The Lady of the Shroud, Bram Stoker [most life changing books .txt] 📗

Vissarion. It stands at the ultimate

point of the promontory—I mean the little, or, rather, lesser

promontory—that continues on the spur of the mountain range. For

the lesser promontory or extension of the mountain is in reality

vast; the lowest bit of cliff along the sea-front is not less than a

couple of hundred feet high. That point of rock is really very

peculiar. I think Dame Nature must, in the early days of her

housekeeping—or, rather, house-BUILDING—have intended to give her

little child, man, a rudimentary lesson in self-protection. It is

just a natural bastion such as a titanic Vauban might have designed

in primeval times. So far as the Castle is concerned, it is alone

visible from the sea. Any enemy approaching could see only that

frowning wall of black rock, of vast height and perpendicular

steepness. Even the old fortifications which crown it are not built,

but cut in the solid rock. A long narrow creek of very deep water,

walled in by high, steep cliffs, runs in behind the Castle, bending

north and west, making safe and secret anchorage. Into the creek

falls over a precipice a mountain-stream, which never fails in volume

of water. On the western shore of that creek is the Castle, a huge

pile of buildings of every style of architecture, from the Twelfth

century to where such things seemed to stop in this dear old-world

land—about the time of Queen Elizabeth. So it is pretty

picturesque. I can tell you. When we got the first glimpse of the

place from the steamer the officer, with whom I was on the bridge,

pointed towards it and said:

 

“That is where we saw the dead woman floating in a coffin.” That was

rather interesting, so I asked him all about it. He took from his

pocket-book a cutting from an Italian paper, which he handed to me.

As I can read and speak Italian fairly well, it was all right; but as

you, my dear Aunt Janet, are not skilled in languages, and as I doubt

if there is any assistance of the kind to be had at Croom, I do not

send it. But as I have heard that the item has been produced in the

last number of The Journal of Occultism, you will be easily able to

get it. As he handed me the cutting he said: “I am Destilia!” His

story was so strange that I asked him a good many questions about it.

He answered me quite frankly on every point, but always adhering

stoutly to the main point—namely, that it was no phantom or mirage,

no dream or imperfect vision in a fog. “We were four in all who saw

it,” he said—“three from the bridge and the Englishman, Caulfield—

from the bows—whose account exactly agreed with what we saw.

Captain Mirolani and Falamano and I were all awake and in good trim.

We looked with our night-glasses, which are more than usually

powerful. You know, we need good glasses for the east shore of the

Adriatic and for among the islands to the south. There was a full

moon and a brilliant light. Of course we were a little way off, for

though the Spear of Ivan is in deep water, one has to be careful of

currents, for it is in just such places that the dangerous currents

run.” The agent of Lloyd’s told me only a few weeks ago that it was

only after a prolonged investigation of the tidal and sea currents

that the house decided to except from ordinary sea risks losses due

to a too close course by the Spear of Ivan. When I tried to get a

little more definite account of the coffin-boat and the dead lady

that is given in The Journal of Occultism he simply shrugged his

shoulders. “Signor, it is all,” he said. “That Englishman wrote

everything after endless questioning.”

 

So you see, my dear, that our new home is not without superstitious

interests of its own. It is rather a nice idea, is it not, to have a

dead woman cruising round our promontory in a coffin? I doubt if

even at Croom you can beat that. “Makes the place kind of homey,” as

an American would say. When you come, Aunt Janet, you will not feel

lonesome, at any rate, and it will save us the trouble of importing

some of your Highland ghosts to make you feel at home in the new

land. I don’t know, but we might ask the stiff to come to tea with

us. Of course, it would be a late tea. Somewhere between midnight

and cock-crow would be about the etiquette of the thing, I fancy!

 

But I must tell you all the realities of the Castle and around it.

So I will write again within a day or two, and try to let you know

enough to prepare you for coming here. Till then adieu, my dear.

 

Your loving

RUPERT.

 

From Rupert Sent Leger, Vissarion, to Janet MacKelpie,

Croom.

January 25, 1907.

 

I hope I did not frighten you, dear Aunt Janet, by the yarn of the

lady in the coffin. But I know you are not afraid; you have told me

too many weird stories for me to dread that. Besides, you have

Second Sight—latent, at all events. However, there won’t be any

more ghosts, or about ghosts, in this letter. I want to tell you all

about our new home. I am so glad you are coming out so soon; I am

beginning to feel so lonesome—I walk about sometimes aimlessly, and

find my thoughts drifting in such an odd way. If I didn’t know

better, I might begin to think I was in love! There is no one here

to be in love with; so make your mind easy, Aunt Janet. Not that you

would be unhappy, I know, dear, if I DID fall in love. I suppose I

must marry some day. It is a duty now, I know, when there is such an

estate as Uncle Roger has left me. And I know this: I shall never

marry any woman unless I love her. And I am right sure that if I do

love her you will love her, too, Aunt Janet! Won’t you, dear? It

wouldn’t be half a delight if you didn’t. It won’t if you don’t.

There, now!

 

But before I begin to describe Vissarion I shall throw a sop to you

as a chatelaine; that may give you patience to read the rest. The

Castle needs a lot of things to make it comfortable—as you would

consider it. In fact, it is absolutely destitute of everything of a

domestic nature. Uncle Roger had it vetted on the defence side, and

so far it could stand a siege. But it couldn’t cook a dinner or go

through a spring-cleaning! As you know, I am not much up in domestic

matters, and so I cannot give you details; but you may take it that

it wants everything. I don’t mean furniture, or silver, or even

gold-plate, or works of art, for it is full of the most magnificent

old things that you can imagine. I think Uncle Roger must have been

a collector, and gathered a lot of good things in all sorts of

places, stored them for years, and then sent them here. But as to

glass, china, delft, all sorts of crockery, linen, household

appliances and machinery, cooking utensils—except of the simplest—

there are none. I don’t think Uncle Roger could have lived here more

than on a temporary picnic. So far as I only am concerned, I am all

right; a gridiron and a saucepan are all I want—and I can use them

myself. But, dear Aunt Janet, I don’t want you to pig it. I would

like you to have everything you can imagine, and all of the very

best. Cost doesn’t count now for us, thanks to Uncle Roger; and so I

want you to order all. I know you, dear—being a woman—won’t object

to shopping. But it will have to be wholesale. This is an enormous

place, and will swallow up all you can buy—like a quicksand. Do as

you like about choosing, but get all the help you can. Don’t be

afraid of getting too much. You can’t, or of being idle when you are

here. I assure you that when you come there will be so much to do

and so many things to think of that you will want to get away from it

all. And, besides, Aunt Janet, I hope you won’t be too long.

Indeed, I don’t wish to be selfish, but your boy is lonely, and wants

you. And when you get here you will be an EMPRESS. I don’t

altogether like doing so, lest I should offend a millionairess like

you; but it may facilitate matters, and the way’s of commerce are

strict, though devious. So I send you a cheque for 1,000 pounds for

the little things: and a letter to the bank to honour your own

cheques for any amount I have got.

 

I think, by the way, I should, if I were you, take or send out a few

servants—not too many at first, only just enough to attend on our

two selves. You can arrange to send for any more you may want later.

Engage them, and arrange for their being paid—when they are in our

service we must treat them well—and then they can be at our call as

you find that we want them. I think you should secure, say, fifty or

a hundred—‘tis an awfu’ big place, Aunt Janet! And in the same way

will you secure—and, of course, arrange for pay similarly—a hundred

men, exclusive of any servants you think it well to have. I should

like the General, if he can give the time, to choose or pass them. I

want clansmen that I can depend on, if need be. We are going to live

in a country which is at present strange to us, and it is well to

look things in the face. I know Sir Colin will only have men who are

a credit to Scotland and to Ross and to Croom—men who will impress

the Blue Mountaineers. I know they will take them to their hearts—

certainly if any of them are bachelors the girls will! Forgive me!

But if we are to settle here, our followers will probably want to

settle also. Moreover, the Blue Mountaineers may want followers

also! And will want them to settle, too, and have successors!

 

Now for the description of the place. Well, I simply can’t just now.

It is all so wonderful and so beautiful. The Castle—I have written

so much already about other things that I really must keep the Castle

for another letter! Love to Sir Colin if he is at Croom. And oh,

dear Aunt Janet, how I wish that my dear mother was coming out! It

all seems so dark and empty without her. How she would have enjoyed

it! How proud she would have been! And, my dear, if she could be

with us again, how grateful she would have been to you for all you

have done for her boy! As I am, believe me, most truly and sincerely

and affectionately grateful.

 

Your loving

RUPERT.

 

Rupert Sent Leger, Vissarion, to Janet MacKelpie, Croom.

January 26, 1907.

 

MY DEAR AUNT JANET,

 

Please read this as if it was a part of the letter I wrote yesterday.

 

The Castle itself is so vast that I really can’t describe it in

detail. So I am waiting till you come; and then you and I will go

over it together and learn all that we can about it. We shall take

Rooke with us, and, as he is