts had faded away—it was impossible to look down into the clear depths of the gray eyes turned so lovingly upon him and harbour unearthly suspicions any longer.
"It is a most, delightful surprise," he said. "I'll take my good fortune as I find it, and not waste time in asking questions, May. Are you in a great hurry?"
May hesitated. The day was fair and smiling, and the main she loved was by her side.
"I ought to go back at once," she said. "I really ought, dear boy. But it is such a lovely day, and it is so very long since I saw you last. Well, half an hour."
"I'll try and show you the beauties of the place in that time," Grant smiled. "You have no idea what a most delightful house it is, May. I fell in love with it from the start, and I have been coveting it ever since. How would you like to live here altogether, child?"
May smiled softly as she pressed her lover's arm. There was absolutely nothing wanting here to make the place perfect. She stood presently in the summer house looking out over the hazy blue of the sea. A little sigh of mingled pleasure and anxiety escaped her.
"It is a little paradise." she said. "It is wasted on a man like Mr. Spencer."
"Do you think so, May? Spencer is very artistic. No man without great taste and feeling could have designed so perfect a spot as this."
May shuddered as if she suddenly found the day cold and bleak. "The Borgias were people of taste," she said. "And yet what a set of cold-blooded wretches they were! Hubert, you may not know it, but Mr. Spencer is a bad man. He is your partner, and you may think lightly of him as a good business hand, but he is a bad man. Some day you will find it out. Oh! I cannot tell you how this knowledge came my way, but it is true. For the present my lips are sealed because the secret is not altogether mine. Please don't press me."
Grant kissed the anxious look away. "I am not going to, darling," he said. "And please do not let us waste our precious time in a discussion on the merits of Mr. Spencer. If I could buy this place, how would you like to live here?"
"I could be happy with you anywhere," the girl said, simply. "It would be lovely, dear. But that is far too good to be true. And there is my father to bring round first."
Grant set his jaw firmly. "I shall know how to deal with him when the time comes," he said. "After all is said and done, it is not fair of him to punish me for the faults of other people. Now, if I could induce my partner to sell me this dear little place, do you suppose that Sir Bruce—?"
But May was not hopeful. All the grave anxiety was in her eyes as she turned her face in the direction of Grant Lea a little later on. There was likely to be many a day of black and bitter trouble before she called herself Mrs. Hubert Grant.
And Grant had plenty of food for reflection when once he was alone. It came to him with significant force that he had never really liked his partner. But hitherto he had regarded him as a model of honour and fairness. Now he began to have his doubts. May Leverton had not hesitated to say that Spencer was a bad man, and apparently she was in a position to prove her statement.
Grant thought all this over as he sat in the garden till the light began to fail and it was time to dress for dinner. There was no sign of Spencer's return, and Hubert decided to go on without his host. He sat there in the big house-place with the shaded lights, the dinner-table and the masses of yellow spring flowers in the old blue vases. All around him was the dull gleam of ancient oak, the atmosphere of refinement and artistic feeling that he liked so well. And how perfect it would have all been had only May been seated at the other end of the table! But that would come one of these early days, Hubert told himself.
He took his coffee and cigar presently on the balcony with the shaded lights behind him. On the table there he had thrown down the telegram which had so greatly distressed Paul Spencer. He took it up again idly now, and began to turn it about in his fingers. He wondered as to what manner of man the message had come from.
"There is no reason why you should wait up any longer, Jenner," he said to the butler who had come to see if any thing more was needed. "I have all that I require, thank you. If your master is not back by half-past 10 I will see that the house is locked up."
Jenner retired respectfully. It was an early household as a rule, and the servants were generally in bed by half-past 10. Grant sat there with the telegram in his hand. Then something in the postmark attracted his attention, and he regarded the paper more carefully.
"Very odd," he said to himself. "I quite thought that this was the 6th May. I should lave been prepared to swear to that. And this telegram is post-marked the 5th. I suppose I'm wrong. Still—"
Just for a moment Hubert was inclined to let the matter pass. Then he rose from his chair and went into the dining-room. By the side of the old-fashioned fireplace a calendar hung. He bent down and looked at it long and carefully.
"I'm right, after all." he said. "This is Saturday the 6th May. And the postmark on a telegram that is obviously sent out from London this morning is post-marked a day wrong. Now, fancy a post office official making a mistake like that! I have never heard of such a thing before. I'll put this in my pocket and—well, Jenner?"
Jenner stood there quiet and respectful as usual. He had discarded most of his clothing, and appeared now in his pyjamas.
"I beg your pardon for disturbing you, sir," he said, "but there is a burglar in the library. Shall I and tell the police, or shall you and me, sir, tackle the person? It is not much in my line, being by nature a timid man, sir; but if you like—?"
Grant jumped hurriedly from his seat, his face hard and set.
"Come along." he whispered. "We shall be able to manage him between us."
"Beg pardon, sir," Jenner murmured. "It isn't a he at all, sir—it's a woman!"
CHAPTER III.—Enter Mr. Smith.
Hubert was inclined to be amused. The correctness and solemnity of Jenner's manner by no means disguised his nervousness. The man was white and frightened. On the other hand Grant regarded the situation with a certain feeling of amusement. The idea of a lady burglar was distinctly a novel one. Doubtless one of the maids had come prowling about in the darkness, and Jenner had magnified her into a professional thief.
"Better make sure first," Hubert suggested. "It seems hardly possible that anybody should come here whilst so many lights are burning. Your burglar is not noted for audacity. Go and ask her what she wants. She is probably a house maid."
"I think not, sir," Jenner said quite firmly. "I don't make those mistakes, sir. I have been in service with the best families too long sir. It is a lady."
"You mean that you have seen her face?"
"Well, no, sir. I can't go so far as that. But with my experience it is impossible to make a mistake. There's a certain delicacy of perfume that the lower classes can't get. Even a lady's maid, who ought to know better, always over does it. And the way she carries her clothes. I shall be very much obliged if you will come this way, sir."
Hubert rose from his chair. It seemed to him that Jenner's philosophy had gone far enough. He was no longer amused; on the contrary he was vexed with himself for having wasted so much valuable time. Even in this interval the daring thief might have got away with some plunder of price. And a troubled doubt began to assail Hubert. There was something very wrong about this house, some thing sinister in connection with his partner. May Leverton had come here on a more or less desperate errand, and here was another woman on a similar quest apparently. Unless it might be that the two women—
The mere suggestion sent the blood humming through Hubert's head. The idea was preposterous and absurd, and yet stranger things had happened. It would be just as well perhaps to take this matter out of Jenner's hands altogether. Even if his suspicions were groundless, there was no necessity for Jenner to know too much. Taking it for granted that the intruder was a lady; the fact was almost in itself a proof that she was here on some desperate enterprise not necessarily connected with common robbery.
"We will go and investigate," Hubert said with a gaiety he was not altogether feeling. "I don't think there will be any occasion for us to arm ourselves. I'll go in front."
Jenner did not contest the point; he appeared quite content to fall modestly in the background and leave the whole affair to Grant.
The door of the library was open, and in the darkness somebody could be heard moving about. In a corner by a window stood the big safe. A moment later a match flared out; there was a sudden jingling of keys and the click of a lock. A pale, pretty, desperately frightened face stood out just for an instant in a luminous bath of light.
It was only for an instant, but it was quite long enough for Hubert. All his wits were alert and vigorous now. In the dim rays of the match he could make out Jenner with his hand on the switch ready to flood the room with the gleam of electrics.
