THE LETTER AND ITS EFFECT.
Mr. Kage arrived at Lone, within twenty-four hours after having received
the duke's telegram. He reached the castle at noon and had a private
interview with the duke in the library, when it was arranged that the
will and the letter should be read the same afternoon in the presence of
the assembled household.
"The letter also? Is not that a private one from the father to his
daughter?" inquired the duke.
"No, your grace. There are reasons why it must be public, which you will
recognize when you hear it read," answered the lawyer.
"Then I fear I have been mistaken in my private thoughts concerning it.
Pray, will it give us any clue to the perpetrators of the murder?"
"None whatever! It certainly was not a violent death that the banker
anticipated for himself when he prepared that letter to be delivered in
the event of his sudden decease."
"Has any clue yet been found to the murderer?"
"None that I have heard of."
"Or to the mysterious woman who was supposed to have carried off the
booty?"
"None, Detective Keightley called on me yesterday for some information
regarding the stolen property, and I furnished him with a photograph of
that snuff-box given to Sir Lemuel Levison by the Sultan of Turkey--the
gold one richly set with precious stones. Sir Lemuel had it photographed
by my advice, for identification in case of its being stolen. And he left
several duplicate copies with me. I gave one to Keightley. But the man
could give me no information in return. The missing woman seemed lost in
London. And the proverbial little needle in the haystack might be as
easily found," said the lawyer.
The announcement of luncheon put an end to the interview.
The two gentlemen passed on into the smaller dining-room where Lady
Belgrade awaited them. She received the solicitor politely and invited
him to the table.
After the three were seated and helped to what they preferred, her
ladyship turned to the lawyers and said:
"My niece understands that you have a letter for her, left in your charge
by her father. She wishes you to send it to her immediately. Her maid is
here waiting to take it."
"Pardon me, my dear lady, the letter must remain in my possession until
after the reading of the will, when, for certain reasons, it must be
read, as the will, in the presence of the household. Pray explain this to
Miss Levison, and tell her that I shall be ready to read and deliver both
at five o'clock this afternoon, if that will meet her convenience," said
the lawyer, respectfully.
"That will suit her; but I hope the forms will not occupy more than an
hour. Miss Levison is still extremely feeble, and ought not to sit up
longer," said the dowager.
"It will not require more than half an hour, madam," replied Mr. Kage.
Lady Belgrade gave the message to the maid for her mistress. And when the
girl retired, the conversation turned upon the proceedings of the London
detectives in pursuit of the unknown murderers.
At the appointed hour the household servants were all assembled in the
dining-room. At the head of the long table sat the family attorney and
his clerk. Before them lay a japanned tin box, secured by a brass
padlock. It contained the last will, the letter, and other documents
appertaining to the deceased banker's estate. They were only waiting for
the entrance of Miss Levison and her friends. No one else was expected.
There was not the usual crowd of poor relatives who "crop up" at the
reading of almost every rich man's will. The late Sir Lemuel Levison had
no poor relations whatever. His people were all rich, and all scattered
over Europe and America, at the head of banks, or branches of banks, in
every great capital, of the almost illustrious house of "Levison,
Bankers."
The assembled household had not to wait long. The door opened and the
young lady of Lone entered, supported on each side by the Duke of
Hereward and the dowager, Lady Belgrade.
Her fair, transparent, spiritual face looked whiter than ever, in
contrast to her deep black crape dress, as she bowed to the lawyer, and
passed to her seat at the table.
The duke and the dowager seated themselves on either side of her.
"Are you quite ready, Miss Levison, to hear the will of the late Sir
Lemuel Levison?" inquired the attorney.
"I am quite ready, Mr. Kage, thanks," replied the young lady, in a low
voice, and speaking with an effort.
The attorney unlocked the box, took out the will, unfolded and proceeded
to read it.
The document was dated several years back. It was neither long nor
complex. After liberal bequests to each one of his household servants,
rich keepsakes to his dear friends, an annuity to the dowager Lady
Belgrade, and a princely endowment to found an orphan asylum and
children's hospital in the heart of London, he bequeathed the residue of
his vast estates, both real and personal, without reserve and without
conditions, to his only and beloved child, Salome.
After the reading of the will was finished, the attorney arose, came
around to where the ladies sat, and congratulated Miss Levison and Lady
Belgrade, on their rich inheritance.
"How could he do it?" thought the unconventional and weeping heiress.
"Oh, how could he congratulate me on an inheritance which came, and could
only have come, through my dear father's decease!" Then in a voice broken
with emotion, she said:
"Thanks, Mr. Kage. Will you please now to read my dear papa's
letter?--since you _are_ to read it aloud, I think," she added.
"Such was the deceased Sir Lemuel's direction, my dear Miss Levison,"
said the lawyer. And returning to his place at the head of the table, he
took the letter from the japanned box, opened it, and said:
"This letter from my late honored client to his daughter was committed by
the late Sir Lemuel Levison to my charge to be retained and read after
the will, in the event of a circumstance which has already occurred--I
mean the sudden and unexpected death of the writer. The letter will
explain itself."
Here the lawyer cleared his throat, and began to read:
"ELMHURST HOUSE, Kensington, London,
"Monday, May 1st, 18--.
"MY DEAREST ONLY CHILD: Blessings on your head! Nothing could
have made me happier, than has your betrothal to so admirable a young man
as the Marquis of Arondelle. Had I possessed the privilege of choosing
a husband for you, and a son-in-law for myself, from the whole race of
mankind, I should have chosen him above all others. But, my dearest
Salome, the satisfaction I enjoy in your prospects of happiness is
shadowed by one faint cloud. It is not much, my love; it is only the
consciousness of my age and of the precarious state of my health. I may
not live to see you united to the noble husband of your choice. Therefore
it is that I have urged your speedy marriage with what your good
chaperon, Lady Belgrade, evidently considers indecorous haste. She must
continue to think it indecorous, because unreasonable. I cannot, and will
not, darken your sunshine of joy, by giving to you _now_ the real
reason of my precipitation--the extremely precarious state of my health.
Yet, in the event of my being suddenly taken from you, I must prepare
this letter to be delivered to you after my death, that you may know my
last wishes. If I live to see you wedded to the good Lord Arondelle,
this paper shall be torn up and destroyed; if not, if I should be
suddenly snatched away from you before your wedding-day, this letter will
be read to you, after my will shall have been read, in the presence of
your betrothed husband, your good chaperon and your assembled household,
that you and they and all may know my last wishes concerning you, and
that none shall dare to blame you for obeying them, even though in doing
so you have to pursue a very unusual course. My wish, therefore, is that
your marriage with Lord Arondelle may not be delayed for a day upon
account of my death; but that it take place at the time fixed or as soon
thereafter as practicable. In giving these directions, I feel sure that I
am consulting the wishes of Lord Arondelle, the best interests of
yourself, and the happiness of both. Follow my directions, therefore, my
dearest daughter, and may the blessing of our Father in Heaven rest upon
you and yours, is the prayer of
"Your devoted father, LEMUEL LEVISON."
During the reading of the letter the face of Salome was bathed in tears
and buried in her pocket-handkerchief.
The duke sat by her, with his arm around her waist, supporting her.
At the end of the reading, without looking up, she stretched out her hand
and whispered softly:
"Give me my dear father's letter now."
The attorney, who was engaged in re-folding the documents and restoring
them to the japanned box, left his seat, and came to her side, and placed
the letter in her hands.
"Thanks, Mr. Kage," she said, wiping her eyes and looking up. "But now
will you tell me if you know what my dear father meant by writing of the
precarious state of his health? He seemed to enjoy a very vigorous
and green old age."
"Yes, he '_seemed_' to do so, my dear young lady; but it was all
seeming. He was really affected with a mortal malady, which his
physicians warned him might prove fatal at any moment," gravely replied
the lawyer.
"And he never hinted it to us!"
"He did not wish to sadden your young life with a knowledge of his
affliction."
"My own dear papa! My dear, dear papa! loving, self-sacrificing to the
end of his earthly life! never thinking of his own happiness--always
thinking of mine or of others! My dear, dear father!" murmured the still
weeping daughter.
"He thought of your happiness, and of the happiness of your betrothed
husband, my dear young lady, when he committed that letter to my care, to
be delivered to you in case of his sudden death, and when he charged me
to urge with all my might, your compliance with its instructions. And now
permit me to add, my dear Miss Levison, that to obey your father's will
in
this matter would be the very best and wisest course you could pursue."
"Thanks, Mr. Kage; I know that you are a faithful friend to our family;
but--I must have a little time to recover," murmured Salome, faintly.
"Here, you may remember my dear Salome, that when I told you of this
letter in the possession of Mr. Kage, I said that I thought I knew its
purport from certain conversations I had held with your late father. He
had hinted to me the dangerous condition of his health, and he had
expressed a hope that no accident to himself should be permitted to
postpone our marriage; and then he told me that he had left a letter with
his solicitor to be read in case of his sudden death, and that the letter
would explain itself. He concluded by begging me if anything should
happen to him to necessitate the delivery of that letter to you, to urge
upon you the wisdom and policy of following its direction. He could not
have given me a commission I should be more anxious or earnest in
executing. My dear Salome, will you obey your good father's wishes? Will
you give me at once a husband's right to love and cherish you?" he
added in a low whisper.
"Oh, give me a little time," she murmured--"give me a little time. There
is nothing I wish more than to do as my dear father directed me, and as
you wish me; but my heart is so wounded and bleeding now, I am still so
weak and broken-spirited. Give me a little time, dear John, to recover
some strength to overcome my sorrow."
Here she broke down and wept.
"I think we had best take her back to her room," said Lady Belgrade,
rising.
Mr. Kage locked up the documents in the japanned box, put the key in his
pocket-book, and consigned the box to the care of his clerk.
Lady Belgrade dismissed the assembled servants to their several duties,
and then, assisted by Lord Arondelle, led the bereaved and suffering girl
from the room.
The lawyer and his clerk, who were to dine and sleep at the castle, were
left alone.
The lawyer rang and asked for a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses,
and lighted his cigar, to pass away the time until the dinner hour.
The next morning Mr. Kage and his clerk went back to London.
It now became an anxious question, whether the marriage of the young Duke
of Hereward and the heiress of Lone should proceed according to her
father's wishes.
Mr. Kage, the family attorney, urged it: Dr. McWilliams, the family
physician, urged it: above all the expectant bridegroom, the Duke of
Hereward; only the bride-elect, Salome, and her chaperon, Lady Belgrade,
objected to it.
Salome, ill and nervous from the severe shock she had received, could
decide upon nothing hastily and pleaded for a short delay.
Lady Belgrade argued etiquette and conventionalities--the impropriety of
the daughter's marriage so soon after the father's murder.
Meanwhile the summer had merged into early autumn; the season of the
Highlands was over, and the cold Scotch mists were driving summer
visitors to the South coast, or to the Continent.
The climate was telling heavily upon the delicate organization of Salome
Levison. She contracted a serious cough.
Then the family physician, (so to speak,) "put down his foot" with
professional authority so stern as not to be contested or withstood.
"This is a question of life or death, my lady," he said to the
dowager--"a question of life and death, ye mind! And not of
conventionality and etiquette! Let conventionality and etiquette go to
the D., from whom they first came. This girl must die, or she must marry
immediately, and go off with her husband to the islands of the Grecian
Archipelago. That is all that can save her. And as for you, my laird
duke," continued the honest Scotch doctor, breaking into dialect as he
always did whenever he forgot himself under strong excitement, "as for
you, me laird duke, if ye dinna overcome the lassie's scruples, and marry
her out of hand, the de'il hae me but I'll e'en marry her mysel', and
tak' her awa to save her life! Now, then will I tak' her mysel' or will
you?"
"I will take her!" said the young duke, smiling. Then turning to the
dowager, he added, gravely: "Lady Belgrade, this marriage must and shall
take place immediately. You must add your efforts to mine to overcome
your niece's scruples. Your ladyship has been working against me
heretofore. I hope now, after hearing what the doctor has said, that
you will work with me."
"Of course, if the child's life and health are in question: and, indeed,
this climate is much too severe for her, and she certainly does need
rousing; and as it has been three months now since Sir Lemuel Levison's
funeral, I don't see--But, of course, after all, it is for you and Salome
to decide as you please;" answered Lady Belgrade, in a confused and
hesitating manner, for when the dowager went outside of her
conventionalities she lost herself.
Salome Levison was again besieged by the pleadings of her lover, the
counsels of her solicitor, and the arguments of her physician, all with
the co-operation of her chaperon.
"I do not see what else can be done, my dear," she said to her protegee.
"The ceremony can be performed as quietly as possible, and you two can go
away, and the world be no wiser."
"As if I cared for the world! I will do this in obedience to my dear
father's directions and my betrothed husband's wishes, and I do not even
think of the world," gravely replied Salome.
"Now, then, to the details, my dear. What day shall we fix? And shall the
ceremony be preformed here at the castle or at the church at Lone?"
"Oh, not here! not here! I could not bear to be married here, or at the
Lone church either. No, Lady Belgrade. We must go up to our town house in
London, and be married quietly at St. Peter's in Kensington, where I used
to attend divine service with my dear papa," said Salome, becoming
agitated.
"Very well, my love. But don't excite yourself. We will go. And the
sooner the better. These horrid Scotch mists are aggravating my
rheumatism beyond endurance," concluded the dowager.
It was now the last week in September. But so diligently did the dowager,
and the servants under her orders exert themselves both at Castle Lone
and in London, that before the first of October, Miss Levison, with her
chaperon and their attendants, were all comfortably settled in the
luxurious town-house in the West End.
The Duke of Hereward took lodgings near the home of his bride-elect.
As the marriage settlements had been executed, and the bridal
paraphernalia prepared for the first marriage day set three months
before, there was really nothing to do in the way of preparation for the
wedding, and no reason for even so much as a week's delay. An early
day was therefore set. It was decided that the ceremony should be
performed without the least parade.
Since her departure from Castle Lone and her arrival at their town house,
the change of scene and of circumstances, and the preliminaries of her
wedding and her journey, had the happiest effects upon Miss Levison's
health and spirits.
She recovered her cheerfulness, and even acquired a bloom she had never
possessed before. And her attendants took care to keep from her all that
could revive her memory of the tragedy at Lone.
One morning the Duke of Hereward came to the house and asked to see Lady
Belgrade alone.
The dowager received him in the library.
"Has Miss Levison seen the morning papers?" he inquired, as soon as the
usual greetings were over.
"No, they have not yet come," answered her ladyship.
"Thank Heaven! Do not let her see them on any account! I would not have
her shocked. The truth is," he added, in explanation of his words to the
wondering dowager, "I have important news to tell you. The mysterious
vailed woman, supposed to be connected with the robbery and murder at
Lone Castle, has been found and arrested. The stolen property has been
discovered in her possession. And she--you will be infinitely
shocked--she proves to be Rose Cameron, the daughter of one of our
shepherds, living near Ben Lone."