The Lady of the Shroud by Bram Stoker (book series for 10 year olds .txt) 📕

lest there should arise any error on your part, we can deal

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,