CHAPTER III.
Thus my life went on until I grew to manhood, and then two graveevents befell, following close upon each other's heels. First, myfather died. He was absent from home at the time, and we had had noforewarning of the loss. I do not know whether his errand when he leftus, to be away, he said, for four or five weeks, was one of pleasureor business. Quite suddenly, before the time had elapsed, I wassummoned 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 afraidof 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 hadgrown 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 havenews 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 fromWales. The writer said that my father was his friend--which surprisedme, as I had never heard my father or mother mention his name--and haddied in his house, where my father was staying on a visit.
"He had been ailing for two or three days past," the letter said, "andhad complained of his head, but I did not think that anything seriouswas the matter with him, or I should have written to you at once. Itdid not appear that he was alarmed; indeed, he said that it was only aslight attack, and that it would soon pass away. Against his wish wecalled in a doctor, who agreed with him and us that there was nodanger. Thus there was nothing to prepare us for the sad event thenews of which it is our painful duty to communicate to you. He kepthis room yesterday, and in the evening said that he felt better. Atten o'clock my wife and I wished him goodnight, and thought he wouldretire at once to rest, but from after indications we learnt that hehad not undressed, but had sat in his arm-chair the whole of thenight. There was a bell at his elbow, from which I heard a faint ringat five o'clock this morning. It woke me from my sleep, and it alsoaroused my wife. 'That is Mr. Carew's bell,' my wife said; 'you hadbetter go to him.' I rose immediately, and went to his room. I foundour poor friend sitting in the arm-chair, and I at once recognised hisgrave condition. I roused the servants, and sent for the doctor; thenI returned to your husband, and told him what I had done. I cannot saywhether he understood me, for he was quite speechless, but I followedthe direction of his eyes, and saw a sheet of paper upon which he hadwritten a few words. They were not very legible, but I understand fromthem that it was his desire that he should be buried from Rosemullion.We shall respect his wish, and you will therefore be prepared for whatis to follow. Although he was speechless, and life was surely ebbingaway, he was calm and composed. My wife and I sat with him until thedoctor arrived. Nothing could be done for him, and at twenty minutesto seven this morning your poor husband passed away in peace. It woulddoubtless 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. Twoor three times he seemed to make an effort, and we inclined our earsto hear what he had to say. No sound, however, proceeded from hislips; he had not the strength to utter a word. The effort over, heseemed to be resigned."
The letter contained the expression of a sincere sympathy for ourbereavement.
"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 infear, 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," Iretorted; it appeared to me that her remark was unnecessary.
"I beg your pardon," she said, but although her words conveyed anapology, her voice did not.
Shortly afterwards my mother pleaded that she was tired, and I leftthe 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 herethat these were the only persons who, with myself, followed my fatherto the grave. The doctor's visit was one of condolence, and he indulgedin the usual platitudes which, but for the occasion, I should not havelistened to with patience. He bade me good day with a sigh, and calledinto his face an expression of dolour which I knew was assumed for mybenefit.
The lawyer's visit was upon business. He came to acquaint me with theparticulars of my father's Will.
"I have the rough draft in my office," he said; "the Will itself weshall doubtless find among your father's private papers. It was hishabit, 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 withme."
We went together to my father's special room, the room in which hewrote and transacted his private business, and which was always keptlocked. No person, unbidden, was allowed to enter it but himself.Although I had now been living at Rosemullion for many years I hadbeen but once in this apartment, and then I took no particular noticeof it. The key of the room had been found in his portmanteau, which hehad taken with him to Wales, and had been delivered up to me with hisother effects.
It was plainly furnished. There were two chairs, a couch, and awriting-table--nothing more; not a picture, not an ornament, not asingle evidence of luxury. The walls were hung with old tapestry onwhich battle scenes were worked.
"Rosemullion is not a modern building," said the lawyer, "but perhapsyou are already familiar with its history, being a student."
I said, In reply, that I was not aware that Rosemullion was of ancientorigin, 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 ofland hereabout. They ruled here for many generations, I believe,until, as is the case with numberless others who carried it with ahigh hand in times gone by, they lost their place in the world. If thetruth were known we should learn--to judge from my experiences, andsupposing them to be worth anything--that there was but one cause whythey were wiped out. Spendthrift father, spendthrift heir, followed byanother, and perhaps by another; land parted with piecemeal, mortgagedand sold, till heirlooms and stone-walls are called upon, and thewreck is complete. It is an old story, and is being played out now bymany inheritors of ancient
names."
"The chairs and couch in the room," I said, "are modern. Not so thewriting-table."
It was made of stout oak, and bore signs of long service. Its massivelegs were wonderfully carved, and were fixed deep in the oakenflooring. The lawyer's remarks had given the place an interest in myeyes, and I gazed around with lively curiosity.
"If these walls could speak," I said, "they would be able to tellstrange stories."
"Many of which," said the lawyer, with a dry cough, "are betterunrevealed. It is quite as well that dumb memorials cannot rise inwitness against us."
"So that we are no better off than our forefathers."
"And no worse," said the lawyer, sententiously. "We are much of amuchness, ancients and moderns. I had no idea till to-day how solidthese walls really were."
They were, indeed, of massive thickness, fit depositories of mightysecrets. I lifted the tapestry to examine them, and observed a steelplate fixed in the portion I had bared. I was searching in vain for akeyhole when the lawyer said,
"The safe your father used is not on that side; it is here to theright. On three sides of the wall you will see these steel platesfixed, and my idea is that the receptacles were used as a hiding-placefor jewels and other treasure. In the building of this room specialingenuity was displayed. No one unacquainted with the secret couldopen the metal doors, the design is so cunning. There were locksmithsbefore 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 doubtif he had ever heard the name of Rosemullion, or knew of itsexistence."
"That is very probable, but I cannot enlighten you upon the point. Inhis conversations with me he never referred to it. It is not unlikelythat the agents through whom he purchased the place may have known; orhe may have found a clue to it after he came into possession. That,however, is mere speculation, and is not material to us. What ismaterial _is_ the Will. Observe. Here before us is a sheet of steel,covered with numberless small knobs with shining round surfaces. Theremust be some peculiarity about the metal that it does not rust; orperhaps its lustre is due to the dryness of the air. When I say thatthe knobs are numberless I am inexact. They may be easily counted;they are in regular lines, and are alternately placed. From ceilingto floor there are twenty lines, and each line contains twentyknobs--four hundred in all. If you pressed every one of these fourhundred knobs one after another with your thumb, you would find onlyone that would yield beneath the pressure. That knob is in the bottomline, at the extreme left hand corner. Kneel, and press with yourthumb, and you will find that I am right."
I followed his instructions. I knelt, and pressed the knob; ityielded, and upon my removing my thumb, it returned to its formerposition.
"Still," I said, as I rose from my kneeling posture, "I see no hole inwhich a key can be inserted."
"Wait," said the lawyer. "By pressing on that knob you have unlocked asecond at the extreme end of the right corner in the same line. Pressit as you did the other."
I knelt and obeyed; it yielded as the other had done, and returned toits former position. But there was no apparent change in the steeldoor.
"You have unlocked a third knob," said the lawyer. "You will now haveto stand upon one of the chairs; place it here, on the right, andpress again on the knob at the extreme right hand. It yields. Onemore, 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 thekeyhole 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 exertionon our part it swung upon its hinges. I could not but admire theingenuity of the device, and I wondered at the same time how my fathercould have found it out, supposing the secret not to have beenimparted to him.
There was a space disclosed of some two feet in depth, divided bystout oaken shelves. On one of the shelves was a cash-box. There wasnothing else within the space. The lawyer took out the cash-box, andbrought it to the table. It was unlocked, and the lawyer drew from itmy father's Will. I was disappointed that it contained no otherpapers. I cannot say what I expected to discover, but I had a vaguehope that I might light upon some explanation of the mystery which hadreigned in our home from my earliest remembrance. However, I made noremark on the subject to the lawyer.
The Will was read in my mother's presence, the only other person inattendance, besides my mother, the lawyer, and myself, being Mrs.Fortress. It was very simple; the entire property was bequeathed to mymother; during her lifetime I was to reside at Rosemullion, and therewas otherwise no provision made for me; but at her death, with theexception of a legacy to Mrs. Fortress, "for faithful and confidentialservice," I became sole heir. The only stipulation was thatRosemullion 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 madeof 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 andan 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 asif with the intention of interposing, but I motioned her away, and sheretired in silence, but kept her eyes fixed upon us. "You bear noill-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 haveI 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 formwas 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 closedupon us. The lawyer, who had also left the room, stood a few pacesfrom us.
"It comes within my sphere of duty," said Mrs. Fortress, "to warn youthat these scenes are dangerous to your mother. Listen."
I heard my mother crying and speaking loudly to herself, but I couldnot distinguish what she said.
"Remain here a moment," said Mrs. Fortress; "I have something more tosay to you."
She left me, and entered the bedroom, and in a short time my motherwas 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, whichshe offered to me. "It was entrusted to me by your father, and I wasto give it to you in the event of his dying away from Rosemullion, andbefore your mother. Perhaps you will read it here."
I did so. It was addressed to me, and was very brief, its contentsbeing simply to the effect that Mrs. Fortress was to hold, during mymother's lifetime, the position she had always held in the household,and that I was, under no consideration, to interfere with her in theexercise of her duties. She was, also, as heretofore, to have thedirection 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 gaveme at the same time another document, addressed to myself."
"Investing you, I suppose, with the necessary autho
rity." She slightlyinclined her head. "I shall not interfere with you in any way," Isaid.
"I am obliged to you," she said, and then she re-entered my mother'sapartment.
The lawyer and I walked to my father's private room. I wished toassure myself that there was nothing else in the safe in which myfather had deposited his Will, and which we had left open. There wasnothing, 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, andfound only a few unimportant memoranda and letters. My unsatisfactorysearch at an end, I remarked to the lawyer that I supposed nothingremained 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 haveseldom seen a more admirable and simple piece of mechanism."
I followed his instructions, and let the tapestry fall over the steelplate. Then the lawyer, saying that he would attend to the necessaryformalities with respect to the Will, bade me good-day.