Thus my life went on until I grew to manhood, and then two grave
events befell, following close upon each other's heels. First, my
father died. He was absent from home at the time, and we had had no
forewarning of the loss. I do not know whether his errand when he left
us, to be away, he said, for four or five weeks, was one of pleasure
or business. Quite suddenly, before the time had elapsed, I was
summoned to my mother's room by Mrs. Fortress.
"Your mother has the most serious news to impart to you," said Mrs.
Fortress, "and I think it well to warn you not to excite her."
I had not seen my mother for several days, and I inquired of Mrs.
Fortress as to the state of her health.
"She is still unwell," said Mrs. Fortress, "and very weak. I am afraid
of the consequences of the shock she has received this morning."
"No one has visited us," I observed. "She can have been told nothing."
"The news came by post," said Mrs. Fortress.
"In a letter from my father?" I asked.
"Your father did not write," said Mrs. Fortress.
There was a significance in her tone, usually so cold and impassive,
which attracted my attention.
"But the news concerns my father."
"Yes, it concerns your father."
"He is ill."
"He has been seriously ill. You will learn all from your mother."
Before I entered my mother's chamber I divined the truth.
"You sent for me, mother," I said.
"Yes, Gabriel," she replied. "Sit here, by my side."
I obeyed her, and there was a long silence in the room.
"Kiss me, Gabriel."
I kissed her, somewhat in wonder. It is the plain truth that we had
grown to be almost strangers to each other.
"Has Mrs. Fortress told you?" she asked.
"She has told me nothing definite," I replied, "except that you have
news of my father, and that he is ill."
"His illness is at an end," said my mother. "Can you not guess,
Gabriel?"
"Yes, mother," I said, "I think I know."
"It is very sudden, Gabriel. When he went away he was in good health."
She gave me the letter she had received, and I read it without remark.
It was from one who was a stranger to us, and was addressed from
Wales. The writer said that my father was his friend--which surprised
me, as I had never heard my father or mother mention his name--and had
died in his house, where my father was staying on a visit.
"He had been ailing for two or three days past," the letter said, "and
had complained of his head, but I did not think that anything serious
was the matter with him, or I should have written to you at once. It
did not appear that he was alarmed; indeed, he said that it was only a
slight attack, and that it would soon pass away. Against his wish we
called in a doctor, who agreed with him and us that there was no
danger. Thus there was nothing to prepare us for the sad event the
news of which it is our painful duty to communicate to you. He kept
his room yesterday, and in the evening said that he felt better. At
ten o'clock my wife and I wished him goodnight, and thought he would
retire at once to rest, but from after indications we learnt that he
had not undressed, but had sat in his arm-chair the whole of the
night. There was a bell at his elbow, from which I heard a faint ring
at five o'clock this morning. It woke me from my sleep, and it also
aroused my wife. 'That is Mr. Carew's bell,' my wife said; 'you had
better go to him.' I rose immediately, and went to his room. I found
our poor friend sitting in the arm-chair, and I at once recognised his
grave condition. I roused the servants, and sent for the doctor; then
I returned to your husband, and told him what I had done. I cannot say
whether he understood me, for he was quite speechless, but I followed
the direction of his eyes, and saw a sheet of paper upon which he had
written a few words. They were not very legible, but I understand from
them that it was his desire that he should be buried from Rosemullion.
We shall respect his wish, and you will therefore be prepared for what
is to follow. Although he was speechless, and life was surely ebbing
away, he was calm and composed. My wife and I sat with him until the
doctor arrived. Nothing could be done for him, and at twenty minutes
to seven this morning your poor husband passed away in peace. It would
doubtless have been a satisfaction to him could he have spoken to us,
and have imparted to us his last wishes, but he had not the power. Two
or three times he seemed to make an effort, and we inclined our ears
to hear what he had to say. No sound, however, proceeded from his
lips; he had not the strength to utter a word. The effort over, he
seemed to be resigned."
The letter contained the expression of a sincere sympathy for our
bereavement.
"He died peacefully," said my mother. "All deaths are not so."
"Madam!" cried Mrs. Fortress, in a warning tone.
Did it spring from my fancy that my mother's remark was uttered in
fear, and was intended to bear a personal reference, and that Mrs.
Fortress's "Madam!" sounded like a threat? If it were or were not so,
my mother quickly recovered herself.
"It is good to know that your father did not suffer," she said.
"Death is not a pleasant subject to talk about," observed Mrs.
Fortress.
"What has passed between my mother and myself is quite natural," I
retorted; it appeared to me that her remark was unnecessary.
"I beg your pardon," she said, but although her words conveyed an
apology, her voice did not.
Shortly afterwards my mother pleaded that she was tired, and I left
the room.
Upon the news of my father's death becoming known I had two visitors,
the doctor who attended on my mother, and a lawyer. I may mention here
that these were the only persons who, with myself, followed my father
to the grave. The doctor's visit was one of condolence, and he indulged
in the usual platitudes which, but for the occasion, I should not have
listened to with patience. He bade me good day with a sigh, and called
into his face an expression of dolour which I knew was assumed for my
benefit.
The lawyer's visit was upon business. He came to acquaint me with the
particulars of my father's Will.
"I have the rough draft in my office," he said; "the Will itself we
shall doubtless find among your father's private papers. It was his
habit, when he intended to be absent from home for any length of time,
to leave the key of his safe in my keeping, I have brought it with
me."
We went together to my father's special room, the room in which he
wrote and transacted his private business, and which was always kept
locked. No person, unbidden, was allowed to enter it but himself.
Although I had now been living at Rosemullion for many years I had
been but once in this apartment, and then I took no particular notice
of it. The key of the room had been found in his portmanteau, which he
had taken with him to Wales, and had been delivered up to me with his
other effects.
It was plainly furnished. There were two chairs, a couch, and a
writing-table--nothing more; not a picture, not an ornament, not a
single evidence of luxury. The walls were hung with old tapestry on
which battle scenes were worked.
"Rosemullion is not a modern building," said the lawyer, "but perhaps
you are already familiar with its history, being a student."
I said, In reply, that I was not aware that Rosemullion was of ancient
origin, nor that it had a history.
"Did your father never speak to you on the subject?" asked the lawyer.
"Never," I replied.
"Perhaps it was not of much interest to him," remarked the lawyer.
"The house belonged to a great family once, who owned vast tracts of
land hereabout. They ruled here for many generations, I believe,
until, as is the case with numberless others who carried it with a
high hand in times gone by, they lost their place in the world. If the
truth were known we should learn--to judge from my experiences, and
supposing them to be worth anything--that there was but one cause why
they were wiped out. Spendthrift father, spendthrift heir, followed by
another, and perhaps by another; land parted with piecemeal, mortgaged
and sold, till heirlooms and stone-walls are called upon, and the
wreck is complete. It is an old story, and is being played out now by
many inheritors of ancient names."
"The chairs and couch in the room," I said, "are modern. Not so the
writing-table."
It was made of stout oak, and bore signs of long service. Its massive
legs were wonderfully carved, and were fixed deep in the oaken
flooring. The lawyer's remarks had given the place an interest in my
eyes, and I gazed around with lively curiosity.
"If these walls could speak," I said, "they would be able to tell
strange stories."
"Many of which," said the lawyer, with a dry cough, "are better
unrevealed. It is quite as well that dumb memorials cannot rise in
witness against us."
"So that we are no better off than our forefathers."
"And no worse," said the lawyer, sententiously. "We are much of a
muchness, ancients and moderns. I had no idea till to-day how solid
these walls really were."
They were, indeed, of massive thickness, fit depositories of mighty
secrets. I lifted the tapestry to examine them, and observed a steel
plate fixed in the portion I had bared. I was searching in vain for a
keyhole when the lawyer said,
"The safe your father used is not on that side; it is here to the
right. On three sides of the wall you will see these steel plates
fixed, and my idea is that the receptacles were used as a hiding-place
for jewels and other treasure. In the building of this room special
ingenuity was displayed. No one unacquainted with the secret could
open the metal doors, the design is so cunning. There were locksmiths
before Brahmah. I would defy any but an expert to discover the means,
and it would puzzle him for a time."
"They are really doors?"
"Yes; you shall see for yourself."
"How did you discover the secret?" I asked.
"Your father let me into it," he replied.
"How did _he_ discover it? Before he bought this little estate I doubt
if he had ever heard the name of Rosemullion, or knew of its
existence."
"That is very probable, but I cannot enlighten you upon the point. In
his conversations with me he never referred to it. It is not unlikely
that the agents through whom he purchased the place may have known; or
he may have found a clue to it after he came into possession. That,
however, is mere speculation, and is not material to us. What is
material _is_ the Will. Observe. Here before us is a sheet of steel,
covered with numberless small knobs with shining round surfaces. There
must be some peculiarity about the metal that it does not rust; or
perhaps its lustre is due to the dryness of the air. When I say that
the knobs are numberless I am inexact. They may be easily counted;
they are in regular lines, and are alternately placed. From ceiling
to floor there are twenty lines, and each line contains twenty
knobs--four hundred in all. If you pressed every one of these four
hundred knobs one after another with your thumb, you would find only
one that would yield beneath the pressure. That knob is in the bottom
line, at the extreme left hand corner. Kneel, and press with your
thumb, and you will find that I am right."
I followed his instructions. I knelt, and pressed the knob; it
yielded, and upon my removing my thumb, it returned to its former
position.
"Still," I said, as I rose from my kneeling posture, "I see no hole in
which a key can be inserted."
"Wait," said the lawyer. "By pressing on that knob you have unlocked a
second at the extreme end of the right corner in the same line. Press
it as you did the other."
I knelt and obeyed; it yielded as the other had done, and returned to
its former position. But there was no apparent change in the steel
door.
"You have unlocked a third knob," said the lawyer. "You will now have
to stand upon one of the chairs; place it here, on the right, and
press again on the knob at the extreme right hand. It yields. One
more, and the charm is nearly complete. Remove the chair to the left,
and repeat the operation on the topmost knob at the extreme left hand.
Now descend. Supposing this to be the door of a room, where would the
keyhole be situated? Yes, you point to the exact spot. Press there,
then, gently. What do we see? The keyhole revealed. The rest is easy."
He inserted the key and turned the lock. Massive as was the door,
there was no difficulty now in opening it. With very little exertion
on our part it swung upon its hinges. I could not but admire the
ingenuity of the device, and I wondered at the same time how my father
could have found it out, supposing the secret not to have been
imparted to him.
There was a space disclosed of some two feet in depth, divided by
stout oaken shelves. On one of the shelves was a cash-box. There was
nothing else within the space. The lawyer took out the cash-box, and
brought it to the table. It was unlocked, and the lawyer drew from it
my father's Will. I was disappointed that it contained no other
papers. I cannot say what I expected to discover, but I had a vague
hope that I might light upon some explanation of the mystery which had
reigned in our home from my earliest remembrance. However, I made no
remark on the subject to the lawyer.
The Will was read in my mother's presence, the only other person in
attendance, besides my mother, the lawyer, and myself, being Mrs.
Fortress. It was very simple; the entire property was bequeathed to my
mother; during her lifetime I was to reside at Rosemullion, and there
was otherwise no provision made for me; but at her death, with the
exception of a legacy to Mrs. Fortress, "for faithful and confidential
service," I became sole heir. The only stipulation was that
Rosemullion should not be sold.
"I hope, Gabriel," said my mother, "that you are not dissatisfied."
I replied that I was contented with the disposition my father had made
of his property.
"You can have what money you want," she said.
"I shall want very little," I said.
"You will remain here, Gabriel?"
These words which, in her expression of them, were both a question and
an entreaty, opened up a new train of thought. I set it aside a while,
and said to my mother,
"Is it your wish?"
"Yes, Gabriel, while I live."
"I will obey you, mother."
"Gabriel," she said, "bend your head." Mrs. Fortress came forward as
if with the intention of interposing, but I motioned her away, and she
retired in silence, but kept her eyes fixed upon us. "You bear no
ill-will towards me?" my mother whispered. "You do not hate me?"
"No, mother," I replied, in a tone as low as her own. "What cause have
I for ill-will or hatred? It would be monstrous."
"Yes," she muttered, "it would be monstrous, monstrous!"
And she turned from me, and lay with her face to the wall. Her form
was shaken with sobs.
Mrs. Fortress beckoned to me and I followed her to the door.
"I will speak to you outside," she said.
We stood in the passage, the door of my mother's bedroom being closed
upon us. The lawyer, who had also left the room, stood a few paces
from us.
"It comes within my sphere of duty," said Mrs. Fortress, "to warn you
that these scenes are dangerous to your mother. Listen."
I heard my mother crying and speaking loudly to herself, but I could
not distinguish what she said.
"Remain here a moment," said Mrs. Fortress; "I have something more to
say to you."
She left me, and entered the bedroom, and in a short time my mother
was quiet. Mrs. Fortress returned.
"She is more composed."
"You have a great power over her, Mrs. Fortress."
"No one else understands her." She held in her hand a letter, which
she offered to me. "It was entrusted to me by your father, and I was
to give it to you in the event of his dying away from Rosemullion, and
before your mother. Perhaps you will read it here."
I did so. It was addressed to me, and was very brief, its contents
being simply to the effect that Mrs. Fortress was to hold, during my
mother's lifetime, the position she had always held in the household,
and that I was, under no consideration, to interfere with her in the
exercise of her duties. She was, also, as heretofore, to have the
direction of the house.
"Are you acquainted with the contents of this letter?" I asked.
"Yes; your father, before he sealed it gave it to me to read. He gave
me at the same time another document, addressed to myself."
"Investing you, I suppose, with the necessary authority." She slightly
inclined her head. "I shall not interfere with you in any way," I
said.
"I am obliged to you," she said, and then she re-entered my mother's
apartment.
The lawyer and I walked to my father's private room. I wished to
assure myself that there was nothing else in the safe in which my
father had deposited his Will, and which we had left open. There was
nothing, not a book, not a scrap of paper, nor article of any kind.
Then in the presence of the lawyer, I searched the writing-desk, and
found only a few unimportant memoranda and letters. My unsatisfactory
search at an end, I remarked to the lawyer that I supposed nothing
remained to be done.
"Except to lock the safe," he said.
"How is that accomplished?"
"You have merely to reverse the process by which you opened it. I have
seldom seen a more admirable and simple piece of mechanism."
I followed his instructions, and let the tapestry fall over the steel
plate. Then the lawyer, saying that he would attend to the necessary
formalities with respect to the Will, bade me good-day.