Page 55 of The House of Hopes and Dreams
‘Everyone should make a will. It simplifies the proceedings for those left behind,’ Mr Wilmslow said.
‘Come on, Angel, if you made a will, who would you leave your worldly goods to?’ Carey asked, putting me on the spot.
‘A few small bequests to friends and Mum, and the rest to you, of course,’ I admitted.
‘There you are, then. And anyway, my will would only come into effect if I died unmarried and without issue. Even if I was a cat, I’d still have seven lives left.’
‘Seven?’ Mr Wilmslow queried.
‘I had an earlier slight bump on my bike,’ Carey explained.
‘Oh, yes, I believe you did mention it.’
‘Cycling in London seems increasingly dangerous,’ I said, but I hoped Carey would be safe enough here … And then one day he’d marry and fill the house with little Revells.
‘Going back to the will question, I think I’d like to leave some money to Ella and her husband,’ Carey said generously. ‘I may not like her, but my uncle did support her over the years and I feel a certain obligation to carry on.’
They discussed how much and Mr Wilmslow scribbled a few notes.
‘I’ll draw up a new will accordingly and let you know when it’s ready, so you can come in at your convenience.’
Business done, he turned to his hobby and began to discourse with enthusiasm on the history of the Revell family and the constant remodelling of the house.
‘There are many mysteries and stories connected with Mossby,’ he said, getting into his stride. ‘For instance, Cecil Revell, whose portrait hangs in the Long Gallery, briefly found favour with the first Queen Elizabeth. She bestowed on him a magnificent baroque jewelled ornament – always referred to in family documents as the Jewel of Mossby – which was suspended from a chain of huge rubies. He’s wearing it in the painting, but of course these adornments went out of fashion and the Jewel itself vanished, probably during the seventeenth century.’
‘Could they have sold it?’ I asked.
‘Possibly, though it would fetch such a sum that you would think the coffers would have swelled considerably and there was no sign of a sudden influx of wealth. One theory is that the Cavalier Revell, Phillip, had it sent abroad during the Civil War for safekeeping and perhaps to provide for himself should he need to flee the country, as many did once the tide of success turned in the Parliamentarians’ favour. But he died in battle and presumably took the secret with him. His body was never found,’ he added. ‘He was seen to fall wounded, so after a time his death was presumed and his posthumous son, Edmund, inherited in due course.’
‘And handed down the estate to his descendants – ending in you, Carey,’ I said to him.
‘True, though of course the Revell line would have died out at Mossby, had it not been for Joshua Winterbotham,’ said Mr Wilmslow.
‘He was the wealthy factory and ship owner who married the heiress in the middle of the nineteenth century and changed his name to hers, wasn’t he?’ Carey said.
‘Yes. The fortunes of the house had dwindled and all the farmland had been sold off, so materially it was a good match for her.’
‘And he built my workshop, to give employment to local people,’ I said.
‘For some form of cotton manufacture – hosiery, I think,’ he agreed. ‘I have forgotten now and, of course, it fell into disuse after his death. His son was brought up a gentleman and his interests lay elsewhere.’
‘Until he married Jessie Kaye and she set up her stained-glass workshop there,’ I said.
‘And that was really serendipity,’ Carey told Mr Wilmslow, ‘because now Angel can work there.’
After the coffee and biscuits we set off for the muniment room, where I tactfully turned my back and studied the samplers on the wall, while Mr Wilmslow revealed to Carey the mechanism that opened the concealed cavity.
‘It’s not a particularly difficult one, as they go. It pivots when pressure is applied to the right place, much like the entrance to the priest-hole in the Great Hall,’ explained Mr Wilmslow. ‘Of course, the existence of that one has been known for many years.’
But by this point, I was not really paying attention, because I was fascinated by the samplers, some of which were long and narrow strips of linen on stretchers, while others were framed and of the alphabet-and-house type.
Behind me there was a sort of click and a sliding noise. Carey said, ‘Come and look at this, Angel! I don’t know why you’re being so tactful, because if I can’t trust you, then I can’t trust anyone.’
I turned and saw that the doors beneath the deep window seat had been opened and the floor inside appeared to have vanished, revealing a sizeable cavity containing an extremely ancient chest.
‘They call those Spanish chests, don’t they?’ Carey asked.
‘I believe so, though this one doesn’t have a locking mechanism, as some do,’ the solicitor agreed. ‘It must have been quite difficult to get it into the space, since it’s a close fit.’
