 Section 16 of A Bunch of Keys Where They Were Found and What They Might Have Unlocked A Christmas Book, edited by Tom Hood. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Kate Follis. Three Keys on a Small Ring of Their Own by C. W. Scott. Chapter 3 The Key of the Desk Arthur Oldham made but a short stay at Moat Grange. Had it not been for Little Mabel's warm persuasion, he would never have gone there at all. But now he had safely conveyed thither, his little cousin, there was very little occasion for him to stay on. He felt that it would not be kind to Edith to remain after everything was explained, and of course it was very wretched for him to pretend to act apart which, feeling as he did, was most unattractive. Still Edith was far happier now than she had been since her father's death. She had those near her who loved her very dearly, and who were far more precious to her than any one else in the world. But she could not, in reason, offer any objection to Arthur's fixed determination to leave them. He was going abroad, he said, and might be away for a very long time. He could not possibly remain in London during the approaching season, when Aunt Rachel was to come up to town again, and would of course bring Edith with her. They had one more quiet talk together before they parted. I'm only a brother now, you know, said Arthur, as they were taking one last turn in the garden before going in. And I could never have any secrets which you did not share. I have found out yours, however, and I feel certain that you will not accuse me of curiosity. By the nearest chance in the world I heard it all, and most certainly without asking any questions. And then he told Edith everything he knew with regard to Lord Roseworth. It is quite true, said she, looking steadily on the ground as they walked along. I believe that he has gone away, added Arthur, although I have heard it mentioned that he will be in London for the season. I hope he will. You do not wish me to remain in England? I wish you to remain, why Arthur? And then, looking sweetly into his face, she continued, it is because you think I am alone in the world that you would remain. God bless you, Arthur. I am your brother, and I'll always be watching over you. You are far too good to me, and treat me infinitely better than I deserve. But I will not allow you to make your life miserable because I must be forever unhappy. Go abroad, Arthur, and forget me. My case is past all cure. I shall be far better alone. Then you love him still. Without a moment's hesitation, she replied, I love but two people in the world. After this there was a long silence. I will do as you wish, Edith, and go away, but I can never forget you. Well, perhaps I don't quite wish that, but promise me one thing, never hide from me where you are, and if at any time I should think it necessary to send for you, will you do your best to come back? Do promise this? Is there any need to ask, if I were at the other end of the world I would return? The next morning Arthur Oldham went away. By the time that Mabel's holidays were over the spring was far advanced, and so it was arranged that she should stay on a little longer, in order that they might all go up to London together. Edith rather dreaded this London visit, but still she was resolved to make herself as agreeable as possible, and try and make people believe that she was quite happy and contented. Luckily her face did not contain many traces of her recent sorrow, and she returned to London if possible more beautiful than ever. All the young men in London raved about Miss Avra's beauty, and her name was in a very short time in everybody's mouth. Invitations poured in, and there was hardly an evening that Aunt Rachel and Edith were not to be seen, either at balls, concerts, or the opera. Aunt Rachel's at-homes were soon attended by the very best people in London, and at last that worthy lady began to persuade herself that Edith Everest had not, after all, been a bad investment. One day Aunt Rachel told her niece that she intended giving a very grand dinner-party, and jokingly added that it would be as well if Edith made herself additionally brilliant on this occasion as there was every chance that one of her old flames would be present. Who do you mean? said Edith, whose colour almost forsook her. Why, sure, that you have not forgotten Lord Roseworth! Edith bit her lips, and turning away her face whispered to herself, at last! You don't answer, Edith! I had imagined I had got a delightful surprise in store for you. I do trust that the poor fellow is not too late in the field, for they say that hearing of your return to town he has hurried back from Vienna, so you see the report of your fascination has travelled a long way. I shall be very glad to see Lord Roseworth! replied Edith. The evening came, and the poor girl's courage almost forsook her before entering the room. Never did Edith Everest look more lovely than she did that evening. A buzz of admiration was distinctly audible when the door opened, and she made her appearance, which quickly died away, as she moved majestically down the room, and a profound silence ensued. She saw Lord Roseworth's face in a mirror directly she entered, but she was never unnerved, and then their eyes met. Lord Roseworth was evidently uncomfortable. He just raised his eyes as acial cans, but dared not let them rest long on Edith's calm and immovable features. However, this coldness soon wore up, and long before the end of the evening Edith Everest and Lord Roseworth became again, or appeared to be, the best friends in the world. She sang him the songs of which he used to be so fond, discussed the places where they were likely to meet, and arranged riding parties for the park in the morning. Aunt Rachel could hardly believe her eyes, fearing from Edith's manner in the morning that all hope of bringing about the match on which she had long set her heart was entirely lost. Edith's clear ringing laugh was continually heard throughout the evening, and those who had been privately informed that poor Miss Everest had not got over her father's death, and was never likely to be the same bright girl again, hardly knew what to make of this sudden transformation. Various were the questions asked, and the reports circulated from mouth to mouth that evening. Was there really anything between Lord Roseworth and Miss Everest before her father died? Was it true that Mrs. Richardson wanted to catch the young Viscount for her niece, and intended leaving her all her money? Had Edith Everest any money of her own, and was it possible that any amount of money would remove the very strong objection that Lord Roseworth's family was known to entertain regarding his alliance with a girl whose father's death was shrouded in a great deal of mystery, which had never been properly cleared up? The two young people were very much talked about that evening, but nobody seemed clearly to have made up their minds one way or another. Lord Roseworth left Mrs. Richardson's house in high spirits. He had, of course, got private information that Mrs. Richardson would leave all her money, by no means an inconsiderable amount, to Edith, and he flattered himself that his somewhat doubtful conduct, after the death of Mr. Everest, had not made much impression on either Edith or her aunt. She's a strange girl, though, thought he, as he walked home that evening. She appeared to be the same as ever, but strongly objected to a renewal of the engagement just yet a while. Still she gave me hope. We are certainly to meet again. I don't think I really quite understand her yet. Oh, by the by! She said the past year has been a very eventful one, and promised faithfully she would hide nothing from me, and in proof of this she slipped something into my hand, which she said she would require again when the time for an explanation came. What can it be? Lord Roseworth stopped under the first gas-lamp, and took something out of his waistcoat pocket. It was carefully wrapped up in silver paper which he unfolded. The uncertain rays from the lamp fell upon a bright object. It was a little gold key. How very strange, thought Lord Roseworth, and he had not done puzzling his brains when he arrived at his own house. They met very frequently after this, in fact hardly a week past that they did not see one another two or three times. It was soon whispered about everywhere that Edith Evrest and Lord Roseworth were really to be married very shortly, and Mrs. Richardson was formally congratulated on all sides on the excellent match. Lord Roseworth never doubted for an instant that all was on train, and thought little more of the explanation which had been promised him. He was very proud of the conquest he had made, but at the same time did not shut his eyes to the business part of the matter. He had had a private interview with Mrs. Richardson's solicitor, which resulted in sundry other private interviews between that worthy gentleman and Mrs. Richardson herself. From little time afterwards he was asked to call again in Parliament Street, and then a bulky parchment document was placed in his hands, and after that all anxiety ceased. In the course of another month Arthur Oldham, who was staying at Florence, received a telegram in which he was asked to return to London as soon as he possibly could. On the day after that, on which Arthur was expected to arrive, Lord Roseworth received a note from Edith Everest, asking him to call it her aunt's house on the following day. He readily obeyed the summons, and punctually at the appointed time drove up to Mrs. Richardson's door. He was ushered into a little private morning-room, in which Edith used to pass most of her time. Edith Everest was seated there alone. After a little ordinary conversation Edith alluded to the evening on which they had met one another again at her aunt's house, and said she was anxious to fulfil the promise she had made on that occasion. I had really almost forgotten it, said Lord Roseworth gaily, but still seeing how matters stand now perhaps it will be as well for us both to understand one another. I hope I shan't bother you by beginning in rather a roundabout way, she said, but this story I am going to tell you is so closely connected with the life one leads every day that I am sure you will bear with me while I tell it. It refers to a girl with whom I was at school, the very terraced friend I ever had in the world, who confided everything in me. Some of the incidents have made the strongest impression on me I can assure you, and may account to you for some of the strangeness you may have noticed in my manner. And then Edith Everest told Lord Roseworth the whole story of her own life, carefully concealing those facts which would clearly show him to whom she was referring. She lingered on the delights of the peasant home at Riverside, described her father's precious love, and painted in glowing colors the devotion of Arthur Oldham. From that she went on to her miserable existence at Mote Grange, and told truly how bitter were the insults which had been heaped on her, and how they had been endured for one great object. Then came the chance of an excellent position in life, and the offer of a home by a man whom the girl despised. Lord Roseworth, who really knew very little of the incidents of Edith's life, was completely taken off his guard. What a delicious romance! he answered, and what an extraordinary girl! I really think that your strong-minded friend should be persuaded to take a tour round her native land, and lecture on the duplicity and fickleness of the rising generation. Edith Everest started to refute. Lord Roseworth, she said triumphantly, you insult me with these words, the story you have heard is mine, one moment more and I have done. There is no need for any more enigmas, we will now come to the stern bitter truth, and I will ask you one more favour. I said I would hide nothing from you. The secrets of my past life are contained in that desk which lies before you. Open it, Lord Roseworth, for you have got the key. I will now ask for your advice. There are two letters written to me by the only two men that ever spoke to me of love. Read them, Lord Roseworth, and then tell me which am I to choose. The letters fell idly from his hands, into which he buried his face. He could not speak. Your silence does you infinite credit, my Lord. I see you approve my choice. For the end of the year I shall be Arthur Oldham's wife. Lord Roseworth hurried away from London immediately after his last interview with Edith Everest, and then the fashionable world began to prick up its ears. There had evidently been some misunderstanding between the young people. Perhaps the engagement was really broken off. At last the true story cropped out little by little, and was soon whispered over London. Edith Everest became a heroine. No one was tired of praising her. Yes, there was just one person to whom all this business was a dreadful shock. Aunt Rachel took it very much to heart, and the consequence was that her nervous system was completely shattered. There was nothing she dreaded so much as being talked about, and now her name would undoubtedly be mixed up in the story of her niece's love affairs. She died suddenly at her house in Rudlin Gate, within ten days of the great explanation. So sudden and unexpected indeed was her death, that the will was never altered, and so Edith Everest was an heiress after all. A boat is gently gliding down the stream, under the woods by Maple Durham. Two ladies are sitting in the stern, one of them laughing merrily, the other looking earnestly into the happy face of the rower. We have seen them all before. On they go, and the young girl's silvery laugh is still heard as the sound of the oars dies away in the distance, and now the boat stops at a lawn which slopes towards the water. It is Riverside. End of Section 16. Section 17 of A Bunch of Keys, where they were found, and what they might have unlocked, a Christmas book, edited by Tom Hood. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Greg Giordano. The End. by T. W. Robertson I woke up with a start, and found my father, the Reverend Dewhurst, Mr. Strongtharm, and Bob, standing by my bedside. The bunch of keys were in the same place where I had seen them before I went to sleep. At the end of the rope hung opposite my bed. Father looked very grave, and carried in his hand a small switch. I noticed this because it was not his habit to walk about with a stick or a whip. Get up, sir," said father, a nice chase you have given us. And what a sad amount of unnecessary anxiety, said the Reverend Dewhurst. Poor Martha! I thought she would have died when she found that you had gone. We'll settle all about that presently, said father. Aye, aye, sir, that's right," chimed in Mr. Strongtharm. I began to cry. It's no use crying, said father. Not a bit, chimed in Mr. Strongtharm. Get up and dress yourself at once. I rose and put on my stockings in the lowest possible spirits. And now, Dewhurst, said father, if before this bad boy is quite dressed you will take Robert for a walk. Quite right, said the Reverend Dewhurst. Oh, he was a severe one, he was. And if you, Mr. Strongtharm, will kindly excuse us for five minutes. Pleasure, sir, take longer if you wish it. Make yourself quite at home. You'll find our ropes in there, sir. And Mr. Strongtharm pointed to the rope from which depended the bunch of keys. And I had considered him a friend. I looked at Bob, who looked at me, and seemed loath to go. The Reverend Dewhurst took him by the hand. But at the door Bob disengaged himself, and coming up to father said, please, father, don't beat Stephen. It was my fault more than his. It was indeed. Father looked at Mr. Dewhurst, who looked back at him. And then they both looked at the lightkeeper, who looked back at them. Father stooped and kissed Bob's forehead and said, you go with Mr. Dewhurst, Robert, like a good boy. And the three left the room. When father and I were left alone, but I will pass over what occurred when father and I were left alone, as uninteresting to the general reader, and painful to me. Bob and I were taken home, but not to stay there long. We soon departed for a great house, far, far from Amy, with whom I still corresponded through the medium of a sympathetic housemaid. Father had won his chance to resuit, and, as he said, had got his own at last. We, that is, Bob and I, are to pass a year at the Reverend Dewhurst's. Oh, happiness! Oh, bliss! Oh, joy! And then we go to Eaton. Father often writes to Mr. Strongatharme, who gets somebody to write back for him. Nothing has transpired to clear up the mystery of the bunch of keys, and whether Madd, old Tillson, or anybody else threw them into the stream, or how they came there, is not known to this day, and most likely never will be. The End of SEVENTEEN, Recording by Greg Giordano, Newport Ritchie, FL. End of A Bunch of Keys, Where They Were Found, and What They Might Have Unlocked, A Christmas Book, edited by Tom Hood