The Black Box 4
"I cannot guess."
"Well, then, I will tell thee," said my father. "The Certain Person is
none other than James, Duke of Monmouth."
This time I sprang up so vehemently that over went my chair and I came
near to following it.
"What!" I cried. "Monmouth! That pretty fellow whom I saw five years
ago at Colyton when he rode through the West so proudly, with thousands
of fine gentlemen behind him?"
"The very same," replied my father gravely.
"But is he not an exile in the Netherlands?" I asked, amazed.
"That is his portion," said my father, looking mighty stern. "Or,
rather, was."
"Then, what comes he here for?"
"To stir up rank rebellion; to play the fine Pretender; in a word, to
try and wrest the crown from him who rightly wears it, to wit, his
uncle, our King James."
"That being so," said I, drawing myself up very straight and feeling
mightily important, "I fight for Monmouth."
’Twas now my father’s turn to show amazement, the which he did by
springing to his feet with such suddenness and anger that I fell back a
step or two.
"Stop!" he hissed across the table. "You know not what you say. Such
words as those would hang a man if they were overheard. Wouldst fight
for a usurper?"
"They say he is the rightful heir," said I.
"’They say’! Who say?" returned my father hotly.
"Why, those who have a right to know," I answered glumly, for my pride
was hurt.
"Then know that ’they’ say wrong," he scornfully rejoined. "This
Monmouth hath no more title to the crown than you or I have."
"But, sir, is he not the eldest son of Charles the Second?"
"They have no proof who say so. Therefore I say again, he hath no
claim, no title to the throne of England."
This seemed a crushing answer right enough, and so for a moment I was
silent. But I had read and heard--as no doubt you have also--of some
mysterious written proof of Charles’s marriage to one Lucy Walters,
Monmouth’s mother. ’Twas said to have been hidden in a black box
somewhere, which, when the needful time arrived, was nowhere to be
found; and even they who had professed to having seen the very document
in question, roundly denied all knowledge of it when brought before the
Council. To be quite honest, I had but small belief in it myself, but
now, in my fallen pride, it served my purpose; so----
"What of the Black Box?" I said, looking as wise as any parrot.
I had expected that my father’s answer to this question would be short
and sharp--indeed, perhaps nothing save a scornful laugh; but, to my
great astonishment, he dropped back straight into his chair and stared
at me like one possessed, while his breath came thick and fast, as
though he had suffered some great shock.
"What do you know of that?" he gasped at last.
"Nothing, father," I answered carelessly by way of calming him, for
knowing that he suffered from a weakness of the heart I was afraid lest
harm should come to him. "Nothing, that is, beyond what others know.
Indeed, I thought ’twas common knowledge."
"Common knowledge!" echoed my father with a fearful start. "What do you
mean?"
"Why, the report that there is somewhere written proof of Charles’s
marriage. Is it not common knowledge? I remember hearing of it when I
was a boy at school."
"Yes, yes; but the box in which ’twas said to have been hidden! What do
you know of that?"
He put this question with a feverish eagerness and then gazed at me
searchingly, if indeed not suspiciously.
"Nothing," I answered firmly; "absolutely nothing."
On hearing this my father heaved a sigh of deep relief, and for a space
stared at me in a far-off, wondering manner, as though he were scarce
certain of my presence; then, leaning slowly forward on the table, he
said:
"Michael, ’tis passing strange that you should be the first to mention
that which I have brought you here to speak of, but, having done so, the
need for a preamble is at least removed. Know, then, that the tale of
the Black Box, albeit so bedecked and garnished with absurdities by the
tongue of busy gossip, is not entirely fabulous. For, verily, that box
exists. I have it here."
When I heard this I was as one struck dumb. To think that in that
quiet, book-lined chamber there lay a hidden secret which, as it seemed
to me, might have the power to turn a kingdom upside down! I was
aghast, and as I gazed in blank bewilderment about the room it was as
though black boxes had usurped the very shelves and lurked in every
corner. Thus for a moment I was speechless, then my eyes went slowly
back to him from whom this most astounding news had come, and who now
sat watching me intently.
"You have it, sir!" I said in a voice that sounded strange and distant
to my ears. "Where? How?"
"That you shall know presently. All in good time," replied my father
with a curious little smile, which I can see again distinctly as I write
these words. "But, first of all, I ask your promise as a man and son
that not a word of what I show and tell you shall pass your lips so long
as I am living. When I am gone you may do as you choose, but until then
this matter must be treated as a bounden secret sacred to us two, and to
us alone. Have I your oath that this shall be so, Michael?"
"You have," I answered. "Here is my hand upon it."
Our hands met firm and solemnly across the table. Then my father rose,
and taking down a picture of my mother which hung upon the wall, pressed
with his fingers on the wainscoting beneath. Instantly a panelled door
flew open, revealing a secret cupboard big enough to hold two men.
After some groping in a bottom corner of this chamber, he discovered
what he sought, and, returning to the table, laid thereon a little box
of ebony, about eight inches square.
*CHAPTER II*
*The Secret of the Black Box*
Sitting with his hands upon the box as though ’twere something which
might jump away, my father tapped it gently, saying:
"That which I am about to show you, Michael, is what no eye save mine
hath seen except one other. Yours will make a third; which goes to prove
how thoroughly I trust you."
Unbuttoning his vest, he brought forth a curious-looking key, which hung
by a narrow ribbon from his neck. With this he solemnly unlocked the
box, and having thrown the lid back, laid it again upon the table.
’Twas lined with purple velvet, and, so far as I could see, contained
two separate papers neatly tied with silk. The undermost of these he
took out first and laid it on the table.
"Read that," he said, "and tell me what you think of it."
Greatly wondering, I undid the cord and scanned the contents of the
paper. Then my hand shook, for this is what I read:
"Know all men, that our eldest and well-beloved child, James, Duke of
Monmouth, is our rightful heir, in proof whereof we herewith give the
marriage contract made between his mother, Lucy Walters, and ourselves.
"Given at our Palace of Whitehall, this sixteenth day of August, in the
Year of Grace 1679.
"CHARLES R."
"Well, what think you of it?" asked my father, as our eyes met.
"Why," I answered eagerly, "it proves exactly what I said: that Monmouth
is the rightful King of England."
"Ah! you say so," quoth my father grimly. "Now read this."
This was none other than the marriage contract mentioned in the
foregoing letter. ’Twas dated from Cologne, set forth every detail of
the matter, and was also signed by Charles.
"Well, and what now?" asked my father gloatingly, as I laid the
parchment on the table.
"Well, ’tis clear as any pikestaff," I replied. "Monmouth should be
King without a question."
"Ah! you think so," said my father shrewdly. "Small wonder either; but
be not too hasty in your judgments, Michael. Now read that," he added,
handing me the final paper with a glowing look of triumph.
This writing was my father’s well-known hand, and ’tis small wonder that
I read it with amazement; for this is how it ran:
"I, Gilbert Fane, of The Havering, by Lyme, in the County of Dorset,
writing with full knowledge of the matter, do hereby solemnly declare
the documents inside this Box to be rank forgeries.
"GILBERT FANE."
When, dumbfounded and bewildered, I raised my eyes from this amazing
statement ’twas to find my father’s fixed upon me with a hungry look.
"Ah! and what now?" he asked, drumming the table with his fingers.
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