The Lady of the Shroud, Bram Stoker [most life changing books .txt] 📗
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Raising the finger put forward by the guest with the same deference
as though it had been the hand of a King, she bent her head down and
kissed it. Her duty of courtesy now done, she was preparing to rise,
when he put his hand into his pocket, and, pulling out a sovereign,
offered it to her. His valet moved his hand forward, as if to pull
back his arm, but it was too late. I am sure, Your Honour, that no
affront was intended. He doubtless thought that he was doing a
kindness of the sort usual in England when one “tips” a housekeeper.
But all the same, to one in her position, it was an affront, an
insult, open and unmistakable. So it was received by the
mountaineers, whose handjars flashed out as one. For a second it was
so received even by the Voivodin, who, with face flushing scarlet,
and the stars in her eves flaming red, sprang to her feet. But in
that second she had regained herself, and to all appearances her
righteous anger passed away. Stooping, she took the hand of her
guest and raised it—you know how strong she is—and, holding it in
hers, led him into the doorway, saying:
“You are welcome, kinsman of my husband, to the house of my father,
which is presently my husband’s also. Both are grieved that, duty
having called them away for the time, they are unable to be here to
help me to greet you.”
I tell you, Your Honour, that it was a lesson in self-respect which
anyone who saw it can never forget. As to me, it makes my flesh
quiver, old as I am, with delight, and my heart leap.
May I, as a faithful servant who has had many years of experience,
suggest that Your Honour should seem—for the present, at any rate—
not to know any of these things which I have reported, as you wished
me to do. Be sure that the Voivodin will tell you her gracious self
aught that she would wish you to know. And such reticence on your
part must make for her happiness, even if it did not for your own.
So that you may know all, as you desired, and that you may have time
to school yourself to whatever attitude you think best to adopt, I
send this off to you at once by fleet messenger. Were the aeroplane
here, I should take it myself. I leave here shortly to await the
arrival of Sir Colin at Otranto.
Your Honour’s faithful servant,
ROOKE.
JANET MACKELPIE’S NOTES.
August 9, 1907.
To me it seems very providential that Rupert was not at home when
that dreadful young man Ernest Melton arrived, though it is possible
that if Rupert had been present he would not have dared to conduct
himself so badly. Of course, I heard all about it from the maids;
Teuta never opened her lips to me on the subject. It was bad enough
and stupid enough for him to try to kiss a decent young woman like
Julia, who is really as good as gold and as modest as one of our own
Highland lassies; but to think of him insulting Teuta! The little
beast! One would think that a champion idiot out of an Equatorial
asylum would know better! If Michael, the Wine Master, wanted to
kill him, I wonder what my Rupert and hers would have done? I am
truly thankful that he was not present. And I am thankful, too, that
I was not present either, for I should have made an exhibition of
myself, and Rupert would not have liked that. He—the little beast!
might have seen from the very dress that the dear girl wore that
there was something exceptional about her. But on one account I
should have liked to see her. They tell me that she was, in her true
dignity, like a Queen, and that her humility in receiving her
husband’s kinsman was a lesson to every woman in the Land. I must be
careful not to let Rupert know that I have heard of the incident.
Later on, when it is all blown over and the young man has been got
safely away, I shall tell him of it. Mr. Rooke—Lord High Admiral
Rooke, I should say—must be a really wonderful man to have so held
himself in check; for, from what I have heard of him, he must in his
younger days have been worse than Old Morgan of Panama. Mr. Ernest
Roger Halbard Melton, of Humcroft, Salop, little knows how near he
was to being “cleft to the chine” also.
Fortunately, I had heard of his meeting with Teuta before he came to
see me, for I did not get back from my walk till after he had
arrived. Teuta’s noble example was before me, and I determined that
I, too, would show good manners under any circumstances. But I
didn’t know how mean he is. Think of his saying to me that Rupert’s
position here must be a great source of pride to me, who had been his
nursery governess. He said “nursemaid” first, but then stumbled in
his words, seeming to remember something. I did not turn a hair, I
am glad to say. It is a mercy Uncle Colin was not here, for I
honestly believe that, if he had been, he would have done the
“cleaving to the chine” himself. It has been a narrow escape for
Master Ernest, for only this morning Rupert had a message, sent on
from Gibraltar, saying that he was arriving with his clansmen, and
that they would not be far behind his letter. He would call at
Otranto in case someone should come across to pilot him to Vissarion.
Uncle told me all about that young cad having offered him one finger
in Mr. Trent’s office, though, of course, he didn’t let the cad see
that he noticed it. I have no doubt that, when he does arrive, that
young man, if he is here still, will find that he will have to behave
himself, if it be only on Sir Colin’s account alone.
THE SAME (LATER).
I had hardly finished writing when the lookout on the tower announced
that the Teuta, as Rupert calls his aeroplane, was sighted crossing
the mountains from Plazac. I hurried up to see him arrive, for I had
not as yet seen him on his “aero.” Mr. Ernest Melton came up, too.
Teuta was, of course, before any of us. She seems to know by
instinct when Rupert is coming.
It was certainly a wonderful sight to see the little aeroplane, with
outspread wings like a bird in flight, come sailing high over the
mountains. There was a head-wind, and they were beating against it;
otherwise we should not have had time to get to the tower before the
arrival.
When once the “aero” had begun to drop on the near side of the
mountains, however, and had got a measure of shelter from them, her
pace was extraordinary. We could not tell, of course, what sort of
pace she came at from looking at herself. But we gathered some idea
from the rate at which the mountains and hills seemed to slide away
from under her. When she got over the foot-hills, which are about
ten miles away, she came on at a swift glide that seemed to throw the
distance behind her. When quite close, she rose up a little till she
was something higher than the Tower, to which she came as straight as
an arrow from the bow, and glided to her moorings, stopping dead as
Rupert pulled a lever, which seemed to turn a barrier to the wind.
The Voivode sat beside Rupert, but I must say that he seemed to hold
on to the bar in front of him even more firmly than Rupert held to
his steering-gear.
When they had alighted, Rupert greeted his cousin with the utmost
kindness, and bade him welcome to Vissarion.
“I see,” he said, “you have met Teuta. Now you may congratulate me,
if you wish.”
Mr. Melton made a long rodomontade about her beauty, but presently,
stumbling about in his speech, said something regarding it being
unlucky to appear in grave-clothes. Rupert laughed, and clapped him
on the shoulder as he answered:
“That pattern of frock is likely to become a national dress for loyal
women of the Blue Mountains. When you know something of what that
dress means to us all at present you will understand. In the
meantime, take it that there is not a soul in the nation that does
not love it and honour her for wearing it.” To which the cad
replied:
“Oh, indeed! I thought it was some preparation for a fancy-dress
ball.” Rupert’s comment on this ill-natured speech was (for him)
quite grumpily given:
“I should not advise you to think such things whilst you are in this
part of the world, Ernest. They bury men here for much less.”
The cad seemed struck with something—either what Rupert had said or
his manner of saying it—for he was silent for several seconds before
he spoke.
“I’m very tired with that long journey, Rupert. Would you and Mrs.
Sent Leger mind if I go to my own room and turn in? My man can ask
for a cup of tea and a sandwich for me.”
RUPERT’S JOURNAL.
August 10, 1907.
When Ernest said he wished to retire it was about the wisest thing he
could have said or done, and it suited Teuta and me down to the
ground. I could see that the dear girl was agitated about something,
so thought it would be best for her to be quiet, and not worried with
being civil to the Bounder. Though he is my cousin, I can’t think of
him as anything else. The Voivode and I had certain matters to
attend to arising out of the meeting of the Council, and when we were
through the night was closing in. When I saw Teuta in our own rooms
she said at once:
“Do you mind, dear, if I stay with Aunt Janet to-night? She is very
upset and nervous, and when I offered to come to her she clung to me
and cried with relief.”
So when I had had some supper, which I took with the Voivode, I came
down to my old quarters in the Garden Room, and turned in early.
I was awakened a little before dawn by the coming of the fighting
monk Theophrastos, a notable runner, who had an urgent message for
me. This was the letter to me given to him by Rooke. He had been
cautioned to give it into no other hand, but to find me wherever I
might be, and convey it personally. When he had arrived at Plazac I
had left on the aeroplane, so he had turned back to Vissarion.
When I read Rooke’s report of Ernest Melton’s abominable conduct I
was more angry with him than I can say. Indeed, I did not think
before that that I could be angry with him, for I have always
despised him. But this was too much. However, I realized the wisdom
of Rooke’s advice, and went away by myself to get over my anger and
reacquire my self-mastery. The aeroplane Teuta was still housed on
the tower, so I went up alone and took it out.
When I had had a spin of about a hundred miles I felt better. The
bracing of the wind and the quick, exhilarating motion restored me to
myself, and I felt able to cope with Master Ernest, or whatever else
chagrinable might come
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