"A strongbox. One whose contents have until now remained a mystery, even to me."
"I don't understand."
"You will." Camden tore open the envelope and extracted a single sheet of paper. "This document, witnessed by my father, was carefully locked in our office safe, together with the strongbox, sixty years ago. In order to properly carry out the terms specified herein, I was verbally apprised of what they were, although the document itself has remained unopened until this very day. Once I've read it to you, you'll understand why that is."
"I'm thoroughly intrigued," Julian murmured, his expression intent. "What does this mysterious document say?"
"It reads as follows. 'If you're hearing these words, then George Camden—or whichever of his descendants is currently handling the Bencroft legal matters—has deemed you worthy. I granted the Camdens the right to make this determination because I trust them, and because I realize I will no longer be alive to personally select the right man to inherit my most valuable asset: my heritage. My only son, Chilton, is thoroughly unacceptable. He has no heart, no insight, and no exceptional talents other than ruthlessness. If this document is being read aloud, then my prayers have been answered and the Bencrofts can at long last boast a duke whose adventurous spirit and unwavering commitment—albeit to rules of his own making—match my own. But spirit and commitment are not enough. You must also possess instinct and cunning, both of which are as inborn as spirit. Therefore, I put to you this test. Before you lies a chest whose contents are known only to me. They are the link to your past—worthless to most, not so to one such as yourself. Camden will give you the key. 'Tis your task to open the box. Do so and the gates to your ancestry will open. Fail and they'll remain closed, lying in wait for an adventurer and a duke yet to be'." Camden paused. "The document is signed Geoffrey Bencroft, 6th August, 1758."
"Fascinating." With each passing moment Julian had grown more absorbed. Now, he leaned forward, his gaze fixed on the chest. "Why would opening the box prove difficult?"
"Perhaps because there's no visible keyhole." Camden offered Julian both the box and the requisite key. "I studied the chest throughout my entire carriage ride to Morland. If there's a slot to be found, I certainly can't see it."
"Which leaves one of two possibilities. Either whoever crafted the chest chose to keep the slot concealed or the chest must be opened by some means other than a key." Julian examined the heavy box, exploring the domed lid, flat base, and gold plating that embellished the front and sides. "Iron," he deduced, rapping his knuckles along the surface. "Many layers thick." He glanced at the key, eyes narrowed in thought. "The key and the chest match perfectly, right down to their gilded trim. I doubt anyone would go to the trouble of constructing the two together just to render the key useless, especially since, according to my great-grandfather, the contents of this box would be valueless to most. So I'll abandon my latter theory in favor of the former, and assume the key does in fact open the chest. Now for the key. It's short and its notches are slender. The only way it could penetrate the box is if the spot concealing the keyhole were constructed of a thinner iron than that which comprises the remainder of the chest. And since I can't find any discernable thinning of the metal…" He frowned, running his fingers around the edges of the ornate trim.
"Yes?" Camden prompted.
"Then the means by which to open this chest is hidden beneath this decorative plate somewhere, doubtless under a particularly thick section that could hide the thinner iron beneath it." Again Julian assessed the box, his gaze lingering over each segment of trim. "Look at this," he noted aloud. "There are four engraved knobs, one on each corner of the chest. The lower two are definitely more substantial than the uppers. Let's try those." So saying, he gripped first the left then the right knob, exerting gentle pressure on each.
The left knob yielded no results.
The right one, however, seemed to give the tiniest bit, easing ever so slightly to one side.
It was enough to convince Julian he'd found what he sought.
Intensifying the pressure, he urged the knob over, sliding it away until the spot it had concealed was visible.
A slim keyhole met his gaze.
"Splendid," Camden breathed, shaking his head in wonder.
"Not yet," Julian corrected. "Not until we're sure of our success." He fitted the key into its slot and turned, waiting until he heard a click. Then he attempted to lift the strongbox lid.
It rose without protest.
"Now we're sure," Julian proclaimed, anticipation swelling inside him like a great untamed wave.
Abruptly Camden came to his feet.
"Henry?" Julian's head shot up. "Where are you going?"
"Home. Geoffrey's instructions were that the recipient of this box review the contents privately." Another amazed shake of the head. "You are astounding, Julian. Everything your great-grandfather hoped for and more."
Julian stood, his stare still fixed on the strongbox. "I'll contact you soon."
"No hurry." Camden gathered up the portfolio, keeping his gaze carefully averted from the strongbox. "I'll show myself out. Good luck, Julian."
Alone in the library, Julian locked the door, then returned to his seat … and the chest.
There were two items within: a gleaming dagger that boasted an ornately carved handle with the likeness of a fox upon it, and an old worn journal. With but a cursory glance at the dagger, Julian took up the journal and began to read.
An hour later, he lowered the book to the table, his mind racing with all he'd just learned. With newfound respect, he picked up the dagger, examining it at close range, marveling at what it represented.
The implications were staggering.
And they involve
d more than just the Bencrofts.