Chapter 1

THE LADY OF THE SHROUD

By
Bram Stoker

Author of "Dracula," "The Jewel of Seven Stars,"
"The Mystery of the Sea," etc.

London
Rider and Co.

TO
MY DEAR OLD FRIEND
THE COMTESSE DE GUERBEL
(GENEVIEVE WARD)

FROM "THE JOURNAL OF OCCULTISM"
MID-JANUARY, 1907.

A strange story comes from the Adriatic. It appears that on the night of
the 9th, as the Italia Steamship Company's vessel "Victorine" was passing
a little before midnight the point known as "the Spear of Ivan," on the
coast of the Blue Mountains, the attention of the Captain, then on the
bridge, was called by the look-out man to a tiny floating light close
inshore. It is the custom of some South-going ships to run close to the
Spear of Ivan in fine weather, as the water is deep, and there is no
settled current; also there are no outlying rocks. Indeed, some years
ago the local steamers had become accustomed to hug the shore here so
closely that an intimation was sent from Lloyd's that any mischance under
the circumstances would not be included in ordinary sea risks. Captain
Mirolani is one of those who insist on a wholesome distance from the
promontory being kept; but on his attention having been called to the
circumstance reported, he thought it well to investigate it, as it might
be some case of personal distress. Accordingly, he had the engines
slowed down, and edged cautiously in towards shore. He was joined on the
bridge by two of his officers, Signori Falamano and Destilia, and by one
passenger on board, Mr. Peter Caulfield, whose reports of Spiritual
Phenomena in remote places are well known to the readers of "The Journal
of Occultism." The following account of the strange occurrence written
by him, and attested by the signatures of Captain Mirolani and the other
gentleman named, has been sent to us.

" . . . It was eleven minutes before twelve midnight on Saturday, the 9th
day of January, 1907, when I saw the strange sight off the headland known
as the Spear of Ivan on the coast of the Land of the Blue Mountains. It
was a fine night, and I stood right on the bows of the ship, where there
was nothing to obstruct my view. We were some distance from the Spear of
Ivan, passing from northern to southern point of the wide bay into which
it projects. Captain Mirolani, the Master, is a very careful seaman, and
gives on his journeys a wide berth to the bay which is tabooed by
Lloyd's. But when he saw in the moonlight, though far off, a tiny white
figure of a woman drifting on some strange current in a small boat, on
the prow of which rested a faint light (to me it looked like a
corpse-candle!), he thought it might be some person in distress, and
began to cautiously edge towards it. Two of his officers were with him
on the bridge--Signori Falamano and Destilia. All these three, as well
as myself, saw It. The rest of the crew and passengers were below. As
we got close the true inwardness of It became apparent to me; but the
mariners did not seem to realize till the very last. This is, after all,
not strange, for none of them had either knowledge or experience in
Occult matters, whereas for over thirty years I have made a special study
of this subject, and have gone to and fro over the earth investigating to
the nth all records of Spiritual Phenomena. As I could see from their
movements that the officers did not comprehend that which was so apparent
to myself, I took care not to enlighten them, lest such should result in
the changing of the vessel's course before I should be near enough to
make accurate observation. All turned out as I wished--at least, nearly
so--as shall be seen. Being in the bow, I had, of course, a better view
than from the bridge. Presently I made out that the boat, which had all
along seemed to be of a queer shape, was none other than a _Coffin_, and
that the woman standing up in it was clothed in a shroud. Her back was
towards us, and she had evidently not heard our approach. As we were
creeping along slowly, the engines were almost noiseless, and there was
hardly a ripple as our fore-foot cut the dark water. Suddenly there was
a wild cry from the bridge--Italians are certainly very excitable; hoarse
commands were given to the Quartermaster at the wheel; the engine-room
bell clanged. On the instant, as it seemed, the ship's head began to
swing round to starboard; full steam ahead was in action, and before one
could understand, the Apparition was fading in the distance. The last
thing I saw was the flash of a white face with dark, burning eyes as the
figure sank down into the coffin--just as mist or smoke disappears under
a breeze."

BOOK I: THE WILL OF ROGER MELTON

The Reading of the Will of Roger Melton and all that Followed

Record made by Ernest Roger Halbard Melton, law-student of the Inner
Temple, eldest son of Ernest Halbard Melton, eldest son of Ernest Melton,
elder brother of the said Roger Melton and his next of kin.

I consider it at least useful--perhaps necessary--to have a complete and
accurate record of all pertaining to the Will of my late grand-uncle
Roger Melton.

To which end let me put down the various members of his family, and
explain some of their occupations and idiosyncrasies. My father, Ernest
Halbard Melton, was the only son of Ernest Melton, eldest son of Sir
Geoffrey Halbard Melton of Humcroft, in the shire of Salop, a Justice of
the Peace, and at one time Sheriff. My great-grandfather, Sir Geoffrey,
had inherited a small estate from his father, Roger Melton. In his time,
by the way, the name was spelled Milton; but my great-great-grandfather
changed the spelling to the later form, as he was a practical man not
given to sentiment, and feared lest he should in the public eye be
confused with others belonging to the family of a Radical person called
Milton, who wrote poetry and was some sort of official in the time of
Cromwell, whilst we are Conservatives. The same practical spirit which
originated the change in the spelling of the family name inclined him to
go into business. So he became, whilst still young, a tanner and
leather-dresser. He utilized for the purpose the ponds and streams, and
also the oak-woods on his estate--Torraby in Suffolk. He made a fine
business, and accumulated a considerable fortune, with a part of which he
purchased the Shropshire estate, which he entailed, and to which I am
therefore heir-apparent.

Sir Geoffrey had, in addition to my grandfather, three sons and a
daughter, the latter being born twenty years after her youngest brother.
These sons were: Geoffrey, who died without issue, having been killed in
the Indian Mutiny at Meerut in 1857, at which he took up a sword, though
a civilian, to fight for his life; Roger (to whom I shall refer
presently); and John--the latter, like Geoffrey, dying unmarried. Out of
Sir Geoffrey's family of five, therefore, only three have to be
considered: My grandfather, who had three children, two of whom, a son
and a daughter, died young, leaving only my father, Roger and Patience.
Patience, who was born in 1858, married an Irishman of the name of
Sellenger--which was the usual way of pronouncing the name of St. Leger,
or, as they spelled it, Sent Leger--restored by later generations to the
still older form. He was a reckless, dare-devil sort of fellow, then a
Captain in the Lancers, a man not without the quality of bravery--he won
the Victoria Cross at the Battle of Amoaful in the Ashantee Campaign.
But I fear he lacked the seriousness and steadfast strenuous purpose
which my father always says marks the character of our own family. He
ran through nearly all of his patrimony--never a very large one; and had
it not been for my grand-aunt's little fortune, his days, had he lived,
must have ended in comparative poverty. Comparative, not actual; for the
Meltons, who are persons of considerable pride, would not have tolerated
a poverty-stricken branch of the family. We don't think much of that
lot--any of us.

Fortunately, my great-aunt Patience had only one child, and the premature
decease of Captain St. Leger (as I prefer to call the name) did not allow
of the possibility of her having more. She did not marry again, though
my grandmother tried several times to arrange an alliance for her. She
was, I am told, always a stiff, uppish person, who would not yield
herself to the wisdom of her superiors. Her own child was a son, who
seemed to take his character rather from his father's family than from my
own. He was a wastrel and a rolling stone, always in scrapes at school,
and always wanting to do ridiculous things. My father, as Head of the
House and his own senior by eighteen years, tried often to admonish him;
but his perversity of spirit and his truculence were such that he had to
desist. Indeed, I have heard my father say that he sometimes threatened
his life. A desperate character he was, and almost devoid of reverence.
No one, not even my father, had any influence--good influence, of course,
I mean--over him, except his mother, who was of my family; and also a
woman who lived with her--a sort of governess--aunt, he called her. The
way of it was this: Captain St. Leger had a younger brother, who made an
improvident marriage with a Scotch girl when they were both very young.
They had nothing to live on except what the reckless Lancer gave them,
for he had next to nothing himself, and she was "bare"--which is, I
understand, the indelicate Scottish way of expressing lack of fortune.
She was, however, I understand, of an old and somewhat good family,
though broken in fortune--to use an expression which, however, could
hardly be used precisely in regard to a family or a person who never had
fortune to be broken in! It was so far well that the MacKelpies--that
was the maiden name of Mrs. St. Leger--were reputable--so far as fighting
was concerned. It would have been too humiliating to have allied to our
family, even on the distaff side, a family both poor and of no account.
Fighting alone does not make a family, I think. Soldiers are not
everything, though they think they are. We have had in our family men
who fought; but I never heard of any of them who fought because they
_wanted_ to. Mrs. St. Leger had a sister; fortunately there were only
those two children in the family, or else they would all have had to be
supported by the money of my family.

Mr. St. Leger, who was only a subaltern, was killed at Maiwand; and his
wife was left a beggar. Fortunately, however, she died--her sister
spread a story that it was from the shock and grief--before the child
which she expected was born. This all happened when my cousin--or,
rather, my father's cousin, my first-cousin-once-removed, to be
accurate--was still a very small child. His mother then sent for Miss
MacKelpie, her brother-in-law's sister-in-law, to come and live with her,
which she did--beggars can't be choosers; and she helped to bring up
young St. Leger.

I remember once my father giving me a sovereign for making a witty remark
about her. I was quite a boy then, not more than thirteen; but our
family were always clever from the very beginning of life, and father was
telling me about the St. Leger family. My family hadn't, of course, seen
anything of them since Captain St. Leger died--the circle to which we
belong don't care for poor relations--and was explaining where Miss
MacKelpie came in. She must have been a sort of nursery governess, for
Mrs. St. Leger once told him that she helped her to educate the child.

"Then, father," I said, "if she helped to educate the child she ought to
have been called Miss MacSkelpie!"

When my first-cousin-once-removed, Rupert, was twelve years old, his
mother died, and he was in the dolefuls about it for more than a year.
Miss MacKelpie kept on living with him all the same. Catch her quitting!
That sort don't go into the poor-house when they can keep out! My
father, being Head of the Family, was, of course, one of the trustees,
and his uncle Roger, brother of the testator, another. The third was
General MacKelpie, a poverty-stricken Scotch laird who had a lot of
valueless land at Croom, in Ross-shire. I remember father gave me a new
ten-pound note when I interrupted him whilst he was telling me of the
incident of young St. Leger's improvidence by remarking that he was in
error as to the land. From what I had heard of MacKelpie's estate, it
was productive of one thing; when he asked me "What?" I answered
"Mortgages!" Father, I knew, had bought, not long before, a lot of them
at what a college friend of mine from Chicago used to call "cut-throat"
price. When I remonstrated with my father for buying them at all, and so
injuring the family estate which I was to inherit, he gave me an answer,
the astuteness of which I have never forgotten.

"I did it so that I might keep my hand on the bold General, in case he
should ever prove troublesome. And if the worst should ever come to the
worst, Croom is a good country for grouse and stags!" My father can see
as far as most men!

When my cousin--I shall call him cousin henceforth in this record, lest
it might seem to any unkind person who might hereafter read it that I
wished to taunt Rupert St. Leger with his somewhat obscure position, in
reiterating his real distance in kinship with my family--when my cousin,
Rupert St. Leger, wished to commit a certain idiotic act of financial
folly, he approached my father on the subject, arriving at our estate,
Humcroft, at an inconvenient time, without permission, not having had
even the decent courtesy to say he was coming. I was then a little chap
of six years old, but I could not help noticing his mean appearance. He
was all dusty and dishevelled. When my father saw him--I came into the
study with him--he said in a horrified voice:

"Good God!" He was further shocked when the boy brusquely acknowledged,
in reply to my father's greeting, that he had travelled third class. Of
course, none of my family ever go anything but first class; even the
servants go second. My father was really angry when he said he had
walked up from the station.

"A nice spectacle for my tenants and my tradesmen! To see my--my--a
kinsman of my house, howsoever remote, trudging like a tramp on the road
to my estate! Why, my avenue is two miles and a perch! No wonder you
are filthy and insolent!" Rupert--really, I cannot call him cousin
here--was exceedingly impertinent to my father.

"I walked, sir, because I had no money; but I assure you I did not mean
to be insolent. I simply came here because I wished to ask your advice
and assistance, not because you are an important person, and have a long
avenue--as I know to my cost--but simply because you are one of my
trustees."

"_Your_ trustees, sirrah!" said my father, interrupting him. "Your
trustees?"

"I beg your pardon, sir," he said, quite quietly. "I meant the trustees
of my dear mother's will."

"And what, may I ask you," said father, "do you want in the way of advice
from one of the trustees of your dear mother's will?" Rupert got very
red, and was going to say something rude--I knew it from his look--but he
stopped, and said in the same gentle way:

"I want your advice, sir, as to the best way of doing something which I
wish to do, and, as I am under age, cannot do myself. It must be done
through the trustees of my mother's will."

"And the assistance for which you wish?" said father, putting his hand in
his pocket. I know what that action means when I am talking to him.

"The assistance I want," said Rupert, getting redder than ever, "is from
my--the trustee also. To carry out what I want to do."

"And what may that be?" asked my father. "I would like, sir, to make
over to my Aunt Janet--" My father interrupted him by asking--he had
evidently remembered my jest:

"Miss MacSkelpie?" Rupert got still redder, and I turned away; I didn't
quite wish that he should see me laughing. He went on quietly:

"_MacKelpie_, sir! Miss Janet MacKelpie, my aunt, who has always been so
kind to me, and whom my mother loved--I want to have made over to her the
money which my dear mother left to me." Father doubtless wished to have
the matter take a less serious turn, for Rupert's eyes were all shiny
with tears which had not fallen; so after a little pause he said, with
indignation, which I knew was simulated:

"Have you forgotten your mother so soon, Rupert, that you wish to give
away the very last gift which she bestowed on you?" Rupert was sitting,
but he jumped up and stood opposite my father with his fist clenched. He
was quite pale now, and his eyes looked so fierce that I thought he would
do my father an injury. He spoke in a voice which did not seem like his
own, it was so strong and deep.

"Sir!" he roared out. I suppose, if I was a writer, which, thank God, I
am not--I have no need to follow a menial occupation--I would call it
"thundered." "Thundered" is a longer word than "roared," and would, of
course, help to gain the penny which a writer gets for a line. Father
got pale too, and stood quite still. Rupert looked at him steadily for
quite half a minute--it seemed longer at the time--and suddenly smiled
and said, as he sat down again:

"Sorry. But, of course, you don't understand such things." Then he went
on talking before father had time to say a word.

"Let us get back to business. As you do not seem to follow me, let me
explain that it is _because_ I do not forget that I wish to do this. I
remember my dear mother's wish to make Aunt Janet happy, and would like
to do as she did."

"_Aunt_ Janet?" said father, very properly sneering at his ignorance.
"She is not your aunt. Why, even her sister, who was married to your
uncle, was only your aunt by courtesy." I could not help feeling that
Rupert meant to be rude to my father, though his words were quite polite.
If I had been as much bigger than him as he was than me, I should have
flown at him; but he was a very big boy for his age. I am myself rather
thin. Mother says thinness is an "appanage of birth."

"My Aunt Janet, sir, is an aunt by love. Courtesy is a small word to use
in connection with such devotion as she has given to us. But I needn't
trouble you with such things, sir. I take it that my relations on the
side of my own house do not affect you. I am a Sent Leger!" Father
looked quite taken aback. He sat quite still before he spoke.

"Well, Mr. St. Leger, I shall think over the matter for a while, and
shall presently let you know my decision. In the meantime, would you
like something to eat? I take it that as you must have started very
early, you have not had any breakfast?" Rupert smiled quite genially:

"That is true, sir. I haven't broken bread since dinner last night, and
I am ravenously hungry." Father rang the bell, and told the footman who
answered it to send the housekeeper. When she came, father said to her:

"Mrs. Martindale, take this boy to your room and give him some
breakfast." Rupert stood very still for some seconds. His face had got
red again after his paleness. Then he bowed to my father, and followed
Mrs. Martindale, who had moved to the door.

Nearly an hour afterwards my father sent a servant to tell him to come to
the study. My mother was there, too, and I had gone back with her. The
man came back and said:

"Mrs. Martindale, sir, wishes to know, with her respectful service, if
she may have a word with you." Before father could reply mother told him
to bring her. The housekeeper could not have been far off--that kind are
generally near a keyhole--for she came at once. When she came in, she
stood at the door curtseying and looking pale. Father said:

"Well?"

"I thought, sir and ma'am, that I had better come and tell you about
Master Sent Leger. I would have come at once, but I feared to disturb
you."

"Well?" Father had a stern way with servants. When I'm head of the
family I'll tread them under my feet. That's the way to get real
devotion from servants!

"If you please, sir, I took the young gentleman into my room and ordered
a nice breakfast for him, for I could see he was half famished--a growing
boy like him, and so tall! Presently it came along. It was a good
breakfast, too! The very smell of it made even me hungry. There were
eggs and frizzled ham, and grilled kidneys, and coffee, and buttered
toast, and bloater-paste--"

"That will do as to the menu," said mother. "Go on!"

"When it was all ready, and the maid had gone, I put a chair to the table
and said, 'Now, sir, your breakfast is ready!' He stood up and said,
'Thank you, madam; you are very kind!' and he bowed to me quite nicely,
just as if I was a lady, ma'am!"

"Go on," said mother.

"Then, sir, he held out his hand and said, 'Good-bye, and thank you,' and
he took up his cap.

"'But aren't you going to have any breakfast, sir?' I says.

"'No, thank you, madam,' he said; 'I couldn't eat here . . . in this
house, I mean!' Well, ma'am, he looked so lonely that I felt my heart
melting, and I ventured to ask him if there was any mortal thing I could
do for him. 'Do tell me, dear,' I ventured to say. 'I am an old woman,
and you, sir, are only a boy, though it's a fine man you will be--like
your dear, splendid father, which I remember so well, and gentle like
your poor dear mother.'

"'You're a dear!' he says; and with that I took up his hand and kissed
it, for I remember his poor dear mother so well, that was dead only a
year. Well, with that he turned his head away, and when I took him by
the shoulders and turned him round--he is only a young boy, ma'am, for
all he is so big--I saw that the tears were rolling down his cheeks.
With that I laid his head on my breast--I've had children of my own,
ma'am, as you know, though they're all gone. He came willing enough, and
sobbed for a little bit. Then he straightened himself up, and I stood
respectfully beside him.

"'Tell Mr. Melton,' he said, 'that I shall not trouble him about the
trustee business.'

"'But won't you tell him yourself, sir, when you see him?' I says.

"'I shall not see him again,' he says; 'I am going back now!'

"Well, ma'am, I knew he'd had no breakfast, though he was hungry, and
that he would walk as he come, so I ventured to say: 'If you won't take
it a liberty, sir, may I do anything to make your going easier? Have you
sufficient money, sir? If not, may I give, or lend, you some? I shall
be very proud if you will allow me to.'

"'Yes,' he says quite hearty. 'If you will, you might lend me a
shilling, as I have no money. I shall not forget it.' He said, as he
took the coin: 'I shall return the amount, though I never can the
kindness. I shall keep the coin.' He took the shilling, sir--he
wouldn't take any more--and then he said good-bye. At the door he turned
and walked back to me, and put his arms round me like a real boy does,
and gave me a hug, and says he:

"'Thank you a thousand times, Mrs. Martindale, for your goodness to me,
for your sympathy, and for the way you have spoken of my father and
mother. You have seen me cry, Mrs. Martindale,' he said; 'I don't often
cry: the last time was when I came back to the lonely house after my poor
dear was laid to rest. But you nor any other shall ever see a tear of
mine again.' And with that he straightened out his big back and held up
his fine proud head, and walked out. I saw him from the window striding
down the avenue. My! but he is a proud boy, sir--an honour to your
family, sir, say I respectfully. And there, the proud child has gone
away hungry, and he won't, I know, ever use that shilling to buy food!"

Father was not going to have that, you know, so he said to her:

"He does not belong to my family, I would have you to know. True, he is
allied to us through the female side; but we do not count him or his in
my family." He turned away and began to read a book. It was a decided
snub to her.

But mother had a word to say before Mrs. Martindale was done with.
Mother has a pride of her own, and doesn't brook insolence from
inferiors; and the housekeeper's conduct seemed to be rather presuming.
Mother, of course, isn't quite our class, though her folk are quite
worthy and enormously rich. She is one of the Dalmallingtons, the salt
people, one of whom got a peerage when the Conservatives went out. She
said to the housekeeper:

"I think, Mrs. Martindale, that I shall not require your services after
this day month! And as I don't keep servants in my employment when I
dismiss them, here is your month's wages due on the 25th of this month,
and another month in lieu of notice. Sign this receipt." She was
writing a receipt as she spoke. The other signed it without a word, and
handed it to her. She seemed quite flabbergasted. Mother got up and
sailed--that is the way that mother moves when she is in a wax--out of
the room.

Lest I should forget it, let me say here that the dismissed housekeeper
was engaged the very next day by the Countess of Salop. I may say in
explanation that the Earl of Salop, K.G., who is Lord-Lieutenant of the
County, is jealous of father's position and his growing influence.
Father is going to contest the next election on the Conservative side,
and is sure to be made a Baronet before long.

_Letter from Major-General Sir Colin Alexander MacKelpie_, _V.C._,
_K.C.B._, _of Croom_, _Ross_, _N.B._, _to Rupert Sent Leger_, _Esq._, 14,
_Newland Park_, _Dulwich_, _London_, _S.E._

_July_ 4, 1892.

MY DEAR GODSON,

I am truly sorry I am unable to agree with your request that I should
acquiesce in your desire to transfer to Miss Janet MacKelpie the
property bequeathed to you by your mother, of which property I am a
trustee. Let me say at once that, had it been possible to me to do
so, I should have held it a privilege to further such a wish--not
because the beneficiare whom you would create is a near kinswoman of
my own. That, in truth, is my real difficulty. I have undertaken a
trust made by an honourable lady on behalf of her only son--son of a
man of stainless honour, and a dear friend of my own, and whose son
has a rich heritage of honour from both parents, and who will, I am
sure, like to look back on his whole life as worthy of his parents,
and of those whom his parents trusted. You will see, I am sure, that
whatsoever I might grant regarding anyone else, my hands are tied in
this matter.

And now let me say, my dear boy, that your letter has given me the
most intense pleasure. It is an unspeakable delight to me to find in
the son of your father--a man whom I loved, and a boy whom I
love--the same generosity of spirit which endeared your father to all
his comrades, old as well as young. Come what may, I shall always be
proud of you; and if the sword of an old soldier--it is all I
have--can ever serve you in any way, it and its master's life are,
and shall be, whilst life remains to him, yours.

It grieves me to think that Janet cannot, through my act, be given
that ease and tranquillity of spirit which come from competence.
But, my dear Rupert, you will be of full age in seven years more.
Then, if you are in the same mind--and I am sure you will not
change--you, being your own master, can do freely as you will.