Davenport placed the box on a low table in the middle of the room for everyone to see. It was approximately three feet long by two feet wide and was constructed of a dark, almost black wood edged at its corners with inlaid brass. Carved into the top of the box was the Letterford crest. On the front of the box was a large brass oval inscribed with the symbol for the Greek letter sigma, ∑, identical to the symbol on the key in Mull’s office.
“The box is opened by two keys,” Davenport explained. “One key is held by the box owner, the second by the bank. As you might expect, it took quite a while for us to locate the bank’s key—after all, it has been four hundred years or so since it was last used.”
Davenport turned to Mull Letterford.
“Mr. Letterford, I presume.”
“Yes,” replied Mull.
“And, I believe, you are the current owner of Letterford and Sons.”
“Yes, at least as of right now.”
“Well, sir, right now is all that matters,” replied Davenport.
Davenport pulled a single gold key from his pocket, placed it into one of two slots on the front of the box, and gave it a half turn to the right. There was a click from inside the box. Colophon handed the key to her father, who stepped forward, inserted the second key, and gave it a half turn. There was another click. Mull took a deep breath and then lifted the lid of the box. Everyone in the room gathered behind Mull and Colophon to look.
Inside the box, on a velvet cloth, sat a small greenish-brown container made of glass with a black metal cap.
Treemont reached into the box and pulled out the small container for all to see. “An inkwell! The treasure is an inkwell!”
He laughed. “The treasure is nothing more than an old piece of glass—a personal memento from our esteemed founder.” His voice cackled with delight.
Colophon was crestfallen. Her father pulled her close and whispered in her ear. “I am so proud of you.”
Treemont’s deep voice filled the room. “Shall we move on, or does the girl have any more surprises for us?”
“No,” replied Colophon. She couldn’t believe it was over. After everything she had been through with Julian, it all amounted to nothing.
“Then,” continued Treemont, his voice rising in anticipation, “let us move forward with—”
“Actually,” Uncle Portis interrupted, “there is more.”
Everyone in the room turned toward Uncle Portis, who stood over the box. “Seems like an awful big box for only one small piece of glass, wouldn’t you agree?”
He pushed down on the back corners of the velvet cloth on which the inkwell previously sat. The cloth and the board to which it was attached flipped up to reveal a hidden interior. Uncle Portis reached down and pulled out a large brown object and handed it to Mull.
“It’s a leather portfolio,” said Mull.
“A dried-out leather portfolio!” exclaimed Treemont mockingly. “This has become a farce—a centuries-old joke by our esteemed founder. Now we have paper to go with our dried-up ink! Anything else in that box, Portis? Perhaps Miles’s old grocery list?”
Portis held up a piece of paper. “Actually, there is one last thing—a note to our esteemed founder, Miles Letterford.”
“From whom? His dry cleaner?” asked Treemont, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“No,” replied Uncle Portis curtly, “from William Shakespeare.”
Whatever conversations, noise, or movement that may have otherwise been taking place in the library came to an immediate halt. The fire crackled and popped.
Treemont’s eyes went wide. “Shakespeare?” There was, for the first time that evening, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
“Quite,” replied Uncle Portis. “It appears that the Bard once gave Miles a gift of sorts. And based on the contents of this note, I would suggest that this gift was a remarkable treasure indeed.”
Mull Letterford, who had been quickly scanning the portfolio, seemed stunned by its contents. “A wonderful treasure indeed,” he murmured.
“Well,” one of the family members in attendance demanded, “don’t keep us in suspense. What is it?”
“As you know,” Mull said, “no one has ever found a single play, page, or scribble from any of Shakespeare’s works in his own handwriting. This, of course, led to much speculation that the plays were either ghostwritten or that Shakespeare never existed. Such speculation has been the inspiration for dozens of books and articles.”
Mull held up the thick leather portfolio for everyone to see.
“This,” he continued, his voice growing more confident with each word, “puts all that speculation to rest. What I hold in my hand is nothing less than the original manuscript for Hamlet, written in the Bard’s own hand, with his edits and stage directions!”
There was a collective gasp among those in the room.
“And there’s more,” Mull said. “The portfolio also includes a short collection of sonnets and two more plays by Shakespeare—all in his hand.”
“Amazing!”
“Remarkable!”
“Outstanding!”
Congratulations filled the air for Colophon, Julian, and their investigatory efforts. Under the din, the library clock softly chimed nine o’clock.
“A treasure beyond treasures!” exclaimed Mull Letterford. “Cowell must be turning in his grave! Can you imagine how excited the scholarly community will be about this?”
Everyone had briefly forgotten about Treemont. Treemont, however, quickly corrected that oversight.
“Congratulations are indeed in order for young Miss Letterford,” he said as he moved to the center of the room and started clapping. “This is a great treasure indeed! And, as the new owner of Letterford and Sons, I promise to take great care of this valuable piece of family history. Now, I don’t mean to undermine this grand achievement or otherwise disrupt this festive atmosphere. However, I presume we are now ready to formalize my standing as the new owner of Letterford. I assume we all agree that Mull has not met the terms of our agreement. Does anyone disagree?”
Treemont looked around as one head after another nodded, albeit reluctantly, in agreement.
Treemont then turned to Mull.
“I assume you are a man of your word?” Treemont asked.
“I am,” Mull replied.
“Dear?”
Mull looked around. It was his wife, Meg, who had called to him.
“Yes?” Mull replied.
“I have something to say,” Meg Letterford said. She was holding the portfolio, and there was a decidedly businesslike tone to her voice.
“Say anything you please,” Mull replied.
Treemont started to protest, but Meg Letterford cut him short with a quick glance over the top of her glasses—a skill she had perfected from years in the classroom.
“I believe,” Meg said, “that the terms of the agreement have, in fact, been satisfied in full.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Treemont. “Mull did not meet the demands of the family by the deadline. He was required to provide at least three new works by a best-selling author. He failed. There is nothing more to discuss.”
Meg Letterford held up the portfolio for all to see. Colophon, who had dropped deep into the crevices of one of the great leather chairs, shot up immediately.
“You would concede,” asked Meg, “that Shakespeare is a best-selling author—at least posthumously?”
“Of course,” replied Treemont.
Meg Letterford smiled. “Scholars have long wondered why Shakespeare simply quit writing after he returned to Stratford from London. Some scholars have speculated that he did not stop writing. Rather, they speculate that due to his political and religious leanings, he was forced out of London and into seclusion—but that he kept writing. It now appears that they were correct. Hamlet, of course, is one of the most recognized plays ever written. However, I did not recognize the sonnets and the other plays included in the portfolio—and for good reason: they
have never been published or distributed in any form. You have your three new works, previously unpublished and written by perhaps the greatest writer in history. The agreement has been satisfied.”
“But, wait . . .” stammered Treemont. “That’s not the agreement.”
Uncle Portis’s response was curt and to the point: “That was the agreement—three new works by a best-selling author. And they are the exclusive property of Letterford and Sons. Mull Letterford has satisfied the agreement in full, and the business is his to run.”
Portis turned and looked at the rest of the family. “Are we all in agreement?”
Everyone in the room nodded and shouted in accordance, with the exception, of course, of Treemont.
“Then it is concluded,” Uncle Portis said.
And the fireplace cracked and popped. And the room was filled with the scent of fresh pine and mulled wine.
Treemont slipped quietly out of the library and walked to the entrance hall of the Letterford home. He pulled on his overcoat and glanced outside to make sure his cab had arrived. He then looked back down the entrance hall to ensure that he was alone. No one was there. He pulled out his cell phone and placed a call.
“It didn’t go exactly according to plan,” he said. “But I found what I needed—they have the box. It had an inkwell. Nothing else important was in it.”
There was a pause as someone on the other end of the phone spoke.
“No,” Treemont replied, “they have no idea.”
Another pause.
“We have work to do,” he said. “It’s now within reach.”
Another pause.
“Yes,” he said. “You’re right. It could not have worked out better. I will see you in Boston in a week.”
Treemont ended the call and placed the cell phone in his breast pocket.
Case peeked through the window in the entrance hall and watched Treemont step into the back seat of a waiting cab.
Had Treemont really just said that there was nothing else important in the box? How could he say that? Hadn’t he seen what they had found?
Case had noticed Treemont sneak out of the library. And he had noticed something else, too—that Treemont, for all the fuss and fury he had exhibited, did not seem particularly upset as he slipped away. In fact, Treemont had seemed almost, well, smug. This had bothered Case, and he had decided to follow Treemont. Case had exited through the back of the library and had made his way to the front of the house. Standing just outside the entrance hall and out of view, Case had overheard Treemont engaged in a conversation with someone on the phone.
And it was that conversation that now concerned Case. He needed to talk to Colophon.
Case walked back down the hallway and around the stairs and stood at the back entrance to the library. Across the room he could see his father, his sister, and his mother.
They were happy.
The stress and worry that had weighed so heavily on his father for the last several months had disappeared in an instant.
Maybe I didn’t hear what I thought I heard.
Case watched as his father grabbed Colophon by her hands and twirled her in a swooping circle. Colophon squealed with delight.
Case made up his mind. Whatever he heard—or thought he heard—could wait. Tonight was not the right time.
Case crossed the room and joined the family in celebration.
Epilogue
The small parcel from Julian was postmarked Abergavenny, Wales. Inside, Colophon discovered a single handwritten page.
Colophon:
There is no time for small talk. In our quest, we followed one clue to another, which led us to the Shakespeare manuscripts. We all assumed the manuscripts were, in fact, Miles Letterford’s great treasure.
We were wrong.
The manuscripts were simply another clue.
I will write further.
Julian
FINI
Appendix
Author’s note: The chapter titles are derived from different plays and sonnets by William Shakespeare.
Chapter 1: What News, I Prithee?
King Henry VI, Part II, act 3, scene 2
Chapter 2: Homeward Did They Bend Their Course
The Comedy of Errors, act 1, scene 1
Chapter 3: My Books . . . Shall Be My Company
The Taming of the Shrew, act 1, scene 1
Chapter 4: The Ill Wind Which Blows
King Henry IV, Part II, act 5, scene 3
Chapter 5: Under Thy Own Life’s Key
All’s Well That Ends Well, act 1, scene 1
Chapter 6: Be Bounteous at Our Meal
Antony and Cleopatra, act 4, scene 2
Chapter 7: To Me Thy Secrets Tell
The Winter’s Tale, act 4, scene 3
Chapter 8: To Desperate Ventures
King Richard III, act 5, scene 3
Chapter 9: Quittance or Obligation
Merry Wives of Windsor, act 1, scene 1
Chapter 10: Most Ponderous and Substantial Things
Measure for Measure, act 3, scene 2
Chapter 11: Use Careful Watch; Choose Trusty Sentinels
King Richard III, act 5, scene 3
Chapter 12: A Good Direction
King Richard III, act 5, scene 3
Chapter 13: All Strange and Terrible Events
Antony and Cleopatra, act 4, scene 15
Chapter 14: Tedious Stumbling Blocks
King Henry VI, Part II, act 1, scene 2
Chapter 15: By the Progress of the Stars
Julius Caesar, act 2, scene 1
Chapter 16: A Secret to Reveal
King Henry VI, Part I, act 5, scene 3
Chapter 17: Snares to Trap Mine Enemies
King Henry VI, Part II, act 3, scene 1
Chapter 18: The Insolent Foe
Othello, act 1, scene 3
Chapter 19: Heirs of Fixed Destiny
Merry Wives of Windsor, act 5, scene 5
Chapter 20: Oh Villainy!
Othello, act 5, scene 2
Chapter 21: A Monument Upon Thy Bones
Pericles, Prince of Tyre, act 3, scene 1
Chapter 22: Let Slip the Dogs of War
Julius Caesar, act 3, scene 1
Chapter 23: Unquiet Meals Make Ill Digestions
The Comedy of Errors, act 5, scene 1
Chapter 24: With Hidden Help and Vantage
Macbeth, act 1, scene 3
Chapter 25: Secrets of the Grave
Cymbeline, act 3, scene 4
Chapter 26: In the Bottom of a Tomb
Romeo and Juliet, act 3, scene 5
Chapter 27: Of Other Men’s Secrets
Love’s Labour’s Lost, act 1, scene 1
Chapter 28: Swifter Than the Wandering Moon
A Midsummer Night’s Dream, act 4, scene 1
Chapter 29: To Listen After News
King Henry IV, Part II, act 1, scene 1
Chapter 30: With Golden Promises
Titus Andronicus, act 4, scene 4
Chapter 31: Foul Deeds Will Rise
Hamlet, act 1, scene 2
Chapter 32: This Chase Is Hotly Follow’d
King Henry V, act 2, scene 4
Chapter 33: Regard Him Well
Troilus and Cressida, act 2, scene 1
Colophon
THUS ENDS THIS BOOK:
A Tale of the Letterford Family
BY DERON R. HICKS.
***
PRINTED BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN HARCOURT,
AND FIRST OFFERED TO THE DISCERNING PUBLIC
ON THE FOURTH DAY OF SEPTEMBER, MMXII.
THE TEXT FONTS ARE NEW CENTURY SCHOOLBOOK, EUPHORIGENIC, AND CAPTAIN KIDD.
***
with great thanks & appreciation to the following:
AGENT: STEVEN CHUDNEY
PUBLISHER: BETSY GROBAN
EDITORIAL DIRECTOR: MARY WILCOX
EDITOR: ANN RIDER
EDITORIAL INTERN: AMY CHERRIX
MANAG
ING EDITOR: ANN-MARIE PUCILLO
COPYEDITORS: JANET BIEHL AND ALISON KERR MILLER
PROOFREADER: SARAH CHAFFEE PARIS
ART DIRECTOR: CAROL CHU
ASSISTANT DESIGNER: SUSANNA VAGT
PRODUCTION MANAGER: TRISH MCGINLEY
JACKET ILLUSTRATOR: GILBERT FORD
INTERIOR ILLUSTRATOR: MARK EDWARD GEYER
MARKETING MANAGER: LISA DISARRO
PUBLICIST: RACHEL WASDYKE
Coming in Fall 2013
Tower of the Five Orders
Colophon Letterford has discovered a long-lost family treasure and saved the family business. However, as familiar foes continue to plot and scheme against her family, Colophon and her cousin Julian discover that there may be more to the family treasure than they had ever anticipated. More clues lead to more questions, and Colophon must unravel the secrets of Oxford’s Tower of the Five Orders to reveal the true legacy of her ancient ancestor.
Secrets of Shakespeare's Grave Page 16