It must have been about eight oclock in the morning, a memory as clear as daylight, when the entirety of the Taylor family gathered in the oak-panelled office of Mr. Whitmore, the village solicitor. The air hummed with anticipation at the prospect of a sizeable inheritance left by a wealthy relative, recently departed. As Mr. Whitmore was running late, the tension among those present seemed to swell by the minute. Elizabeth, Roberts eldest daughteralways the impatient onecould not hide her nerves, desperate to discover whether her name graced the pages of the will.
Aunt, do have a little respect, Mark chided, unable to bear the restlessness. We ought to be in mourning. After all, our father is no longer amongst us.
Dont call me Aunt, Im not old yet. Just use my Christian name, came the slightly wounded response from their aunt.
Mark, with a wry twist to his lips, retorted, Its amusing how you think cosmetics and a touch of rouge can keep you forever young.
At last, Mr. Whitmore swept into the room, his arms burdened with papers. Casting his gaze around at the assembled family, he selected one folder from the looming pile upon his bureau.
Are we all prepared for me to read the will? he inquired, his voice smooth as polished mahogany. A sea of solemn nods greeted him. With the faintest hint of a knowing smile, the solicitor began to read Roberts final testament.
I leave my estate to all of you. However, not everyone will receive it so easily. Ive decided to create a true treasure hunt, reminiscent of those my mother devised for my siblings and me. You must begin at my childhood village. Our family knew precious little of riches then, yet happiness abounded in our togetherness. As the eldest, I inherited a chest from my mother; inside that chest lies your treasure, but only the most observant will find the key. Its hidden somewhere in the house, not easily discovered, so I wish you the best of luck!
For several moments, a hush fell upon the room, as each in attendance wondered at the old mans mischiefeven from beyond the grave, Robert had left them a game to play.
The silence was finally broken by the eldest daughter, Elizabeth, herself a mother now. My husband, the children and I are off to the village this instant. Who wishes to join our search for the key?
Mark and I shant bother with any chest or key, replied Alice, the younger daughter, her tone resolute. Knowing our father, theres bound to be another secret at play here. We do not desire his money.
Elizabeth, her husband, and a handful of other relatives set off for that quaint country village. Their efforts were earnest, if not a touch overzealousclambering into the old barn to peer at livestock, sifting through haystacks in hope of finding a clue, even squeezing through privet hedges. Villagers looked on, bemused by the curious spectacle. The fine silk gown Elizabeth had so carefully chosen for the day became ragged and threadbare before long. Eventually, their persistence paid off. They uncovered the key at last, and with it, opened the time-worn chest, only to be met with utter astonishment.
Within the chest lay nothing but a handwritten note and a cheerful assortment of barley sugar sweets.
All my savings have been donated to charity, and you have received what you truly deserve. Thank you for spreading joy among my beloved villagers, read the note, each word penned in Roberts familiar hand and signed, as ever, with his steady script.
