A Secret Inheritance (Volume 1 of 3)Farjeon, B. L. (Benjamin Leopold)
General
A Secret Inheritance (Volume 1 of 3)
Farjeon, B. L. (Benjamin Leopold)
Mystery fiction; Sleepwalking -- Fiction
Heaven knows there was no inducement in the great house to render it
attractive to me. It was invariably quiet and sad. Whatever else our
coming into possession of wealth did for us, it did not improve my
mother's health. She became more than ever a confirmed invalid, and
frequently kept her chamber for weeks together, during which times I
was not permitted to see her. Mrs. Fortress remained with us in
attendance on my mother, and exercised absolute control not only over
her, but over the whole establishment. My father did not trouble
himself in domestic matters; he left everything to Mrs. Fortress. Our
only regular visitor was a doctor, who occasionally, after seeing my
mother, would come and chat with me a while. He was a practitioner of
fair ability, but apart from his profession, had little in him to
attract me to him. I had the knack of gauging men, though I mixed but
little with them; I had also the gift of drawing them out, as it were,
and of extracting any special knowledge in which they were proficient.
Using the doctor in this way, quite unsuspiciously, I am sure, to
himself, I gained something from conversing with him; but had his
visits to me not been few and far between, I should have found a means
of avoiding them. I had already developed a certain masterfulness of
spirit, and judged and decided matters for myself. There was, however,
one exception, the intercourse between my mother and myself. In this I
did not guide, but was guided. When the periods of seclusion of which
I have spoken were over, Mrs. Fortress would come to me and say, "Your
mother will see you now," and would conduct me to her presence. Only
the slightest references to her illness were permitted. There were in
our small family unwritten laws which were never transgressed. I have
no remembrance of the manner in which they were made known to me, but
known they were, and obeyed as though they had been writ in letters of
steel, and no thought of rebelling against them entered my mind. The
utmost I was allowed to say was,
"You have been ill, mother?"
"Yes, Gabriel," she would reply, "I have been ill."
"You are better now, mother?"
"Yes, I am better now."
That was all.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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