The Moon Rock | Page 6

he seemed as far away from the
attainment of his desire as ever. There remained a gap of forty years.
To establish his claim to the title he had to prove that the Turolds
sprang from the younger brother of the last Lord Turrald, who had
allowed the title to lapse for fear of losing his head if he came forward
to claim it.
It did not seem a great gap to bridge after following a wandering scent
through four centuries, but the paltry forty years almost beat Robert

Turold, and cost him five years additional search. It was a lucky chance,
no more, which finally led him to Cornwall, but it was the hand of
Providence (he said so) which directed his footsteps to the churchtown
in which Dr. Ravenshaw lived. It was there he discovered the
connecting link in the signature of a single witness on a noble charter
which granted to the monks of St. Nicholas "all wreck of sea which
might happen in the Scilly Isles except whales." To the eye of Robert
Turold's faith the illegible scrawl on this faded scroll formed the magic
name of Simon Turrald.
For once, faith was justified by its works. The signature was indeed
Simon Turrald's; not the younger brother of the last Lord Turrald, but
Simon's son.
Bit by bit, Robert Turold succeeded in fitting together the last pieces of
the puzzle which had eluded him for so long. Simon Turrald, the
brother, had fled to Cornwall, where he had married a Cornishwoman
who had brought him two sons. The elder, Simon, had taken religious
vows, and established a priory at St. Fair, a branch of the great priory of
St. Germain. The holy fathers of the order had long since vanished
from this earth to reap the reward of their goodness (it is to be hoped)
in another world, but the remains of the priory still stood on a barren
headland near Cape Cornwall. And there was a tomb in St. Fair church,
behind the altar, marked by a blue slab, with an indent formerly filled
by a recumbent figure. On the blue slab was a partly obliterated
inscription in monkish Latin, which yielded its secret to him, and
divulged that the remains beneath were those of Father Simon of St.
Fair.
With this important discovery to help him, Robert Turold had very little
difficulty in completing the particulars of the family genealogy. Further
search of the churchtown records brought to light that Simon's other
son, Robert, left Cornwall as a young man, and after some years of
wandering had settled in Suffolk. Father Simon, of course, died without
family, but Robert married, the family name came to be spelt "Turold,"
and thus was founded that branch of the family of which the last Robert
Turold was now the head. The family tree was complete.

Such was the substance of Robert Turold's life quest, and the story had
occupied two hours in telling.
"I have petitioned the King's most excellent majesty to terminate the
abeyance in my favour and declare that I am entitled to the peerage," he
concluded. "I have no doubt that my claim will be admitted. I have set
out the facts with great care, and in considerable detail. I have traced a
clear line of descent back to Simon Turrald, younger brother of the last
baron, and there are no coheirs in existence. Ours is the last surviving
branch, or it would, perhaps, be better if I said that Austin and myself,
and Austin's son, are the only male members of the family. It is a
difficult matter to give effectual proof of a long pedigree, but my
lawyer has not the least doubt that the House of Lords will admit the
validity of my claim, and will terminate the abeyance in my favour.
The Attorney General has inspected my proofs, and I am to appear
before the Committee for Privileges next week. In a few weeks at the
outside, allowing for the worst of law's delays, I shall be Lord Turrald."
Robert Turold's whole bearing was transfigured as he made this
announcement. His sound eye gleamed, his shrunken form seemed to
expand and fill, and his harsh sallow features took on an expression
which was almost ecstatic. It was his great moment, the moment for
which he had lived for twenty years, and it compensated him for all his
worry, delayed expectation, fruitless labour, and the bitter taste of the
waters of despair.
"I shall be Turrald of Great Missenden," he said, and again the
expression of his face showed what the words meant to him.
"Bob! So you've actually succeeded after all!" Mrs. Pendleton stepped
quickly across to her brother as he sat regarding his audience from
behind his pile of documents. It