Ambition’s Slave

Fred M. White

Ambition’s Slave

Warsaw 2018

Contents

I. A LORD OF MILLIONS

II. MAUDE BEAUMONT

III. WHEN SILENCE IS GOLDEN

IV. A BRIEF RESPITE

V. A VOICE FROM THE PAST

VI. FOR HER MOTHER’S SAKE

VII. LOVE OR HONOUR?

VIII. FOLLOWING IT UP

IX. TEMPTATION

X. STILL FURTHER TRIED

XI. A FREE MAN

XII. PARADISE BUILDINGS

XIII. IN THE HOUR OF NEED

XIV. WELL MET

XV. THE MESH OF CRIME

XVI. ON THE THRESHOLD

XVII. SOMETHING LIKE A GHOST

XVIII. BEWARE OF THE DOG

XIX. HOME!

XX. THE MAN, THE WOMAN, AND THE DOG

XXI. BLACK SUSPICION

XXII. KIT HAS SOMETHING TO SAY

XXIII. ROGUES IN COUNCIL

XXIV. THE HOUSE NEXT DOOR

XXV. A PORTRAIT OF A GENTLEMAN

XXVI. THE BYNGTON JEWELS

XXVII. NEWS FROM ABROAD

XXVIII. A FOREIGN NEWSPAPER

XXIX. THE STAR STILL SHINES

XXX. GUESTS AT THE CHASE

XXXI. AN OUTRAGE

XXXII. STRATEGY

XXXIII. A STRONG APPEAL

XXXIV. INSTINCT, OR WHAT?

XXXV. THE DOG AGAIN

XXXVI. COUNTESS DE LARY

XXXVII. THE UNINVITED GUEST

XXXVIII. A BLOW

XXXIX. THE POLESTAR

XL. MUSIC HATH CHARMS

XLI. IMAGINATION

XLII. THE COUNTESS SEES A FACE

XLIII. IN THE BLUE ROOM

XLIV. GRUDGING HOSPITALITY

XLV. PUTTING ON THE SCREW

XLVI. A COLLAPSE

XLVII. THE COUNTESS FINDS OUT

XLVIII. DANGER FOR MINTER

XLIX. THE TURN OF THE WHEEL

L. BLOOD MONEY

LI. MINTER IS CANDID

LII. THE PRICE OF HER FREEDOM

LIII. A HARD MASTER

LIV. THE COUNTESS SPEAKS

LV. FOR HER OWN SAKE

LVI. KIT CAUSES A SURPRISE

LVII. PAVING THE WAY

LVIII. ELI PRICE GOES HOME

LIX. BETWEEN TWO STOOLS

LX. INTO THE NET

LXI. HOME AGAIN

LXII. INTO THE NIGHT

LXIII. A DOUBLE EXIT

LXIV. AMBITION’S FALL

LXV. THE END OF IT ALL

I. A LORD OF MILLIONS

THE night had come, and Marvyn Chase was a blaze of light. The magnificent grounds gleamed with electric arc and other lamps, there were brilliant alleys picked out in flame, two of the finest bands in the county discoursed soft music in the lovely June night.

There were two other bands inside the house, for Graham Minter, South African millionaire, was doing the thing in style, to use his own expression. The long suites of oak-panelled rooms were thronged with guests, most of whom had come down for the occasion by special train, a mob of reporters and press-men generally had the run of the house.

For this was the function of the season–the fancy dress bal masqué given by Mr. Graham and Lady Mary Minter. The thing had been puffed in the papers for weeks before, the grand old house built by the dead and gone Marvyns pictured and photographed over and over again.

Everybody knew now that Graham Minter had gone steerage to Cape Town ten years ago, and that he had come back eighteen months before a millionaire ten times over.

He could have bathed in diamonds had he chosen. He was into everything. The last inter-state war in South America could never have been brought to an issue had he not financed one or the other of the combatants. That he was utterly unscrupulous did not in the least matter. He was very rich and hospitable, he had married the daughter of a marquis, and his entertainments were Arabian Nights up-to-date.

It was a wonderful function, this bal masqué. Money had been lavished on it like water. The finest bands in Europe were here, the electric lighting had cost a small fortune, the supper had been imported from Paris with one of the most famous chefs in charge.

The great function was at its height. Gorgeous figures flitted here and there, the air was heavy with the scent of perfume, the electrics shimmered on a perfect atmosphere of diamonds. The gardens of Bendemeer might have been stripped to provide all those roses there. There were banks of soft green ferns to rest the tired and jaded eye. Quite two hundred couples were waltzing in the big oak hall. Their fancy costumes made a flashing kaleidoscope of colour.

The solitary individual who wore no disguise at all was the master of the house. He was a short, thick-set, clean-shaven man, with a certain bull-dog expression. His evening-dress was quite plain and not in the least loud. He might have been a sporting farmer, and indeed his tastes were in that direction. Hard as Graham Minter was with men, he was fond of dogs and horses, and they were fond of him. He could ride and shoot to perfection. His pink face and bloodshot eyes suggested an over indulgence in good living. But Minter boasted that he could live with the fastest and wake the next day with a head as clear as a bell.

There was a slight frown on the bulldog face and a close-setting of the heavy lips. He seemed to be looking for somebody. He liked to see in the papers that this and that distinguished aristocrat had dined with him, but he cared nothing for all the lavish display and frivolity That was Lady Mary’s doing. It mattered nothing to him that he did not know half his guests by sight. They would have ignored him utterly if they had known him. They came there, they sponged on him, some of them fawned upon him for advice, but he knew what they really thought.

A graceful-looking woman, whose foolish, pretty face was exposed for a moment, flitted by. Minter shot out a hand and detained her with a grip that made her wince. The pretty face grew tearful. Lady Mary Minter was not overdone in the way of brains, she had married her husband because it suited his purpose to have a patrician wife to rule over his great ménage, but with his eyes open he knew that he was going to ally himself with a fool.

Graham, you hurt me, Lady Mary whispered.

Then stop a bit, Minter growled. Let those brainless butterflies, those shallow sponges look after them selves for a moment. I asked you to do something for me.

Did you, Graham? I had forgotten.

Minter’s eyes flashed with a murderous light. He came from the class where men beat their wives. Lady Mary fell back whimpering.

I had forgotten, she said. But indeed I did what you asked. Mr. Desborough said he could stay till midnight. And Maude Beaumont remains to sleep. Indeed, I am not so foolish as you think me, Graham.

Ain’t ye? Minter sneered. Keep those two together. Desborough won’t go so long as Maude is kind to him. And make Kit Clive useful. How is Desborough dressed?

As a lawmaker of the early Venice period–like a Doge, in fact.

That will do. Don’t you leave him till I tell you, or–

He glanced at her as he would have done at a badly-broken spaniel, his hand uplifted slightly; a less silly woman than Lady Mary would have been frightened.

He passed out of the great hall into a wide, dimly-lighted corridor, where couples who were not dancing were seated.

Nobody took the slightest notice of him, indeed he might have been one of the servants for all most of them knew or cared.

It was darker still at the end of the corridor. A figure dressed as a monk crept out of the shadows and whispered something in Minter’s ear. He flushed angrily.

Well, you’ve got a cheek, he growled. You’re useful to me in the City, but I’ll wring your neck rather than ask you to my house, Bigglestone.

That’s all right, said the other coolly. I’m not here as a guest. And there are one or two City men that you would not like to be seen talking to. The thing was imperative, so I adopted this disguise, and here I am.

Anything wrong up yonder? Minter asked uneasily.

Well, I should say so. Suppose they put Eli Price in the witness-box to-morrow.

Minter’s square jaw dropped. But the murderous expression deepened in his eyes.

Do you mean to say they’ve spotted him amongst the other guests of His Majesty at Dartmoor? he gasped.

"Well, if they have and he tells the truth when the case is called on to-morrow, I’m done. That big South African business collapses and I shall be a beggar. Jove, if some of my friends here only knew this!"

It’s quite true, Bigglestone went on. If only Clifford Desborough wasn’t the leading barrister on the other side it wouldn’t matter. But seeing that he was the leader in the Crown against Bartlett he knows too much.

Can’t we manage to keep Eli Price away? Minter suggested.

It could be done for money. Bigglestone smiled meaningly.

Then let it be done. Money is no object now. To prevent that I am prepared to pour it out like water. Bigglestone, you’ve got a scheme?

Of course I have, Bigglestone chuckled. You find the money and I’ll not shirk the rest, seeing that it’s going to put £20,000 in my pocket. But I’ve got a better idea up my sleeve.

Well, out with it, man. None of your melodramatic mystery with me.

Bigglestone looked cautiously around him. Nobody was within earshot.

The thing is quite easy, he said. Square Desborough.

Of all the fools! Minter snarled contemptuously. There isn’t a harder-headed man at the bar than Clifford Desborough. I don’t say he’s particularly honest, but he knows which policy pays best. I admit that he is poor.

And pretty considerably in debt, Bigglestone said meaningly.

Granted. But lie has a safe seat in the House of Commons and he’s certain to be made Home Secretary when Clifton resigns, as he may at any moment. And he has made up his mind to marry Maude Beaumont who has a large fortune. You might as well try to square the Premier.

Bigglestone winked knowingly. He believed in the integrity of no man. From his point of view it was only a matter of price. He led the way to a secluded seat amidst the palms and produced a bundle of long narrow strips of blue paper from his pocket. The papers had red stamps in the top left-hand corner.

Will you kindly look at these? he asked.

Minter surveyed them rapidly. As he did so the bulldog jaw was thrust out, there was a hard smile on his lips.

I’ll try it, he said, dashed if I don’t. I’ll buy these of you.

You shall, Bigglestone said hoarsely, at their full value. Squeeze him, ruin him, let him know the tale you could tell his rigid, Puritan constituents. Look there. Who’s that?

A tall figure in severe Venetian garb came along with a dainty little Beatrice on his arm. Both watchers recognized the figure of the man. Then, with a meaning glance, Bigglestone turned and vanished.

II. MAUDE BEAUMONT

THE pretty little Beatrice clung somewhat unsteadily to the arm of her companion. She was just a trifle frightened that he had recognized her a little earlier in the evening, because the man of law had followed her pretty steadily of late.

Of all the pretty girls out that season none had attracted more attention than Maude Beaumont. To begin with, she had no dragon to protect her, nothing more than an invalid mother, who rarely went out into Society. Maude had health and beauty, moreover she was just one and twenty, and her large fortune was absolutely at her disposal.

She had her own gentle but effectual way of getting rid of the many lovers who had cast themselves at her feet. But there were two that she could not shake off–that eminent barrister and member of Parliament, Clifford Desborough, and Mr. Minter’s private secretary, Christopher, otherwise Kit Clive.

Kit was all right, a handsome, clever fellow, with a clear eye and an honest face, so honest that Maude wondered why he had remained two years with Minter. For Maude was the one particular friend of Lady Mary Minter, and her opportunities for meeting with the handsome private secretary were many.

But Clifford Desborough, K.C., followed her up with a pertinacity that frightened her. He had let her know pretty well that he intended to marry her, and he belonged to the class of men who generally get their own way.

In his own way, the keen man of law admired Maude; indeed, he loved her so far as he could love anything outside his ambition. Maude had money and birth; with a rich wife Desborough might have become Prime Minister.

To-night he had determined to settle his fate one way or another. He had allowed Maude to know that from his manner. She was glad that her face was masked. He had asked her to come outside in the corridor with him and against herself she had complied. It was weak of her, but there was a certain fascination about this man. Maude would have turned back, but it was too late now.

Was there nobody at hand to deliver her? Yes? Her heart throbbed hopefully as Minter rose from a seat close by and barred their further progress. With characteristic bluntness Minter went to the point.

Very sorry to trouble you, Desborough, he said. And you, too, Miss Beaumont. No use either of you trying to disguise yourselves from me. I’ve got a most important message for you, Desborough. If Miss Beaumont will excuse me–

Oh, don’t mind me! Maude said hastily. I can wait!

She scudded hurriedly away, so hurriedly that she ran almost into the arms of a man dressed in the period of Charles of pious memory.

Well, if the gods are not good to me to-night! he said.

Mr. Clive? said Maude. But how did you know me?

Lady Mary gave you away, said Chris coolly. Knowing that she could never keep a secret, I got a description of your dress from her. Isn’t it hot? Let us go down and sit at the end of the corridor. There’s a little place there known only to myself.

In his breezy, cheerful way he slipped Maude’s arm through his own. He did not fail to note that she was trembling violently. The little alcove was cool and secluded. Clive took off his mask, and Maude did the same. Afar off the band was playing, there was a splash of water somewhere near. The colour gradually came back to Maude’s cheeks.

What has been frightening you? Clive asked.

He looked down tenderly into his companion’s face There was a strong, manly air about him that appealed to the girl. He was so different from the rest, he never followed her, he never deferred his opinion to hers, and the admiration of his eyes was honest and sincere.

I have had a narrow escape, she said, with an unsteady smile.

Oh, indeed! Somebody been trying to run away with you?

Well, not quite that, Maude said, as she fanned herself slowly. Mr. Clive, have you ever been in love in your life?

I have had the fever at times, Chris said. But not sincerely till lately. Why?

Oh, because–well, I don’t know. I have always been afraid of being married for my money. It would be such a horrible thing, you know.

Oh! So you are uncertain as to whether a certain gentleman–

Maude nodded. Clive’s sunny face looked a little grave.

If you happen to care for him, he began, why then–

But I don’t, I am sure that I don’t. He fascinates me. When I am with him I feel that I am bound to do just as he tells me. And at the same time I know perfectly well that he cares for nothing else but his ambition. He wants money to push him on in the world.

Clive nodded. He began to understand.

That description applies to Clifford Desborough, he said.

How clever you are, Maude cried. Sometimes I think I like him, and sometimes he frightens me. It would be a grand thing to be wife of a cabinet minister, but to think he only married you as a kind of ornament to his office! To think that one might have a life like Lady Mary!

Lady Mary is quite happy in her way, Clive said coolly. So long as she has plenty of money and pretty toys to play with she is perfectly contented. But you are different. You are not married to a scoundrel like Minter.

And yet you remain his private secretary?

Because I can’t help it, Clive replied. "My father made his money in the city, but not quite in the same way that Minter does. When he died, he made it a sine qua non that I should spend five years in active business. Minter took me over, so to speak, from a man who died. A few weeks more, and I am free. No city for me after September. Still, the time has not been wasted."

Then you are not dependent on your work for your living?

I’ve got a great deal more money than you, Clive said coolly, so you need not look upon me with a suspicious eye at any rate. But I’m going to show you a means of getting rid of Desborough’s attention.

Maude’s face flushed, and she smiled.

If you only would, she said eagerly. If you only knew how he frightens and fascinates me. And he is hard and unfeeling.

Maude’s hands went out to her companion impulsively. He caught them and held them in his strong grip and grasp that thrilled her. Then he drew her close to him, so that he could look down into her beautiful, troubled eyes.

Marry me, darling, he whispered. Maude, I have known you for a year or more now. During that time we have been good friends. And the longer I have known you the greater is my love for you. Fortunately there is nothing to be said against me on the score of my position. As a poor secretary I could not have spoken. And I have always felt that you liked me, Maude. If you can come to love me–

He paused, and looked into the rosy, flushed face. There was a smile on the girl’s lips, and something like tears in her eyes. A light broke in upon Clive.

Maude, he whispered. Maude, do you care for me a little bit?

She slipped her arms about his neck. There was happiness in her eyes now.

I love you, she said. I loved you all the time, and I never knew it. It was only when you spoke that a veil seemed to fall away, and I could read my own heart clearly. But I never thought that you–

Well, other people did, Clive said joyously. Foolish as she is, Lady Mary knows. In spite of her follies and extravagances, she is a good woman at heart, and nobody will be more pleased. And to think that you did not know!

Perhaps I did, Maude said shyly. And so my troubles are ended. I was terribly afraid that I should have to marry Mr. Desborough.

Nobody but me, whispered Clive as he gathered her his arms. I shall take an opportunity of letting Mr. Desborough know of the little arrangement to-night, and there will be an end of him so far as we are concerned.

Maude lay back on her lover’s shoulder with a little sigh of relief. It was all so sweet and so fair, and so different from what she had expected. And to think that she had loved Kit Clive all this time without being in the least aware of the fact! It was a long time before they returned to the ball-room. Most of the guests were unmasked as supper had been announced. Clifford Desborough was standing by the door as if anxiously looking for somebody. His face was white and set, his eyes were glittering with a steady, gleaming fire.

I have been looking for you everywhere, he said to Maude. His voice was hoarse and hard.

We’ve been away on business, said Clive cheerfully.

Congratulate me. We shall want your advice later on over the marriage settlements.

Desborough bowed and smiled mechanically. He bent his face low to hide its sudden pallor.

Good Heavens! he muttered. "That cord snapped too! When is it going to end?"

III. WHEN SILENCE IS GOLDEN

WHEN Minter had stopped Maude and Clifford Desborough, the latter seemed to resent the intrusion of his host. He had taken Maude aside to put his fortune to the test. Ambitious, pushing, clever, absolutely certain of cabinet rank, there was one thing which the lawyer required, and that was a wife with plenty of money.

How necessary this was, he alone knew. The man was desperately in need of money. He stood on the narrow edge of ruin, it needed but a touch to send him either way. He might yet attain dizzy heights; on the other hand, if bankruptcy overtook him his political career was ended.

Therefore he kept his temper. It does not do to quarrel with millionaires who seem to require one’s services urgently. Perhaps here there was a chance to lay hands upon the cash that Desborough so sorely needed.

He looked around him hurriedly. He was about to say something to Maude Beaumont, but she had already slipped away. He saw her stopped by a masked figure that he recognized as Kit Clive, and something like an oath rose to his lips.

If the matter is urgent, he said, why–?

Nothing more urgent under the sun, said Minter. Come along! What do you and I care for all this tomfoolery?

Desborough forced a laugh. The money wasted here to-night would have made him a free man, and absolutely assured his future. A feeling of envy assailed him as he looked at the flowers and the pictures, and caught the distant flood of melody. A single word from Minter would have put him right. He wondered if his host was aware how desperate were his circumstances.

We all like to relax at times, he said. Lead the way–

Minter turned into a little room at the end of the corridor that chanced to be empty. He locked the door, and signified to Desborough to lay aside his mask. The latter accepted the proffered cigarette.

What do you want me for? Desborough asked.

Minter looked him straight in the face. There was a fighting gleam in his eyes, a hard expression on the bulldog mouth.

I’ll come to the point at once, he said. I’m not one of those men who waste a lot of valuable time on what they call diplomacy. You have a big case coming on tomorrow–Mackness against the Certified Company. As you are aware, I am practically the company.

So I understand, said Desborough. And you are going to lose. Will that make any great difference to you?

Minter’s great jaw came out with an ugly sweep.

All the difference, he said hoarsely. Connect us with those smuggled arms and we forfeit our trading rights with all the South American States you know of. I’ve got every penny I can scrape together wrapped up in that business. If we fail now, down goes the whole house of cards.

I’m sorry to hear that, Desborough said politely. Your connexion with those smuggled arms is not on the face of my instructions, but I am going to prove it out of the mouth of one of your witnesses–Ericsson.

Ah, that is as I suspected! Now, listen to me. If you made it easy for Ericsson your clients would be none the wiser. It would be at worst no more than an error of judgment on your part. Nobody could blame you.

The mere suggestion is absurd, Desborough said coldly. People might say I had made a mistake, that is all–as you say, a mere error of judgment. Why?

Because you are going to commit that error of judgment.

The words came out with a hoarse growl from Minter’s lips. There was no suggestion of compromise about him, no gilding of the pill. He was commanding Desborough to betray his client’s case, and abandon his own honour. Desborough stepped forward, thrilled to the finger-tips.

I am going to sell my brief! he gasped. You scoundrel!

Minter smiled. He was not in the least moved.

Hard words break no bones! he said. I’m in a hole, my friend, an infernally deep hole. And you are in the same place. You get out on my shoulders, and then you pull me up afterwards. Or we are both ruined.

And why should I do this? Desborough sneered.

Upon my word–

Oh, drop it, Minter said impatiently. I’ve got you on the hip. For months you have been dealing with the money-lenders. You are hopelessly ruined. All those documents you have signed–those little bills–are in my hands. See.

He held out the long slips of blue paper that Bigglestone had given him. He slapped the pile with a vicious hand.

See here–and here, he cried, your signatures to all of them. I bought them up as a speculation. They are mine, you understand. Fourteen thousand pounds’ worth, and every penny overdue. My future Home Secretary, you are in my hands. I can make your fortune or I can make you bankrupt on Monday morning.

Desborough staggered back. The full force of it utterly overcame him.

Good Heavens, he said hoarsely. I can’t find as many shillings, man; have you no feeling, no sense of honour?

His face was pale, the beads were running down his forehead. Minter thrust the suggestion aside with hard contempt.

Don’t prate to me, he said. What are you trying to do? To catch a girl you care nothing about for the sake of her money. And you are right because money is everything, and truth and honour mere empty sounds. The people who come here sneer at me, but they would black my boots for a scrap of early information. I could walk on a carpet of coronets if I liked.

Desborough paced backwards and forwards. He was like a rat caught in a trap. He knew this man would have no more mercy on him than a terrier with the rat aforesaid. The steady eye and the cruel jaw showed that.

Well, get on, Minter said impatiently. You are perfectly safe. You said just now that the omission of a few questions would not be deemed anything more than an error of judgment. It would make no difference to you. It would leave me as I stand instead of stripping me of everything.

I am thinking, Desborough said slowly.

Then let me think for you, Minter replied with an oath. Think of the place that you have so fairly won filled by another. Think of your smug constituency holding up their hands in horror at the news that their respected member has lost over five thousand pounds on the turf. A bankrupt! After that there would be no fresh start, no whitewashing for you. The people I mention are the backbone of your following: oily Pharisees, who may yet force you on to the Premiership. Think of the honour and glory that lies before you, all for a few minutes of discreet silence. Think–but I am wasting time. Why parley with me, why juggle with what you call a conscience? You have made up your mind already.

If you gave me time.

Not an hour, not a moment, cried Minter instantly, following up his advantage. You can’t find the money to pay me off. It is only when a man starts to borrow that he discovers how lonely he is. Do you accept my terms or not?

Minter put the question in a hoarse whisper. He bent forward, with his eyes almost glaring into those of his unhappy victim. There was no disguise about him. He was proposing a vile and dishonourable course, and he took no shame in it.

And the worst of it was, Desborough was perfectly safe. Nobody would find out what he was going to do.

I have only your word to rely on, he said feebly.

To-morrow these bills shall be passed over to you. As to my word–why, you have got to accept what I offer you.

Desborough lunged out desperately at his tempter. In a sudden despairing fury he reached for the door, turned the key, and rushed down the corridor. All his emotion was absolutely lost on Minter. He followed a moment later until he came to the spot where he hoped to meet the disguised Bigglestone. The latter rose from behind a cluster of waving palms.

Well! he asked breathlessly. Well?

Gone off in a fury, Minter chuckled. But he didn’t defy me, and I moved him as he has never been moved before.

Then you didn’t come to any arrangement?

Not definitely, Minter replied, with the same diabolical chuckle. but for all that the thing is as good as done.

IV. A BRIEF RESPITE

OF the darker side of human nature Minter was a perfect judge.