CHAPTER XXX THE GREAT IRON CHEST

THE next morning Master Mowbray went over to Newbiggin to look at the cottage that had been occupied by “Moll o’ the graves,” as it was his property, on the old Middleton estate which was much larger and more important than Holwick. The cottage was in poor condition and he decided that it should be rebuilt. It was dinner time before he came back, so they were not able to go down to the secret room till the afternoon.

“Now,” said Aline, as they entered, “first the chest has to be laid on its back.”

This they tried to do, but it was too heavy. They pushed and pulled, but they could not stir it.

“Let us use some of those stout poles there, standing in the corner,” said Ian; “then we can lever it over.”

This they did and with some difficulty the chest was turned over.

“I expect that is the very thing for which the poles were used,” Audry suggested.

“Probably,” said Aline, as she put her finger on the top right hand rivet head and slid it an inch to the left.

“Oh, that is how it works,” exclaimed Master Richard, greatly interested.

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“Now you have to turn it back again.”

“Oh, dear,” they all cried; but set to work, and again the chest stood upright. Aline then moved the second rivet in the same way.

“Now turn it over again,” she said.

“This is too much, we are not galley slaves,” expostulated Ian. “You are a tyrant, Your Highness.”

“Well, anyway I help, my Lord,” answered Aline, with mock gravity.

“‘Help,’ you wee kitten!” said Master Richard; “I think I do most of this; and it is my belief,” he added, “that it is not to my interest that the chest should be opened at all.”

“Why not?” they all exclaimed.

“Never mind. Come. I want to see what’s inside i’ faith.”

Once again they heaved and tugged and turned it over. Aline then moved the rivet. “Now turn it back again.”

“Look here, we cannot go on that way,” said Master Richard. “There must be thirty rivets. We shall rebel, my liege.”

“No, you must do your duty.”

So once more they struggled and turned it back.

“There, you have done your part,” said Aline, and they all stood round and laughed at each other, when they saw how hot they looked. Every one watched Aline with great curiosity as she now slid aside the whole of one of the iron plates of the chest and disclosed a small lock. Into this she fitted a key and turned it with some difficulty. It was the key on the bunch in the library, whose use Master Richard had not403 known. This enabled all the central part of the front to hinge down and disclose the large lock to which belonged the key from the moat.

The lid was very heavy and it took two of them to open it. The contents were covered by a black velvet cloth, and above it lay a parchment upon which was inscribed in large letters:
ALINE GILLESPIE
IN ACCORDANCE WITH MY WILL, WHICH
LIETH BEHIND THE LOCK OPPOSITE THAT
WHICH CONCEALETH THE BOOK.

James Mowbray.

Aline gazed in blank astonishment when she saw her own name.

“That is your great-grandmother’s name,” said Master Richard, “but it is all right, the chest is yours all the same, as you are the sole heiress of that line. But if you do not mind I should like to see the will, even before you lift the velvet cloth.”

Aline ran upstairs, her heart beating with wild excitement, and was followed by Audry. The lock moved exactly as the other one had done and there lay the lost will.

“How stupid of us not to find it before,” said Audry, “but, oh, I am so glad that something really good has come to you at last.”

They ran down again.

“Here it is,” said Audry, who was holding the will.

“Let his Grace read it,” said Master Richard, “as he is a disinterested party.”

It was a long will, but the tenour of it was,—that the old Mowbray estates at Middleton went to James Mowbray’s404 son, but the little Holwick property, with half the contents of the library, was left to his daughter, Aline, and to her heirs after her forever.

The will concluded,—“And that the said Aline Gillespie and my son-in-law Angus Gillespie may be able to keep up the Holwick estate in a manner that is befitting, I also bequeath for the use of the said Aline and Angus and their heirs after them the great iron chest and its contents, the which chest, with the name of Aline Gillespie inside, is now within the secret room; and the means for the discovery of all these things are in the little book in the library, concealed in the lock opposite to this. The parchment with holes, that is hidden in the cover of the aforesaid book, is to be placed over each page in turn and the letters that appear through the holes may then be read as words.”

“Well, little one, I always suspected that the Holwick property might be yours; but James Mowbray died suddenly and the will was never found,” said Master Richard.

He saw clouds of anxiety gathering on the child’s face, so he went on,—“You must not think about it now; let us look at the chest.”

Aline lifted the velvet and on the top was a tray. It was filled with orphreys and other embroideries of the celebrated opus anglicum and was of immense value. So perfectly had the chest fitted that the colours were all as marvellous as the day they were done.

Below this was another tray, which contained exquisitely carved ivories and wonderful enamel work, several beautifully bound illuminated manuscripts of the highest possible excellence, many of the covers being405 elaborately garnished with precious stones, and two jewelled swords, one of Spanish make and one from Ferrara that almost equalled Ian’s own.

Beneath this tray again was a layer of soft leather bags in ten rows of five each, every one of which contained five hundred gold pieces.

This brought them about one-third of the way down the chest. The remainder was in three portions. In the middle was a large oak box, that exactly fitted from front to back, and left about a fifth of the chest on each side. These fifths were filled with solid gold and silver bars, packed like bricks to fill every crevice. Their total value was four or five times that of the gold pieces in the bags.

Richard Mowbray and Ian lifted out the oak box and it was found to contain a collection composed of the choicest examples of art in metal work that any of them had ever seen in their lives. There were large mazers and other cups, a wonderful nef, and skilfully wrought platters. There were daggers and hunting horns and belts. There were chatelaines and embracelets and diadems. Then in a smaller receptacle were lesser things, such as rings, pendants, necklaces, chains, clasps and buckles. But finely jewelled as many of them were, it was the supreme art of the designs and the craftsmanship of their execution that was their main attraction.

Little Aline was too overcome to speak. At last she recovered herself sufficiently to say;—“And are all of these things mine?”

“Of course they are,” said Master Richard, “and I do not know any one more worthy of them.”

She was silent for some time and then said,—“Well,406 we cannot leave them all lying round. I must put everything back.”

The others helped and, although every one kept commenting on the lovely things and the strange experience, Aline never said a word all the time. It was clear that she was thinking hard and that the putting back of the things was only to give her an opportunity to settle her thoughts.

When they had finished they all stood up.

“Now we can save the Ochil estates,” said Aline triumphantly. “Ian, I give you half the gold and silver and one of the swords, and you are to have the other half, Audry darling, and Cousin Richard is to have Holwick Hall as long as he lives and the other sword. Then everybody is to have some nice presents from the trays and the box, Audry and Cousin Richard, and Joan and Mistress Mowbray and all the others, and Ian is to have the rest.”

“Impossible,” said Ian.

“Nonsense,” said Master Richard.

“Absurd,” said Audry.

“I absolutely mean what I say,” said Aline.

“But you have left nothing for yourself,” objected Audry.

“Yes, I shall have Holwick when I am old and no longer able to do anything; and if you are not married we can live together.”

“My little maiden must not be foolish,” said Ian. “I think you are quite right to let Audry have half, unless you let Cousin Richard have the use of it first, for it would go to Audry, and I am sure you are right about Holwick; but my estates have nothing to do with you,407 sweet child. Besides how are you going to live until you are too old to do anything? You cannot go a begging, princess, and some one would have to take care of you.”

“O dear, I had not thought about that. Yes, I suppose I should need some one to look after me.”

“I will look after you, little heart, if Cousin Richard will let me,” said Ian softly.

Richard Mowbray laid his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I agree,” he said.

Aline put up her hands and drew down Ian’s face till their lips met. A look of happy content shone in her eyes. “Then I shall be well protected,” she said.

    My dear Children:

    The time has now come to say good-bye, both to you and Aline; but it might interest you to know that I read the story to a little girl before it was quite finished and asked her if there was anything she would like to suggest. “Yes,” she said, “a birthday party.”

    Now a sixteenth century birthday party was rather a difficulty as I never saw one described; but then there were so many difficulties of that sort. People in those days, for instance, thought that shaking hands was a much warmer sign of affection than kissing. You probably know that in France men still kiss each other at the railway station. But that would not do for my story. So, as in the case of language, I have modernized to suit my purpose. When, therefore, your learned uncle tells you that the story is all wrong and that they did not fence with helmets and that the curtsey was not invented till much later and that the library is far too big and so on; you just tell him to write you a sixteenth century story and then you send it to me, and we will see how he gets along.

    If any of you would write to me and tell me what you would like altered or what else you would like put in, I should be delighted. The story is only written to please you and I wish I could see you and tell it to you myself. Also you might let me know what you think ought to happen to Aline and then, if you like408 the story, I will write you a sequel. But you must tell me how old you are, that is a very important point.

    With best wishes from Avis and myself;—now do not tell me that you do not know who Avis is,—look at the dedication and the first chapter and guess.

    Yours aff’ly,

    Ian B. Stoughton Holborn.

    1735 Grand Central Terminal,
    New York City.

    (or, in Britain, Merton College, Oxford).

The End