The Lady of the Shroud - Bram Stoker (phonics reader txt) 📗
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with any general instruction for only so long as it may remain
unrevoked. You are, and must be, free to alter your instructions or
authorizations at any time. Thus your latest document must be used
for our guidance.
As to the general principle involved in your wish I make no comment.
You are at liberty to deal with your own how you will. I quite
understand that your impulse is a generous one, and I fully believe
that it is in consonance with what had always been the wishes of my
sister. Had she been happily alive and had to give judgment of your
intent, I am convinced that she would have approved. Therefore, my
dear nephew, should you so wish, I shall be happy for her sake as
well as your own to pay over on your account (as a confidential
matter between you and me), but from my own pocket, a sum equal to
that which you wish transferred to Miss Janet MacKelpie. On hearing
from you I shall know how to act in the matter. With all good
wishes,
Believe me to be,
Your affectionate uncle,
ROGER MELTON.
TO RUPERT SENT LEGER, ESQ.
Letter from Rupert Sent Leger to Roger Melton,
July 5, 1892.
MY DEAR UNCLE,
Thank you heartily for your kind letter. I quite understand, and now
see that I should not have asked you as a trustee, such a thing. I
see your duty clearly, and agree with your view of it. I enclose a
letter directed to my trustees, asking them to pay over annually till
further direction to Miss Janet MacKelpie at this address whatever
sum may remain over from the interest of my mother’s bequest after
deduction of such expenses as you may deem fit for my maintenance,
clothing, and education, together with a sum of one pound sterling
per month, which was the amount my dear mother always gave me for my
personal use—“pocket-money,” she called it.
With regard to your most kind and generous offer to give to my dear
Aunt Janet the sum which I would have given myself, had such been in
my power, I thank you most truly and sincerely, both for my dear aunt
(to whom, of course, I shall not mention the matter unless you
specially authorize me) and myself. But, indeed, I think it will be
better not to offer it. Aunt Janet is very proud, and would not
accept any benefit. With me, of course, it is different, for since I
was a wee child she has been like another mother to me, and I love
her very much. Since my mother died—and she, of course, was all-inall to me—there has been no other. And in such a love as ours pride
has no place. Thank you again, dear uncle, and God bless you.
Your loving nephew,
RUPERT SENT LEGER.
ERNEST ROGER HALBARD MELTON’S RECORD—Continued,
And now re the remaining one of Sir Geoffrey’s children, Roger. He
was the third child and third son, the only daughter, Patience,
having been born twenty years after the last of the four sons.
Concerning Roger, I shall put down all I have heard of him from my
father and grandfather. From my grand-aunt I heard nothing, I was a
very small kid when she died; but I remember seeing her, but only
once. A very tall, handsome woman of a little over thirty, with very
dark hair and light-coloured eyes. I think they were either grey or
blue, but I can’t remember which. She looked very proud and haughty,
but I am bound to say that she was very nice to me. I remember
feeling very jealous of Rupert because his mother looked so
distinguished. Rupert was eight years older than me, and I was
afraid he would beat me if I said anything he did not like. So I was
silent except when I forgot to be, and Rupert said very unkindly, and
I think very unfairly, that I was “A sulky little beast.” I haven’t
forgot that, and I don’t mean to. However, it doesn’t matter much
what he said or thought. There he is—if he is at all—where no one
can find him, with no money or nothing, for what little he had he
settled when he came of age, on the MacSkelpie. He wanted to give it
to her when his mother died, but father, who was a trustee, refused;
and Uncle Roger, as I call him, who is another, thought the trustees
had no power to allow Rupert to throw away his matrimony, as I called
it, making a joke to father when he called it patrimony. Old Sir
Colin MacSkelpie, who is the third, said he couldn’t take any part in
such a permission, as the MacSkelpie was his niece. He is a rude old
man, that. I remember when, not remembering his relationship, I
spoke of the MacSkelpie, he caught me a clip on the ear that sent me
across the room. His Scotch is very broad. I can hear him say, “Hae
some attempt at even Soothern manners, and dinna misca’ yer betters,
ye young puddock, or I’ll wring yer snoot!” Father was, I could see,
very much offended, but he didn’t say anything. He remembered, I
think, that the General is a V.C. man, and was fond of fighting
duels. But to show that the fault was not his, HE wrung MY ear—and
the same ear too! I suppose he thought that was justice! But it’s
only right to say that he made up for it afterwards. When the
General had gone he gave me a five-pound note.
I don’t think Uncle Roger was very pleased with the way Rupert
behaved about the legacy, for I don’t think he ever saw him from that
day to this. Perhaps, of course, it was because Rupert ran away
shortly afterwards; but I shall tell about that when I come to him.
After all, why should my uncle bother about him? He is not a Melton
at all, and I am to be Head of the House—of course, when the Lord
thinks right to take father to Himself! Uncle Roger has tons of
money, and he never married, so if he wants to leave it in the right
direction he needn’t have any trouble. He made his money in what he
calls “the Eastern Trade.” This, so far as I can gather, takes in
the Levant and all east of it. I know he has what they call in trade
“houses” in all sorts of places—Turkey, and Greece, and all round
them, Morocco, Egypt, and Southern Russia, and the Holy Land; then on
to Persia, India, and all round it; the Chersonese, China, Japan, and
the Pacific Islands. It is not to be expected that we landowners can
know much about trade, but my uncle covers—or alas! I must say
“covered”—a lot of ground, I can tell you. Uncle Roger was a very
grim sort of man, and only that I was brought up to try and be kind
to him I shouldn’t ever have dared to speak to him. But when was a
child father and mother—especially mother—forced me to go and see
him and be affectionate to him. He wasn’t ever even civil to me,
that I can remember—grumpy old bear! But, then, he never saw Rupert
at all, so that I take it Master R-is out of the running altogether
for testamentary honours. The last time I saw him myself he was
distinctly rude. He treated me as a boy, though I was getting on for
eighteen years of age. I came into his office without knocking; and
without looking up from his desk, where he was writing, he said:
“Get out! Why do you venture to disturb me when I’m busy? Get out,
and be damned to you!” I waited where I was, ready to transfix him
with my eye when he should look up, for I cannot forget that when my
father dies I shall be Head of my House. But when he did there was
no transfixing possible. He said quite coolly:
“Oh, it’s you, is it? I thought it was one of my office boys. Sit
down, if you want to see me, and wait till I am ready.” So I sat
down and waited. Father always said that I should try to conciliate
and please my uncle. Father is a very shrewd man, and Uncle Roger is
a very rich one.
But I don’t think Uncle R-is as shrewd as he thinks he is. He
sometimes makes awful mistakes in business. For instance, some years
ago he bought an enormous estate on the Adriatic, in the country they
call the “Land of Blue Mountains.” At least, he says he bought it.
He told father so in confidence. But he didn’t show any title-deeds,
and I’m greatly afraid he was “had.” A bad job for me that he was,
for father believes he paid an enormous sum for it, and as I am his
natural heir, it reduces his available estate to so much less.
And now about Rupert. As I have said, he ran away when he was about
fourteen, and we did not hear about him for years. When we—or,
rather, my father—did hear of him, it was no good that he heard. He
had gone as a cabin-boy on a sailing ship round the Horn. Then he
joined an exploring party through the centre of Patagonia, and then
another up in Alaska, and a third to the Aleutian Islands. After
that he went through Central America, and then to Western Africa, the
Pacific Islands, India, and a lot of places. We all know the wisdom
of the adage that “A rolling stone gathers no moss”; and certainly,
if there be any value in moss, Cousin Rupert will die a poor man.
Indeed, nothing will stand his idiotic, boastful wastefulness. Look
at the way in which, when he came of age, he made over all his
mother’s little fortune to the MacSkelpie! I am sure that, though
Uncle Roger made no comment to my father, who, as Head of our House,
should, of course, have been informed, he was not pleased. My
mother, who has a good fortune in her own right, and has had the
sense to keep it in her own control—as I am to inherit it, and it is
not in the entail, I am therefore quite impartial—I can approve of
her spirited conduct in the matter. We never did think much of
Rupert, anyhow; but now, since he is in the way to be a pauper, and
therefore a dangerous nuisance, we look on him as quite an outsider.
We know what he really is. For my own part, I loathe and despise
him. Just now we are irritated with him, for we are all kept on
tenterhooks regarding my dear Uncle Roger’s Will. For Mr. Trent, the
attorney who regulated my dear uncle’s affairs and has possession of
the Will, says it is necessary to know where every possible
beneficiary is to be found before making the Will public, so we all
have to wait. It is especially hard on me, who am the natural heir.
It is very thoughtless indeed of Rupert to keep away like that. I
wrote to old MacSkelpie about it, but he didn’t seem to understand or
to be at all anxious—he is not the heir! He said that probably
Rupert Sent Leger—he, too, keeps to the old spelling—did not know
of his uncle’s death, or he would have taken steps to relieve our
anxiety. Our anxiety, forsooth! We are not anxious; we only wish to
KNOW. And if we—and especially me—who have all the annoyance of
thinking of the detestable and unfair death-duties,
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