The Brooklyn murders

by G. D. H. Cole

“You must do what you can to help me,” she said. “I’ve told Uncle Vernon again to-day that on no account will I ever marry John, and he absolutely refuses to listen to me. He says it’s all settled, and his will’s made on that understanding, and that we’re engaged, and a whole lot more. I must make him realise that I won’t; but you know what he is. I want you to speak to him for me.”

Lucas thought a moment before replying. Then, “My dear,” he said, “I’m very sorry about it, and you know I will do what I can; but is this quite the time? We should only be accused, with some truth, of spoiling Sir Vernon’s birthday. Let it alone for a few days, and then I’ll try talking to him. But it won’t be easy, at any time.”

“Yes, uncle; but there’s a special reason why it must be done to-night. Uncle Vernon tells me that he is going to announce the terms of his will, and that he will speak of what he calls John’s and my ‘engagement.’ I really can’t allow that to happen. I don’t really mind about the will, or John getting the money; but it must not be publicly given out that John is to have me as well. Uncle Vernon has no right to leave me as part of his ‘net personalty’ to John or anybody else.”

Lucas sighed. He foresaw an awkward interview; for Sir Vernon was not an easy man to deal with, and latterly every year had made him more difficult. But he saw that he was in for it, and, with a reassuring word to Joan, passed into the house in search of his host.

As Joan turned back to rejoin the others, Robert Ellery stepped quickly to her side. Slim and slightly built, he offered a strong contrast to Prinsep’s tall, sturdy figure. Joan’s two lovers were very different types. Ellery was not strictly handsome; but he had an invincible air of being on good terms with the world which, with a ready smile and a clear complexion, were fully as effective as the most approved type of manly beauty. Still under thirty, he was just beginning to make himself a name. A play of his had recently been produced with success by the Brooklyn Corporation: one of his detective novels had made something of a hit, and his personal popularity was helping him to win rapid recognition for his undoubted talent as a writer. Moreover, his guardian, Lucas, was a big figure in the dramatic and literary world, knew everybody who was worth knowing, and had a high opinion of the ability of his ward.

It was obvious that Ellery was in love with Joan. Few men had less power of concealing what was in them, and everybody in the Brooklyn circle, except Sir Vernon himself, was well aware that Ellery thought the world of Joan, and more than suspected that she thought the world of him. Of course, the theory could not be mentioned in Prinsep’s presence; but, when he was not there, the situation was freely discussed. George Brooklyn and his wife always maintained that, even if Joan did not marry Ellery, she would certainly not marry Prinsep. Carter Woodman, Sir Vernon’s lawyer as well as his cousin, held firmly to the opposite opinion, and often hinted that Sir Vernon’s will would settle the question in Prinsep’s favour; but then, as George said, Woodman was a lawyer and his mind naturally ran on the marriage settlements rather than the marriage itself.

The Brooklyns were neither particularly united nor particularly quarrelsome, in their own family circles. They had their bickerings and their mutual dislikes to about the average extent; but more than the normal amount of family solidarity had manifested itself in their dealings with the outer world. Two “outsiders,” Lucas and Ellery, were indeed recognised almost as members of the family; and, on the other hand, one black sheep, Sir Vernon’s brother Walter, had been driven forth and refused further recognition. For the rest, they stuck together, and accepted for the most part unquestioningly Sir Vernon’s often tyrannical, but usually benevolent, authority. If Joan had been a real Brooklyn, George would hardly have been so confident that she would not marry Prinsep.

But Joan was not really a Brooklyn at all. She was the step-daughter of Walter, who had for a time retrieved his fallen fortunes, fallen through his own fault, by marrying the rich widow of Cowper, the “coffee king.” The widow had then obligingly died, and Walter Brooklyn had lost no time in spending her money, including the large sum left in trust for Joan by her mother. But it was not this, so much as Walter’s manner of life, that had caused Joan, at twenty-one, to say that she would live with him no longer. Sir Vernon, to whom she was strongly attached, had then offered her a home, and for five years she had been in fact mistress of his house, and hostess at his lavish entertainment of his theatrical friends. From the first Sir Vernon had set his heart on her marrying his nephew, John Prinsep, who was ten years her senior. But Joan was a young woman with a will of her own; and for five years she had resisted the combined pressure of Sir Vernon and of John Prinsep himself, without any success in persuading either Sir Vernon to give up the idea, or Prinsep of the hopelessness of his suit. Prinsep persisted in believing that she would “come round,” though of late her growing friendship with Ellery had made him more anxious to secure her consent to a definite engagement.

Ordinarily, Prinsep had a way of scowling when he saw Joan and Ellery together; but to-night he seemed without a care as he came up to Joan and invited her to lead the way indoors. Dinner was already served; and Sir Vernon with Lucas was waiting for them all to come in.

There, in the great Board Room of the Corporation, they offered, one by one, their congratulations to the old man. An enemy had once said of Sir Vernon Brooklyn that he was the finest stage gentleman in Europe—both on and off the stage. The saying was unjust, but there was enough of truth in it to sting. Sir Vernon was a little apt to act off the stage; and the habit had perhaps grown on him since his retirement. To-night, with his fine silver hair and keen, well-cut features, he was very much the gentleman, dispensing noble hospitality with just too marked a sense of its magnificence. But it was Sir Vernon’s day, and his guests were there to do his will, to draw him out into reminiscence, to enhance his sense of having made the most of life’s chances, and of being sure to leave behind him those who would carry on the great tradition. The talk turned to the building of the Piccadilly Theatre. The old man told them how, from the first days of his success, he had made up his mind to build himself the finest theatre in London. From the first he had his eye on the site of Liskeard House; and it had taken him twenty years to persuade the Liskeards, impoverished as they were, to sell it for such a purpose. At last he had secured the site, and then again his foresight had been rewarded. Not for nothing had he paid for George Brooklyn’s training as an architect, based on the lad’s own bent, and given him the opportunity to study playhouse architecture in every quarter of the globe. The Piccadilly Theatre was not only George Brooklyn’s masterpiece: it was, structurally, acoustically, visually, for comfort, in short in every way, the finest theatre in the world. It was also the best paying theatre. And, the old man said, if in his day he had been the finest actor, so was George’s wife still the finest actress, if only she would not waste on domesticity the gift that was meant for mankind. For Mrs. George Brooklyn, as Isabelle Raven, had been the star of the Piccadilly Theatre until she had married its designer and quitted the stage, sorely against Sir Vernon’s will.