"It was a long time ago," Rory began. "'Bout the middle o' the 17th century. An' in this 'ere mansion, there was a fine young lady livin'; the last heiress o' this 'ere place. Her name was Adelaide Denzell, and she'd fallen in love wiv a humble seafarin' boy named Augustus Sommers.
"They was a right odd couple by all accounts. An' many a person frowned upon their engagement. Why! A lady like her gettin' hammered-for-life to a common bloke like 'im? It didn't go over too well, I can tell you! But Lady Denzell didn't care. No, not a bit! An' them two were just as fixed on gettin' married as any lovers could be.
"But, afore too long, both of 'em started a-fearin' that it just weren't meant t' be. Augustus was called away on a long voyage in a ship. He made every promise t' return an' marry Adelaide come springtime. But spring turned into summer, an' summer faded into fall, an' still Augustus's ship never came back. Days turned into months, an' then into years. Lady Denzell 'adn't a choice but t' guess that her lover was dead."
As Timothy listened, his heart filled with pity. In his imagination, he could just picture the fair lady gazing out to sea with a yearning look in her eyes. If only she could see Augustus' ship sailing back over the horizon. If only she could hear his voice one last time. But her hopes were dashed day by day, until there was no hope left.
Like the changing seasons of every year, Adelaide's life went on. The spring of her youth turned into the autumn of middle age. She had spent all of the meager inheritance her ancestors had left her. A few gambling relatives had squandered the family fortune long before it had fallen into Adelaide's hands. So she lived a very sensible, frugal life.
She never forgot her lost sailor boy. He had been the only one who had loved her. The few relatives who had been left in her family had been too selfish to love. They had never even written her any letters. Instead, they had left her to fend for herself and live all alone and heartbroken.
But one day, while the lady had sat staring at the shoreline, she had seen an elderly seaman walking toward her home. His hair had been almost completely white; his face had been weathered from a life of laboring under the wind and sun. But, even at seventy, he was a handsome, noble looking man.
Adelaide's heart had leapt with a strange feeling of recognition. She had known immediately that it had been her sailor boy. And, although he had been shipwrecked in the Americas and put through countless adventures across the sea, he had made his way back to her at last. His body was now growing weak, but his love was as strong as ever, and he had proof of the tales he told his long-betrothed lady.
"The legend goes," Rory continued, "that Augustus brought his lady a fine bit o' gold; for, after they was married, they 'ad no lack o' money! Then, all of Adelaide's relatives flocked to her 'owse an' tried to act all friendly-like. Each one hoped to get their greedy fumbles on the elderly couple's money. But Lady Denzell would 'ave none of it. Ya see, she never wrote an actual will! Instead, she wrote the oddest bit o' rhyme you've ever 'eard. An', at her funeral, there was many a downcast face t' be sure. The rhyme goes somefing like this:
'For my death, ye waited long,
Thy minds art worth reviling,
With hearts brimful of woeful wrong,
A treasure thou art desiring.
Inherit now all I give to you,
A word of admonition.
The pure in heart will gain the prize,
This is my decision.
So if thine eyes are open,
Thine ears quick to hear,
You're soon to be awoken,
The path, though hidden, shall shine clear.'"
Timothy polished the last silver spoon, with his eyes still fixed upon the storyteller. "What's it mean, sir?" he asked in breathless excitement.
"Clear as day, lad," Rory laughed. "Ol' Lady Denzell didn't want her treasure fallin' into the wrong 'ands. So, she hid it somewhere in this 'owse, an' left clues to its whereabouts! I've a s'picion that the letter she wrote was only the first clue. You can find it framed an' hangin' on the drawing room wall."
"Mr. Bristol," Sebastian interrupted rudely, "are you through?"
"Well, sir, I dunno yet..."
"Then I will help you decide!" the old man grunted. "Take that silver back to its place, and go on with your tasks. We have no time to dwell upon ancient fables, as assuredly that tale is! Beyond that one old letter, there is absolutely no evidence to suggest that there is any kind of treasure in this house. I know every door and passageway in the place. Now, you, whatever your name is," he spat, pointing to Timothy. "The day is nearly over, and I have no use for a boy so small and unskillful as you. I do not know what madness caused Mr. Hannover to hire you, but he may keep you out of my way! Make yourself scarce, and do not let the guests know of your presence."
For a moment, the only answer to Sebastian's harsh command was a long, unwavering stare from Timothy's big, shiny eyes. They were gentle, sweet eyes, full of questions and concern.
Sebastian bristled uncomfortably, wondering what that long gaze meant. He didn't know how deeply the little boy's mind was working. Timothy had two mysteries turning around in his head. Of course, his thoughts were still lingering on the strange tale Rory had just told him. But a new question was building inside of him as well. I don't fink Mr. S'bastian's very 'appy, he told himself sadly. I wonder why? People ain't never un'appy for no good reason. Poor Mr. S'bastian.
At last, a smile brightened the boy's face. "Don't you worry, sir," he said. "I won't make no ruckus. Nobody'll even know I'm 'ere, 'cept if I'm needed! Don't you need nuffin', sir?"
With a stiff shake of his head, Sebastian left. But his solemn departure didn't leave a cloud hanging over the other servants. They were a lively bunch, and they were used to the butler's foul moods.
"Just think, Mary dear," Rory began cheerily as he put the silver away. "Think of all the fings we could do if we found that treasure! I reckon you'd put it t' good use, wouldn't you, ol' gal?"
His wife giggled at the thought. "I'd live like a proper lady, o' course," she answered. "We'd 'ave a 'owse of our own! An' I'd 'ave a whole closet full o' fancy gowns! Not to mention all the pies and sweets I could eat!" She sighed dreamily, beaming with joy as she stole a taste of the leftover cake she had baked that day.
The other servants had their own fantasies about life after finding the treasure. Some wanted to spend the rest of their days going to theaters and operas. Some wanted to have a castle and maids to do all of their work. Rory wanted to travel all over the world, looking posh in a silk waistcoat and a tall black hat.
When they had all built their plans and dreamed their dreams, they looked over at Timothy with interest. The little boy had been sitting at the table, looking perfectly content as he listened to their chatter and eating the plain potato and egg Mary had given him for supper.
"An' what about you, little chap?" Rory asked, giving him a friendly nudge. "What'd you do if ya found the treasure?"
Tim's smile turned thoughtful for a moment. He didn't know why the idea of finding a treasure made him tingle with excitement. Everything about the strange story had filled him with a yearning to find secret clues and follow them to a hidden place of wonders. But in all of those fanciful daydreams, he hadn't even thought about the treasure being valuable. It was hard to even imagine what he would do if he suddenly became the owner of a fortune. At last, he shrugged his shoulders, smiling almost shyly. "I dunno, sir," he answered. "I s'pose I'd buy me a penny bun!"
His new friends burst into laughter.
"A penny bun?" Rory chuckled. "Can't ya do no better than that? That treasure 'ad better be worth more than a penny, or we've all been a-wastin' our time dreamin' for nuffin'! Look, lad, what if you 'ad a fortune? Say you become a millionaire. Then what'd ya do wiv yer money?"
Tim took another minute to decide. Then, smiling up at all of the servants, he asked, "Can I give it away?"
Everyone's eyes got wide with astonishment. "Give it away?" they cried.
"Timothy, why would ya do a fing like that?" Mary asked. "A poor mite like you needs a bit o' money."
"Wouldn't ya like a new suit an' a big 'ome wiv servants runnin' at the tug of a bell?" Rory asked.
The idea almost sounded tempting, but the little boy stared in confusion. "What would the servants do?" he asked. "Would they sit an' chat wiv me like we're doin' now? An' would they ask me t' go off runnin' an' fetchin' this an' that?"
"No, no, daftie!" the young man laughed. "They'd be there t' do everyfing you told 'em to: wash yer clothes, cook yer meals, bring you hot tea an' crumpets. That sort o' fing!"
A look of humility softened Timothy's face. "Oh. Then, if ya please, could I just stay an errand boy? I fink I like it better 'cause I fink I 'eard the preacher say once that it's better t' give than t' take...or somefing o' that sort. An' I'd feel awful strange takin' fings an' never givin' back. If I do find the treasure, can I give it to all o' you?"
The servants' bemusement turned into delighted smiles.
"Well, he might be daft," Mary laughed, "but I rather like him, don't you?"
"I must say, I do!" Rory chuckled. "He's a right proper gen'leman, an' no mistake!"
From that moment on, Timothy found a place of favor in all of the servants' hearts. In return, Timothy loved them all. And he made up his mind to do everything he could to serve them and make them happy. He knew it wouldn't be too hard. They were all jolly as it was. At least, all except for Sebastian. The little boy didn't know how to bring that solemn old man joy. He was determined to try, but Sebastian stayed well out of his path that day, and Timothy saw no more of him.