Robert's Discovery
Short fiction by Richard Cheesman
Published by Richard Cheesman at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 Richard Cheesman
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The rain beat heavily against the window. It had turned dark now, illuminated momentarily by the occasional flash of lightning.
‘What an absolutely rubbish start to my holiday’ Robert thought. He was sat on an old wooden chest, looking out of the window. The advertisement he’d seen had shown a beautiful wooden house just yards from a lovely sandy beach. He’d booked it for a long bank holiday weekend, anxious to get out of the city for some fresh air and space. What he hadn’t counted on was the weather.
He counted to seven before he heard the rumble of thunder. The deep booms seemed to threaten to break the windows. Turning away he made his way through the darkened house to the kitchen. The power had gone out about an hour ago. It was uncertain whether the trip switches had simply turned off, or the power to the whole region had gone. There were no other houses in sight to check, not even any streetlights. Rummaging around, he had found some candles, and placed them around the house in strategic points. One in the main room, one for the kitchen, and, most importantly he thought, one for the toilet.
In the kitchen, Robert found a bottle of whisky. He searched through some of the cupboards in the low, flickering light to find a suitable glass, but finally settled on a coffee mug.
“It’ll have to do.” It surprised him, saying it out loud. It made him feel quite alone.
Going back to the main living room, another flash lit the windows. So far, it had not rained. Now it started. He could hear the large drops of rain pelting the window. Picking up the candle, he took it and placed it on the windowsill. Time to be a bit nosy, he thought, as another rumble of thunder passed overhead. Turning the chest he had sat on around, he revealed the lock. Flipping the catch, he was taken aback that it actually opened.
Pulling the top up exposed the contents of the chest to the soft light of the candle. A brief flash of lightning revealed more than the candle could. The contents were mostly clothing, seemingly old woman’s clothing. He thought it may have been from the last century. Disappointed, he started to close the lid when something caught his eye. A glimmer of white, almost imperceptible in the gloom, tucked in the lid by the lock.
Picking at it, he was able to pull out a larger scrap of paper, folded a number of times. Curiosity got the better of him and he sat on the now closed chest, unfolding the paper.
In the dim light, he could see a note, written with exceptionally neat handwriting. It read:
‘My dearest Arnold.
I know I have given you all the love I can for all the years I have been your dutiful wife. Now I am old and frail, and my memory is starting to falter. I want to give you one last thing, and this will probably be a surprise for you from beyond my death bed. You must go to my dresser, and in the drawer you will find my journal. Look on the inside cover.
All my love,
Jane.’
That was it. Robert grabbed the candle, and made his way up the dark, wooden stairs to the master bedroom. Opening the door, he could barely see the dresser, set in front of the drawn curtains. Momentarily silhouetted against the flash of the lightning, Robert placed the candle on the top, and opened the middle drawer. Would the book be in here?
“Ha!” he said aloud as the flickering yellow light showed a black notebook there. Carefully opening the book, he looked on the inside cover. There was a small note in the bottom corner, that read: ‘Wuthering Heights, always my favourite. Page 86’.
Getting the candle, Robert wondered what he would find. He went over to the large bookshelf that covered the wall along the length of the bed. Putting the candle close, he searched for the book. Finding it, he quickly turned pages quickly, desperate to find eighty-six. Excitement was building up in him, he was like a child imagining he was on a treasure hunt.
Opening the correct page, there was an envelope. Robert stepped backwards and sat on the bed and put the candle on the bedside cabinet.
Was this it? Was this the end of the trail?
He picked up the envelope, with ‘Arnold’ written on it’s front, and opened it. Inside was a letter, again written with exceptionally fine handwriting. Obviously from Jane, it seemed to Robert she had taken the time to make sure that the letter was as perfect as she could make it. He started to read:
‘My Dearest, Wonderful Arnold.
You have always been a wonderful, loving husband. Ever since the first day I met you, you were a true gentleman, who knew how to treat a lady with respect. The first time we courted, our first kiss, the wedding, everything you did for me was lavished with love and honour I didn’t deserve.
For a long time when I was ill, you looked after me with such loving attention. Even when I tried to push you away, you still loved me. When we argued, you were always the first to make up.
Most of my life has been a struggle, with my illness confining me to this room to read books every day, dreaming of places we could go, things to do. We never could, my love, because of me. I sometimes wished we’d never met, that you would have a life.
Then I would see your face, when you came home from work, and I saw the love you had radiate and cause all that to disappear for a moment. It never fully left, and I had to do something.
I am sorry, my dearest husband, but I have been deceitful to you. With the knowledge of our maid, I secretly saved some money in a bank account. You never knew of this, of course. I have put a card into the envelope with the final balance, along with the name and account number. All you have to do is give the card to the bank, and they will give you the money.
It may not be much, but I want you to go an have a journey, go far away and explore. You never could whilst I was around, but now you have the opportunity. Do this for me.
All my fondest love,
Jane Albright.’
Robert checked the envelope again. Sure enough, there was a card in there, with the banks’ details as she had written. Turning it over, he looked at the figures. Two and a half thousand dollars. Then he looked at the date. Twenty-second of April, eighteen seventy six.
He whistled. That was a lot of money by now.
“Looks like I’ll be having a good holiday after all.” Robert exclaimed, as another flash of lightning lit the room.
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