The Lady of the Shroud | Page 2

Bram Stoker
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
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