The Lady of the Shroud - Bram Stoker (phonics reader txt) 📗

The Voivodin still kept her splendid self-control.

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