A MYSTERIOUS LEGACY
Mr. Cherry, head partner of the firm of Cherry & Lawrence, sat in his
private room, expecting the young heir. A japanned box, bearing the
Bracebridge name on its lid, was at his feet; a bulky packet, sealed
with many seals and addressed 'Thomas Gregory,' was on the table beside
him; and the parchment wrapper, out of which, apparently, the packet
had been taken, lay spread out on his desk. The wrapper bore the
following inscription:--
'To William Cherry, of the City of London, solicitor,--My will and
last instructions are sealed up in this packet, which I desire may be
opened by you after my death, or, in case of your dying before me, by
the representative you may appoint. By the love you bear me, I beseech
you to see my last wishes carried out.'
(Signed) 'BYRAJEE PIRTHA RAJ.'
Four years before this mysterious packet had been conveyed to Mr.
Cherry by a secure hand. He was an old man, and the rajah was in the
prime of life. It had never, therefore, occurred to him that his would
be the hand to open it. But the unexpected had befallen. The rajah
had fallen by the knife of an assassin; and when Mr. Cherry, in the
presence of two witnesses, opened the parcel left with him, he found
a formal, unusually brief will, duly signed and witnessed, with the
packet already mentioned, which was to be given as it was into the
hands of the heir.
By this time Mr. Cherry had recovered from his first shock of surprise,
but to any who knew him well it would have been evident that he was
still extraordinarily moved. He was a person well known in London
at that time. His mellifluous voice, his gift of well-balanced and
persuasive speech, and his dignified manner, with the snow-white hair
that became him so well, the broad massive forehead, determined mouth,
and calm blue eyes, made him the very prince of family solicitors. The
world said Mr. Cherry had mistaken his vocation: lawn sleeves and a
bishop's crozier would have suited him far better than a lawyer's gown.
Mr. Cherry agreed with the world. But Providence--a power towards
which he maintained and instilled the deepest reverence--had decreed
it otherwise, and he accepted his lot with cheerfulness, bringing the
gifts that would have adorned another profession to the service of that
into which he had been thrown. It must be confessed that the gifts
had proved useful. Mr. Cherry had a large and distinguished flock of
clients, enriched by whose gratitude he could have retired years before
from the arena of public life. But to retire was just the one thing
that they would not let him do. It was whispered that men and women
went to him as to a father-confessor; that secrets which would have
staggered the brain of an ordinary man were hidden away securely behind
that calm, wide brow; and that the reputations and fortunes of some of
the noblest families in England were in his keeping. However that may
have been, it is certain that no one ever repented having confided in
him. His clients were his children, whom it was his pleasure, no less
than his duty, to protect and guide.
The Bracebridges had for years belonged to the number of Mr. Cherry's
flock. The rajah who had just died was their last male representative,
for the English branch had long died out, and the family property, to
the profound grief of the old lawyer, had passed into other hands.
Mrs. Gregory, whose small patrimony he had nursed carefully, was the
only one left of the family; and although he was on perfectly good
terms with her, he had allowed her, when she married Captain Gregory,
to pass out of the sphere of his influence. He was sorry to-day that he
had not seen more of her boy.
'It is a great responsibility to fall upon young shoulders,' he said
to himself, 'and I fear the instructions won't help him much--a
mysterious, a _most_ mysterious dispensation of Providence. May God
help and guide the poor boy!'
This was not a mere form. Mr. Cherry did believe firmly in a Power
overruling the seemingly capricious allotments of what fools call fate.
That he felt it expedient from time to time to remind this august
Ordainer of the consequences that might flow from His mysterious
dispositions was a fault rather of the head than of the heart. He had
himself in his small way more than once played the part of a human
Providence, and he was conscious, even to morbidness, of the importance
of the rôle.
While he sat thinking Tom was shown in. He rose and saluted him
gravely. 'Mr. Gregory,' he said, 'I congratulate you. This is a great
change in your fortunes.'
'So great, Mr. Cherry, that I have not been able to realise it yet.'
'I can understand that. But sit down. I will try, with your leave, to
make things clear to you. Mrs. Gregory, of course----'
'One moment, Mr. Cherry,' broke in Tom. 'I must begin by telling you
that my mother has told me nothing. I did not know, until yesterday,
that we had any Indian relatives at all. I asked her to explain, and
she referred me to you.'
'Very strange! very strange!' said the lawyer musingly. 'Mrs. Gregory
was surprised?'
'She was more than surprised.'
'Shocked?'
'Yes; I believe she was really shocked,' said Tom. 'My mother told me,
you know, to speak to you freely,' he added.
'Certainly. I should be pained if you did not,' said Mr. Cherry in his
most impressive manner. 'Mr. Gregory, I have been the friend of your
mother's family for three generations. They have all treated me with
confidence. You, it seems, are chosen to carry on the traditions of the
race. Why this is, I must tell you frankly, I cannot even guess. But it
is so. If you permit it, I will be your friend as I have been theirs.'
'Thank you,' said Tom, grasping cordially the hand which the old lawyer
extended to him. 'I accept your offer with pleasure. And I only hope I
may prove worthy of your friendship.'
These preliminaries over, they proceeded to business. In a few clear
words Mr. Cherry explained to Tom what the relationship had been
between his mother and the rajah. The will, which should be laid
before him presently, was of the simplest. There were a few legacies
to servants and retainers, a bequest to Mr. Cherry, and the remainder
absolutely, in the words of the will, to 'Thomas Gregory, my cousin's
son.'
'Are there no conditions?' asked Tom.
'None whatever. I gather from a private letter, which I will put in
your hands, that you are nominated as your cousin's successor in the
raj. But, as Gumilcund has been for some years a protected state, the
Company will have something to say about that. You had better put
yourself in communication with the Lieutenant Governor. There is a
resident, who will look after things there meanwhile. I have _heard_
that Lord Dalhousie had a particular affection for Gumilcund. But this
is all for the future.'
'Whatever my responsibilities may be,' said Tom, 'I assure you that I
have no desire to shirk them.'
'Well said,' answered Mr. Cherry. 'But we must be patient. We must do
nothing in a hurry. I may tell you, in the meantime, that your cousin
had a considerable amount of property in England. He sent over his
surplus revenues for us to invest. This was with the view, I believe,
of carrying out some new scheme. We have large sums in our hands
now waiting to be dealt with, and you can draw upon them as soon as
you like. I keep a clerk on purpose to deal with what we call the
Indian-Bracebridge property--an intelligent fellow, and a keen man of
business. He shall wait upon you at whatever time you like to name, and
give you every sort of information.'
Here he paused and cleared his throat. The dramatic moment of the
interview had come, and it had to be met with proper dignity.
'You have something more to tell me,' said Tom.
'Yes,' said Mr. Cherry impressively. 'I have something more to tell
you. A will, as I have often said, is public property. It is the duty
of the law to see it carried out. But men may have wishes as well as
intentions, although they may not think it prudent to complicate their
last will and testament by inserting them. In such case they will often
leave them behind in other forms, leaving it to their successors to
carry them out. This, I imagine, your cousin the rajah has done.' He
drew forward the sealed packet. 'Inside the wrapper which contained the
rajah's will,' he went on, 'I found this.'
'How strange! How very strange!' said Tom. 'This is just what I was
hoping for.'
'Take it away with you,' said Mr. Cherry, 'and open it at your leisure.
But let me say one word first. There can be nothing legally binding
in these papers. You will read them, of course, and no doubt you will
try to act in their spirit; but I should not advise you to attempt
to follow them slavishly. Your cousin, though he had an English
grandfather, was an Asiatic of the Asiatics.'
'Was he a Mohammedan?'
'No; nor, I believe, a Hindu; but he was not a Christian. I am afraid
he had no settled religion unless at the last; there is just the
hope. The truth was put before him faithfully, though in weakness,'
said Mr. Cherry, his voice faltering. 'What I mean by his being an
Asiatic is that his sympathies were rather with the East than with
the West. He was one of the greatest Sanskrit and Persian scholars
of our generation. I am told he knew the Vedas and the Zend Avesta,
not to speak of all the great Hindu poems and the mass of Buddhistic
literature, as we know our Bibles. It was marvellous that one mind
could have carried so much learning. Yes, and he was a delightful man
to meet--courteous, gracious. He had the most wonderful way of setting
his friends at their ease and overcoming their prejudices. I think
sometimes now that, but for this charm of manner, I might have been
more faithful with him. But'--very sadly--'the opportunity has gone.'
As he spoke he rose from his seat. He saw by the strained look in Tom's
face that he was listening to him with an effort. 'Excuse me,' he said,
'I am an old man, and, I suppose, garrulous. You are anxious to be
alone with your papers.'
'I shall open them at home,' said Tom quietly. 'I am much obliged to
you, Mr. Cherry. I will come again when I have read them, and perhaps
you will tell me more about my cousin then. I assure you'--smiling--'I
cannot hear too much.'
'The boy has _their_ manner--their look too,' said the old lawyer to
himself when he was left alone. 'I wonder where he got it? Harking
back, I suppose. A very strange thing this heredity is--a very strange
thing indeed!'
* * * * *
It was afternoon when Tom returned to the cottage. Finding, no little
to his relief, that his mother was out, he hurried up to his room, shut
and locked the door, and drew out his mysterious packet. As he sat with
it before him his heart beat more quickly than usual, for he felt like
one called upon to converse with spirits and to enter into the secret
counsels of the dead.
Then, his excitement increasing as he proceeded, he began to break one
by one the seals with which it was closed. At the last seal he paused,
and cast a rapid glance round the room, whispering half aloud: 'Is
anyone there?'
There was no answer, and his glance, which had been merely mechanical,
for he _knew_ no one had come into the room with him, strayed to
the window. 'I am dreaming as I did last night,' he said to himself
bitterly. 'If this sort of thing goes on I shall be a perfect visionary
soon, fit for nothing but a lunatic asylum. Ah!' he interrupted
himself, 'what is that?'
At the word he leapt up, crossed the room in one bound, threw the
Venetian shutters open, and looked out. There was no one--absolutely no
one--not a human being within sight or sound. The Sleeping Beauty's
palace could scarcely have been more still than this green garden
world, as it lay basking in the light of the golden afternoon.
Calling himself by a variety of contemptuous names, Tom strode back
to his seat. There should be no more of this foolish nonsense, he
said, and he broke the last seal. The wrapper at once fell open,
revealing a little pile of papers, which appeared to be covered with
minute handwriting. Tom's heart was by this time beating like a
sledge-hammer. What was he going to hear? What was he going to see?
He took up the first paper and examined it closely; but how great
was his disappointment when he found that he could not make out a
word of it! He passed rapidly to the next. It was as unintelligible.
Two--three--four he unfolded; the result was the same. To his eye,
unpractised in Oriental writings, one was exactly like the other. This,
he said to himself bitterly, was like offering a man bread and giving
him a stone. At last, when he had gone through nearly the whole of the
pile of papers, he came to one different in appearance from any of the
others. It was smaller in size, but thicker, and the leaves were gummed
together at the edges. He was about to open it when he saw that there
was an inscription on the outside, written in characters exceedingly
minute, but not Oriental. He held it up to the light and read as
follows: 'Unless you are capable of forming a firm resolution, go no
further!'
While he was wondering what this might mean he turned the roll over,
and saw that words were written on the other side also. These were
still stranger: 'If you are brave and resolute, open without fear.'
He paused to think. It was so silent in the room that he could hear the
beating of his own heart. He was asking himself if he had the qualities
required by his mysterious benefactor, and wondering what could be the
nature of the secret which must be approached in so resolute a spirit.
Weird stories of dim antiquity--of beautiful things grasped at by eager
hands and won, but won through strife, and blood, and tears--floated
through his brain as he sat hesitating, the unopened roll before him.
Suddenly he found himself speaking, uttering the thought that was
passing through his mind. 'I think I could act with resolution if the
necessity arose. I am not all I should be; of that I am well aware;
but----'
And here he broke short, for the impression he had combated a few
moments before had come to him again, and this time with a force that
there was no denying. For an instant he sprang up wildly. Then, feeling
dazed and helpless, he sank back, covering his face with his hands.
In the next moment a clear, low voice was sounding through the room.
'You mistake. It is not a question of worthiness, or even of ability.
The qualities we want are four: humility and honesty--and these you
have proved that you possess; courage, which you do not deny yourself;
and an obedient mind, which you may possibly have to learn. Open the
paper and learn its secrets!'
'Who are you that presume to command me?' said Tom tremulously.
'That I may not tell you. I have been near you all your life, but never
so near as now, when the Holy Ones have permitted me to be the bearer
of their message. The good that is given, they say, must be expended in
good.'
'Do you doubt that I feel it?' cried Tom.
'It is because I do not that I encourage you to open the paper.'
'But why----'
'I can tell you nothing. The past has gone from me. You must learn,
moreover, as it is given to you to learn, not altogether, but little
by little, and learning first an obedient mind.'
'To whom is my obedience to be given?'
'That will be shown to you. First steps must ever be taken with faith.
Have courage!'
'It is not cowardice that makes me hesitate.'
'You are right. It is honesty. Then take time. To-night you will
decide.'
At this moment, when all Tom's nerves were tingling, there broke upon
his ears sounds so familiar that in an instant they put to flight the
weird impressions under which he had been labouring. 'Tom; I say, Tom!
The dear boy is asleep or he would answer. I will go and see.' It was
his mother's cheerful voice that rang up the stairway. In another
moment her hand was on the door. 'Why, it is locked!' she cried. 'Are
you asleep, dear? Let me in!' And she gave a series of impatient taps.
'In one moment,' said Tom.
He gathered up the heap of papers, threw them into his writing-drawer,
looked searchingly round the room, and then, whispering under his
breath, 'Until to-night!' opened the door to admit his mother.