The Lost Treasure of Trevlyn: A Story of the Days of the Gunpowder Plot

As she hurried to the tryst that evening, this fear was only second to the bitter thought of parting with Cuthbert. Yet she did not wish him to stay. Her father's wrath and suspicion once fully aroused, no peace could be hoped for or looked for. Terribly as she would miss him, anything was better than such scenes as the one of today. Cuthbert was no longer a child; he was beginning to think and reason and act for himself. It was better he should fly before worse had happened; only the girl could not but wonder what her own life would be like if, after his departing, her stern father should absolutely forbid her seeing or speaking to her cousins again.

She knew he would gladly do it; knew that he hated and grudged the few meetings and greetings that did pass between them from time to time. Any excuse would gladly be caught at as a pretext for an absolute prohibition of such small overtures, and what would life be like, she wondered with a little sob, if she were to lose Cuthbert, and never to see Philip?

Her brother was at the trysting place first. She could not see his face, but could distinguish the slight figure seated upon the crumbling fragment of the wall. He was very still and quiet, and she paused as she drew near, wondering if he had not heard her light footfall upon the fallen leaves.

"Is that thou, my sister?" asked a familiar voice, though feeble and hollow in its tones. The girl sprang quickly to his side.

"Yes, Cuthbert, it is I; and I have brought all thou biddest me, and as much beside as I could make shift to carry. Alack, Cuthbert are you sorely hurt? I heard that cruel whip!"

"Think no more of that! I will think no more myself once the smart be past. Think of the freedom thy brother will enjoy; would that thou couldst share it, sweet sister! I like not faring thus forth and leaving thee, but for the nonce there be no other way.

"Petronella, I know thou wouldst ask whither I go and what I do. And that I scarce know myself as yet. But sitting here in the dark there has come a new purpose, a new thought to my mind. What if I were to set myself to the discovery of the lost treasure of Trevlyn Chase?"

The girl started in the darkness, and laid her hand on her brother's arm.

"Ah, Cuthbert, that lost treasure! Would that thou couldst find it! But how canst thou hope to do so when so many besides have failed?"

"That is not the fashion in which men think when they mean to triumph, my sister," said Cuthbert, and she knew by his voice that he was smiling. "How this thing may be done I know not. Where the long-lost treasure be hid I know not, nor that I may ever be the one to light on it. But this I do know, that it is somewhere; that some hand buried it; that even now some living soul may know the secret of the hiding place. Petronella, hast thou ever thought of it? Hast thou ever wondered if our father may know aught of it?"

"Our father! nay, Cuthbert; but he would be the first to show the place and claim his share of spoil."

"I know not that. He hates Sir Richard. Methinks he loved not his own brother, the good knight's father. He was in the house what time the treasure vanished. Might he not have had some hand in the mystery?"

The girl shook her head again doubtfully.

"Nay, how can I say? Yet methinks our father, who sorely laments his poverty and dependence for a home upon Sir Richard's kindness, would no longer live at the old Gate House had he riches hidden away upon which he might lay his hand. Nay, Cuthbert, methinks thou art not on the right track in thinking of him. But I do not rightly know the story of that lost treasure."

"Marry, nor I neither. I have heard our father rave of it. I have heard a word here, a whisper there, but never a full account of the matter. But that there is some great treasure lost or made away with all men who know aught of the Trevlyns know well. And if, as all affirm, this same treasure is but buried in some hiding place, the clue to which none possesses, why should not I find it? Why should not I be the man at last to track and to discover it?"

Why not indeed? Petronella, full of ardent youthful imaginings, fired instantly with the thought. Why should not her brother do this thing? Why not indeed? She looked at him with eyes that shone in the gloom like stars.

"Yes, Cuthbert, be it thine to do what none else has been able. Be it thine to discover this lost treasure. Would that I could help thee in that quest! But I can give thee just this one morsel of counsel. Start not till thou hast been to the Chase and heard all the story from our cousins there. They will tell thee what there is to know, and he is twice armed who has this knowledge."

"I will follow thy good counsel, my sister, and commend thee to their kindly care. And now, let us say farewell, and be brief; for such moments do but wring the heart and take the manliness from one. Farewell, and farewell, my sweetest sister. Heaven be thy guide and protector; and be sure of one thing, that if I live I will see thee soon again, and that if I have success in my search thou and I will rejoice in it together."

Chapter 2: The Inmates Of Trevlyn Chase

Trevlyn Chase was a fine Tudor structure, standing on the site of the more ancient castle that had been destroyed during the tumultuous days of the Wars of the Roses. Instead of the grim pile of gray masonry that had once adorned the crest of the wooded hill, its narrow loopholes and castellated battlements telling of matters offensive and defensive, a fair and home-like mansion of red brick overlooked the peaceful landscape, adorned with innumerable oriel windows, whose latticed casements shone brilliantly in the south sunlight as it fell upon the handsome frontage of the stately house. Great timbers deeply carved adorned the outer walls, and the whole building was rich in those embellishments which grace the buildings of that period. A fine terrace ran the whole length of the south front, and was bounded at either side by a thick hedge of yew. Stone steps led down into a terraced garden upon which much care had been bestowed, and which in summer was bright with all the flowers then known and cultivated in this country. Even in gloomy winter there was more of order and trimness than was often found in such places, and the pleasaunces and shrubberies and gardens of Trevlyn Chase, with the wide fish ponds and terraced paths, formed a pleasant place of resort almost at any season, and were greatly delighted in by the children of the present owner, who had only recently made acquaintance with their ancient family home.

The setting sun was shining brightly now upon the windows of the house which faced the south, with half a point of west, so that in winter the sunlight shone to the very time of its setting into the lofty and decorated chambers. The glow from blazing fires within likewise shone and twinkled hospitably through the clear glass, and one long window of one of the rooms stood open to the still evening air, and a little group was gathered together just outside.

A tall young man of some five-and-twenty summers, with the regular Trevlyn features and a pair of honest gray eyes, was standing out on the terrace with his face towards the red sky, a couple of sporting dogs frisking joyously about him, as if hoping he was bent upon a stroll in the woods. By his side stood a tall slim maiden, bright faced and laughing eyed, straight as a dart, alert and graceful in her movements, with an expression of courage and resolution on her fair face that stamped it at once with a strong individuality of its own. She was dressed simply, though in soft and rich textures, as became her station, and she held her hood in her hands, leaving her ruffled curly hair to be the sport of the light night breeze. She had very delicate features and an oval face, and from the likeness that existed between them the pair were plainly brother and sister.

Just within the open window were two more girls, dressed in the same fashion as the first, and plainly her sisters, though they were more blonde in type, and whilst very pretty, lacked the piquant originality that was the great characteristic of the dark girl's beauty. They were not quite so tall, and the elder of the blonde pair was not nearly so slim, but had something of womanly deliberation and dignity about her. She was plainly the eldest of the three sisters, as the little maid beside her was the youngest. All three were engrossed in some sort of talk that appeared full of interest for them.

"I wish he would not do it," said Philip, turning his eyes in an easterly direction, towards a hollow in the falling ground, where the ruins of the ancient wall could still be dimly traced. The old Gate House itself could not be seen from this side of the house, but it was plain that the thoughts of all had turned in that direction. "It is brave of him to obey his conscience rather than his father; but yon man is such a veritable tiger, that I fear me there will be dark work there betwixt them if the lad provoke him too far. Nicholas Trevlyn is not one to be defied with impunity. I would that Cuthbert had as much prudence as he has courage."

"So do not I," answered Kate quickly, turning her flashing eyes full upon her brother. "I hate prudence-the prudence of cowardice! I am right glad that Cuthbert thinks first of his conscience and second of his father's wrath. What man who ever lived to do good in the world was deterred from the right by craven fears? I honour him for his single mindedness. He is a bold youth, and I would fain help him an I could see the way."

"We would all gladly do that," answered Philip; "the hard thing being to find the way."

"We shall find it anon, I doubt not," answered Kate. "Things cannot go on ever as they are now."

"No; methinks one day we may chance to hear that the old Papist has done his son to death in a fit of blind fury. Then perhaps, my sister, thou wilt join with me in wishing that the lad had shown more regard for his stern sire's word."

"Nay, Philip, sure thou fearest too much," spoke Cecilia from her station beside the window. "Nicholas Trevlyn may be a dark and sour man, but he scarce would lift a hand against his own flesh and blood! I cannot believe it of any father."

"Fathers of his type have done as bad ere now," answered Philip, with gravity, "and there is no bigot like the Papist bigot, who is soured and embittered by persecution himself. Cuthbert has told me things ere this which show what an iron soul his father's is. He believes that he would wring the neck of little Petronella sooner than see her turn out of the path of unreasoning Papistry in which he has brought her up," and Philip's face darkened suddenly as he turned it towards his sisters.

"But sure the King would protect them if he knew," said Bessie, the youngest of the sisters. "Why, the law bids all loyal subjects go to church, and punishes those who stay away. The King would be sorely angry, would he not, were he to hear that any man dared use force to hinder his children from going."

Kate's delicate lips curved into a smile of derision, and Philip shrugged his broad shoulders.

"The King, my dear Bessie, is naught but a miserable pedant, who loves nothing so well as hearing himself talk, and prating by the hour together on matters of law and religion, and on the divine right of kings. He is not the King such as England has been wont to know-a King to whom his subjects might gain access to plead his protection and ask his aid. I trow none but a fool would strive to win a smile from the Scottish James. He is scarce a man, by all we hear, let alone a King. I sometimes think scorn of us as a nation that we so gladly and peaceably put our necks beneath the sceptre of such an atomy. Sure had the Lady Arabella but been a man, we should scarce have welcomed so gladly this son of Mary Stuart as our monarch."

"Have a care, my children, and talk not rank treason in such open fashion," said a deep voice behind them, and the daughters started to see the tall form of their father in the room behind them. "We Trevlyns are none too safe from suspicion that we need endanger ourselves wilfully. Whatever else James Stuart may be, he has shown that he means to be a monarch as absolute as any who have gone before him. Wherefore it behoves us to be cautious even in the sanctuary of this peaceful home.

"What is the matter, Kate, that thou art thus scornful towards his majesty? In what has he offended thee, my saucy princess?"

As Kate stepped within the room, followed by her brother, it was plain from the lighting of her father's eyes that she was the favourite daughter with him. He laid his hand lightly on her shoulder, and she stood up close beside him, her bright face upraised, a saucy gleam in her eyes, and both her attitude and bearing bespoke an affectionate confidence between father and child less common in those ceremonious days than it has since become.

"Father, we were talking of Cuthbert. Did you see him at church today? He was there both in the morning and the afternoon."

"I thought I saw him. I was not sure. I am glad his father has had the sense to relent thus far with him."

"But he has not relented," answered Kate quickly. "Cuthbert comes in defiance of his commands; and Philip says he misdoubts if his father may not do him some grievous bodily harm in his rage and fury. Bessie did ask if the King would not interfere to save him;" and then Kate broke off with her rippling, saucy laugh. "I was just answering that question when you came. But sure, father, something might be done for him. It is a cruel thing for a boy to be treated as he is treated, and all for striving to obey the law of the land."

Sir Richard Trevlyn stood in silent thought awhile. He was a fine-looking man, with a thoughtful, benevolent countenance, and eyes that Kate had inherited. He had known something of peril and trouble himself in his day, and could feel for the troubles of others. But he also knew the difficulties of dealing with such a man as his kinsman Nicholas; and without bringing him to the notice of the authorities as a concealed Papist-an idea repugnant to him where one of his own name and blood was concerned-it was difficult to see what could be done for the protection of the hapless Cuthbert and his sister.

Sir Richard Trevlyn did not wish to draw public attention upon himself. It was his desire to live as quietly and privately as possible. The Trevlyns had been for many generations a family stanch to the doctrines and traditions of the Church of Rome, and they had won for themselves that kind of reputation which clings tenaciously to certain families even when it has ceased to be a fact. The present Sir Richard's father had broken through the traditions of his race in marrying a lady of the Reformed faith. It was a love match, and all other considerations went to the winds. The lady was no theologian, and though believing all she had been taught, had no horror of Popery or of her husband's creed. They had lived happily together in spite of their respective opinions; but either through the influence of his wife, or through other causes less well understood, Sir Richard the elder in his later life became gradually weaned from the old faith, and embraced that of his wife. Some said this was done from motives of policy, since Elizabeth was on the throne, and the edicts against Papists, though only rigidly enforced by fits and starts, were always in existence, and had been the ruin of many ancient families. However that may have been, the only son of this union had been trained up a Protestant, and had brought up his own children as members of the Established Church of the land.

But still the old tradition remained that all Trevlyns must of necessity be rank Papists, and Nicholas had certainly done all he could to encourage this idea, and had ruined himself by his contumacious resistance to the laws. Both his brother and his nephew had suffered through their close relationship to such an unruly subject, and there had been dark days enough for the family during the Armada scare, when every Papist became a mark for popular hatred, and professions of loyalty and good faith were regarded with distrust.

Now, however, the family seemed to have lived through its darkest days. Peace had been made with men in high places. Sir Richard had done good service to the State on more than one occasion; and latterly he had felt sufficiently safe to retire from the neighbourhood of the Court, where he had been holding some small office, and settle down with his wife and family in his ancestral home. His marriage with Lady Frances de Grey, the daughter of the Earl of Andover, had given him excellent connections; for the Andovers were stanch supporters of the Reformed faith, and had been for several generations, so that they were high in favour, and able to further the fortunes of their less lucky kinsman. It had taken many years to work matters to a safe and happy conclusion, but at the present moment there seemed to be no clouds in the sky.

The new King had been as gracious as it was in his nature to be to Sir Richard, and did not appear to regard him with any suspicion. The knight breathed freely again after a long period of anxiety, for the tenacious memory and uncertain temper of the late Queen had kept him in a constant ferment.

It had been a kindly and courageous thing for Sir Richard to permit his contumacious and inimical kinsman to retain the possession of the old Gate House. Nicholas had no manner of right to it, though he was fond of putting forward a pretended claim; and the close proximity of a rank and bitter Papist of his own name and race was anything but a pleasant thing. But the sense of family feeling, so strongly implanted in the English race, had proved stronger than prudential scruple, and Nicholas had not been ejected, his nephew even striving at the first to establish some kind of friendly relations with the old man, hoping perhaps to draw him out of his morose ways, and lead him to conformity and obedience to the existing law.

Nicholas had refused all overtures; but his lonely son and daughter had been only too thankful for notice, and the whole family at the Chase became keenly interested in them. It was plain from the first that their father's bitterness and rigid rule had done anything but endear his own views to his children. Petronella accepted the creeds and dogmas instilled into her mind with a childlike faith, and dreamed her own devotional dreams over her breviary and her book of saints-the only two volumes she possessed. She was content, in the same fashion that a little child is content, with just so much as was given her. But Cuthbert's mind was of a different stamp, and he had long been panting to break the bonds that held both body and soul in thrall, and find out for himself the meaning of those questions and controversies that were convulsing the nation and the world.

Intercourse with his kinsfolk had given him his first real insight into the burning questions of the hour, and his attendance from time to time at the parish church had caused him fresh access of wonder at what his father could object to in the doctrines there set forth. They might not embody everything a popish priest would bid him believe, but at least they appeared to the boy to contain all the integral truths of Christianity. He began dimly to understand that the Papists were not half so much concerned in the matter of cardinal doctrines of the faith as in asserting and upholding the temporal as well as the spiritual power of the Pope; and that this should be made the matter of the chiefest moment filled the boy's soul with a loathing and disgust which were strong enough to make him half a Protestant at once.

Sir Richard had seen almost as much, and was greatly interested in the lad; but it was difficult to know how to help him in days when parental authority was so absolute and so rigidly exercised.

"We must do what we can," said Sir Richard, waking from his reverie and shaking his head. "But we must have patience too; and it will not be well for the boy to irritate his father too greatly. Tomorrow I will go to the Gate House and see my uncle, and speak for the boy. He ought to have the liberty of the law, and the law bids all men attend the services of the Established Church. But it is ill work reasoning with a Papist of his type; and short of reporting the case to the authorities, meaning more persecution for my unlucky kinsman, I know not what may be done."

"We must strive so to win upon him by gentle means that he permits his children free intercourse with ours," said gentle Lady Frances from her seat by the glowing hearth. "It seems to me that that is all we may hope to achieve in the present. Perchance as days and weeks pass by we may find a way to that hard and flinty heart."

"And whilst we wait it may well be that Cuthbert will be goaded to desperation, or be done to death by his remorseless sire," answered impetuous Kate, who loved not counsels of prudence. "Methinks that waiting is an ill game. I would never wait were I a man. I would always aet-ay, even in the teeth of deadly peril. Sure the greatest deeds have been achieved by men of action, not by men of counsel and prudence."

Sir Richard smiled, as he stroked her hair, and told her she should have lived a hundred or so years back, when it was the fashion to do and dare regardless of consequences. And gradually the talk drifted away from the inmates of the old Gate House, though Philip was quite resolved to pay an early visit there on the morrow, and learn how it had fared with his cousin.

Supper followed in due course, and was a somewhat lengthy meal. Then the ladies retired to the stately apartment they had been in before, and the mother read a homily to her daughters, which was listened to with dutiful attention. But Kate's bright eyes were often bent upon the casement of one window, the curtain of which she had drawn back with her own hand before sitting down; and as the moon rose brighter and brighter in the sky and bathed the world without in its clear white beams, she seemed to grow a little restless, and tapped the floor with the point of her dainty shoe.

Kate Trevlyn was a veritable sprite for her love of the open air, by night as well as day, in winter cold as well as summer heat. "The night bird" was one of her father's playful names for her, and if ever she was able to slip away on a fine night, nothing delighted her more than to wander about in the park and the woods, listening to the cries of the owls and night jars, watching the erratic flight of the bats, and admiring the grand beauty of the sleeping world as it lay beneath the rays of the peaceful moon.

As the reading ceased, a step on the terrace without told Kate that Philip was out for an evening stroll. Gliding from the room with her swift undulating motion, and quickly donning cloak and clogs, she slipped after him and joined him before he had got many yards from the house.

"Take me with thee, Philip," she said. "It is a lovely night for a stroll. I should love to visit the chantry; it looks most witching at this hour of the night."

They took the path that led thither. The great clock in the tower had boomed the hour of eight some time since. The moon had shaken itself free from the veil of cloud, and was sailing majestically in the sky. As they descended the path, Kate suddenly laid her hand on her brother's arm, and whispered:

"Hist! Methinks I hear the sound of steps. Surely there is some one approaching us from below!"

Philip paused and listened. Yes, Kate's quick ears had not deceived her. There was the sound of a footstep advancing towards them along the lonely tangled path. Philip instinctively felt for the pistol he always carried in his belt, for there were often doubtful and sometimes desperate men in hiding in woods and lonely places; but before he had time to do more than feel if the weapon were safe, Kate had darted suddenly from his side, and was speeding down the path.

"Marry but it is Cuthbert!" she called back to him as he bid her stop, and Philip himself started forward to meet and greet the newcomer.

"We have been talking of you and wondering how it fared with you," he said, as they reached the side of the youth "I am right glad to see you here tonight."

Cuthbert did not answer for a moment. He seemed to pant for breath. A ray of moonlight striking down upon his face showed it to be deadly white. His attitude bespoke the extreme of fatigue and weakness.

"Why, there is something amiss with you!" cried Philip, taking his cousin by the arm. "Some evil hap has befallen you."