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

I could, until this

morning.

 

I was in my own room, as it is still called. For, though Rupert

tells me in confidence that under his uncle’s will the whole estate

of Vissarion, Castle and all, really belongs to the Voivode, and

though the Voivode has been persuaded to accept the position, he (the

Voivode) will not allow anything to be changed. He will not even

hear a word of my going, or changing my room, or anything. And

Rupert backs him up in it, and Teuta too. So what am I to do but let

the dears have their way?

 

Well, this morning, when Rupert was with the Voivode at a meeting of

the National Council in the Great Hall, Teuta came to me, and (after

closing the door and bolting it, which surprised me a little) came

and knelt down beside me, and put her face in my lap. I stroked her

beautiful black hair, and said:

 

“What is it, Teuta darling? Is there any trouble? And why did you

bolt the door? Has anything happened to Rupert?” When she looked up

I saw that her beautiful black eyes, with the stars in them, were

overflowing with tears not yet shed. But she smiled through them,

and the tears did not fall. When I saw her smile my heart was eased,

and I said without thinking: “Thank God, darling, Rupert is all

right.”

 

“I thank God, too, dear Aunt Janet!” she said softly; and I took her

in my arms and laid her head on my breast.

 

“Go on, dear,” I said; “tell me what it is that troubles you?” This

time I saw the tears drop, as she lowered her head and hid her face

from me.

 

“I’m afraid I have deceived you, Aunt Janet, and that you will not—

cannot—forgive me.”

 

“Lord save you, child!” I said, “there’s nothing that you could do

that I could not and would not forgive. Not that you would ever do

anything base, for that is the only thing that is hard to forgive.

Tell me now what troubles you.”

 

She looked up in my eyes fearlessly, this time with only the signs of

tears that had been, and said proudly:

 

“Nothing base, Aunt Janet. My father’s daughter would not willingly

be base. I do not think she could. Moreover, had I ever done

anything base I should not be here, for—for—I should never have

been Rupert’s wife!”

 

“Then what is it? Tell your old Aunt Janet, dearie.” She answered

me with another question:

 

“Aunt Janet, do you know who I am, and how I first met Rupert?”

 

“You are the Voivodin Teuta Vissarion—the daughter of the Voivode—

Or, rather, you were; you are now Mrs. Rupert Sent Leger. For he is

still an Englishman, and a good subject of our noble King.”

 

“Yes, Aunt Janet,” she said, “I am that, and proud to be it—prouder

than I would be were I my namesake, who was Queen in the old days.

But how and where did I see Rupert first?” I did not know, and

frankly told her so. So she answered her question herself:

 

“I saw him first in his own room at night.” I knew in my heart that

in whatever she did had been nothing wrong, so I sat silent waiting

for her to go on:

 

“I was in danger, and in deadly fear. I was afraid I might die—not

that I fear death—and I wanted help and warmth. I was not dressed

as I am now!”

 

On the instant it came to me how I knew her face, even the first time

I had seen it. I wished to help her out of the embarrassing part of

her confidence, so I said:

 

“Dearie, I think I know. Tell me, child, will you put on the frock .

. . the dress … costume you wore that night, and let me see you

in it? It is not mere idle curiosity, my child, but something far,

far above such idle folly.”

 

“Wait for me a minute, Aunt Janet,” she said, as she rose up; “I

shall not be long.” Then she left the room.

 

In a very few minutes she was back. Her appearance might have

frightened some people, for she was clad only in a shroud. Her feet

were bare, and she walked across the room with the gait of an

empress, and stood before me with her eyes modestly cast down. But

when presently she looked up and caught my eyes, a smile rippled over

her face. She threw herself once more before me on her knees, and

embraced me as she said:

 

“I was afraid I might frighten you, dear.” I knew I could truthfully

reassure her as to that, so I proceeded to do so:

 

“Do not worry yourself, my dear. I am not by nature timid. I come

of a fighting stock which has sent out heroes, and I belong to a

family wherein is the gift of Second Sight. Why should we fear? We

know! Moreover, I saw you in that dress before. Teuta, I saw you

and Rupert married!” This time she herself it was that seemed

disconcerted.

 

“Saw us married! How on earth did you manage to be there?”

 

“I was not there. My Seeing was long before! Tell me, dear, what

day, or rather what night, was it that you first saw Rupert?” She

answered sadly:

 

“I do not know. Alas! I lost count of the days as I lay in the tomb

in that dreary Crypt.”

 

“Was your—your clothing wet that night?” I asked.

 

“Yes. I had to leave the Crypt, for a great flood was out, and the

church was flooded. I had to seek help—warmth—for I feared I might

die. Oh, I was not, as I have told you, afraid of death. But I had

undertaken a terrible task to which I had pledged myself. It was for

my father’s sake, and the sake of the Land, and I felt that it was a

part of my duty to live. And so I lived on, when death would have

been relief. It was to tell you all about this that I came to your

room to-day. But how did you see me—us—married?”

 

“Ah, my child!” I answered, “that was before the marriage took place.

The morn after the night that you came in the wet, when, having been

troubled in uncanny dreaming, I came to see if Rupert was a’richt, I

lost remembrance o’ my dreaming, for the floor was all wet, and that

took off my attention. But later, the morn after Rupert used his

fire in his room for the first time, I told him what I had dreamt;

for, lassie, my dear, I saw ye as bride at that weddin’ in fine lace

o’er yer shrood, and orange-flowers and ithers in yer black hair; an’

I saw the stars in yer bonny een—the een I love. But oh, my dear,

when I saw the shrood, and kent what it might mean, I expeckit to see

the worms crawl round yer feet. But do ye ask yer man to tell ye

what I tell’t him that morn. ‘Twill interest ye to know how the

hairt o’ men can learn by dreams. Has he ever tellt ye aught o’

this?”

 

“No, dear,” she said simply. “I think that perhaps he was afraid

that one or other of us, if not both, might be upset by it if he did.

You see, he did not tell you anything at all of our meeting, though I

am sure that he will be glad when he knows that we both know all

about it, and have told each other everything.”

 

That was very sweet of her, and very thoughtful in all ways, so I

said that which I thought would please her best—that is, the truth:

 

“Ah, lassie, that is what a wife should be—what a wife should do.

Rupert is blessed and happy to have his heart in your keeping.”

 

I knew from the added warmth of her kiss what I had said had pleased

her.

 

Letter from Ernest Roger Halbard Melton, Humcroft, Salop, to Rupert

Sent Leger, Vissarion, Land of the Blue Mountains.

July 29, 1907.

 

MY DEAR COUSIN RUPERT,

 

We have heard such glowing accounts of Vissarion that I am coming out

to see you. As you are yourself now a landowner, you will understand

that my coming is not altogether a pleasure. Indeed, it is a duty

first. When my father dies I shall be head of the family—the family

of which Uncle Roger, to whom we were related, was a member. It is

therefore meet and fitting that I should know something of our family

branches and of their Seats. I am not giving you time for much

warning, so am coming on immediately—in fact, I shall arrive almost

as soon as this letter. But I want to catch you in the middle of

your tricks. I hear that the Blue Mountaineer girls are peaches, so

don’t send them ALL away when you hear I’m coming!

 

Do send a yacht up to Fiume to meet me. I hear you have all sorts of

craft at Vissarion. The MacSkelpie, I hear, said you received her as

a Queen; so I hope you will do the decent by one of your own flesh

and blood, and the future Head of the House at that. I shan’t bring

much of a retinue with me. I wasn’t made a billionaire by old

Roger, so can only take my modest “man Friday”—whose name is

Jenkinson, and a Cockney at that. So don’t have too much gold lace

and diamond-hilted scimitars about, like a good chap, or else he’ll

want the very worst—his wyges ryzed. That old image Rooke that came

over for Miss McS., and whom by chance I saw at the attorney man’s,

might pilot me down from Fiume. The old gentleman-by-Act-of-Parliament Mr. Bingham Trent (I suppose he has hyphened it by this

time) told me that Miss McS. said he “did her proud” when she went

over under his charge. I shall be at Fiume on the evening of

Wednesday, and shall stay at the Europa, which is, I am told, the

least indecent hotel in the place. So you know where to find me, or

any of your attendant demons can know, in case I am to suffer

“substituted service.”

 

Your affectionate Cousin,

 

ERNEST ROGER HALBARD MELTON.

 

Letter from Admiral Rooke to the Gospodar Rupert.

August 1, 1907.

 

SIR,

 

In obedience to your explicit direction that I should meet Mr. Ernest

R. H. Melton at Fiume, and report to you exactly what occurred,

“without keeping anything back,”—as you will remember you said, I

beg to report.

 

I brought the steam-yacht Trent to Fiume, arriving there on the

morning of Thursday. At 11.30 p.m. I went to meet the train from

St. Peter, due 11.40. It was something late, arriving just as the

clock was beginning to strike midnight. Mr. Melton was on board, and

with him his valet Jenkinson. I am bound to say that he did not seem

very pleased with his journey, and expressed much disappointment at

not seeing Your Honour awaiting him. I explained, as you directed,

that you had to attend with the Voivode Vissarion and the Vladika the

National Council, which met at Plazac, or that otherwise you would

have done yourself the pleasure of coming to meet him. I had, of

course, reserved rooms (the Prince of Wales’s suite), for him at the

Re d’Ungheria, and had waiting the carriage which the proprietor had

provided for the Prince of Wales when he stayed there. Mr. Melton