Varney the Vampire by Thomas Preskett Prest

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"Have you really? I suppose you eat raw pork at supper, and so had the
nightmare?"

"A jest is welcome in its place, but pray hear me out, sir, if it suit
your lofty courtesy to do so."

"Oh, certainly."

"Then I say we believe, as far as human judgment has a right to go, that
a vampyre has been here."

"Go on, it's interesting. I always was a lover of the wild and the
wonderful."

"We have, too," continued Charles, "some reason to believe that you are
the man."

Varney tapped his forehead as he glanced at Henry, and said,--

"Oh, dear, I did not know. You should have told me he was a little wrong
about the brain; I might have quarreled with the lad. Dear me, how
lamentable for his poor mother."

"This will not do, Sir Francis Varney _alias_ Bannerworth."

"Oh--oh! Be calm--be calm."

"I defy you to your teeth, sir! No, God, no! Your teeth!"

"Poor lad! Poor lad!"

"You are a cowardly demon, and here I swear to devote myself to your
destruction."

Sir Francis Varney drew himself up to his full height, and that was
immense, as he said to Henry,--

"I pray you, Mr. Bannerworth, since I am thus grievously insulted
beneath your roof, to tell me if your friend here be mad or sane?"

"He's not mad."

"Then--"

"Hold, sir! The quarrel shall be mine. In the name of my persecuted
sister--in the name of Heaven. Sir Francis Varney, I defy you."

Sir Francis, in spite of his impenetrable calmness, appeared somewhat
moved, as he said,--

"I have already endured insult sufficient--I will endure no more. If
there are weapons at hand--"

"My young friend," interrupted Mr. Marchdale, stepping between the
excited men, "is carried away by his feelings, and knows not what he
says. You will look upon it in that light, Sir Francis."

"We need no interference," exclaimed Varney, his hitherto bland voice
changing to one of fury. "The hot blooded fool wishes to fight, and he
shall--to the death--to the death."

[Illustration]

"And I say he shall not," exclaimed Mr. Marchdale, taking Henry by the
arm. "George," he added, turning to the young man, "assist me in
persuading your brother to leave the room. Conceive the agony of your
sister and mother if anything should happen to him."

Varney smiled with a devilish sneer, as he listened to these words, and
then he said,--

"As you will--as you will. There will be plenty of time, and perhaps
better opportunity, gentlemen. I bid you good day."

And with provoking coolness, he then moved towards the door, and quitted
the room.

"Remain here," said Marchdale; "I will follow him, and see that he quits
the premises."

He did so, and the young men, from the window, beheld Sir Francis
walking slowly across the garden, and then saw Mr. Marchdale follow on
his track.

While they were thus occupied, a tremendous ringing came at the gate,
but their attention was so rivetted to what was passing in the garden,
that they paid not the least attention to it.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE ADMIRAL'S ADVICE.--THE CHALLENGE TO THE VAMPYRE.--THE NEW SERVANT AT
THE HALL.

[Illustration]

The violent ringing of the bell continued uninterruptedly until at
length George volunteered to answer it. The fact was, that now there was
no servant at all in the place for, after the one who had recently
demanded of Henry her dismissal had left, the other was terrified to
remain alone, and had precipitately gone from the house, without even
going through the ceremony of announcing her intention to. To be sure,
she sent a boy for her money afterwards, which may be considered a great
act of condescension.

Suspecting, then, this state of things, George himself hastened to the
gate, and, being not over well pleased at the continuous and unnecessary
ringing which was kept up at it, he opened it quickly, and cried, with
more impatience, by a vast amount, than was usual with him.

"Who is so impatient that he cannot wait a seasonable time for the door
to be opened?"

"And who the d----l are you?" cried one who was immediately outside.

"Who do you want?" cried George.

"Shiver my timbers!" cried Admiral Bell, for it was no other than that
personage. "What's that to you?"

"Ay, ay," added Jack, "answer that if you can, you shore-going-looking
swab."

"Two madmen, I suppose," ejaculated George, and he would have closed the
gate upon them; but Jack introduced between it and the post the end of a
thick stick, saying,--

"Avast there! None of that; we have had trouble enough to get in. If you
are the family lawyer, or the chaplain, perhaps you'll tell us where
Mister Charley is."

"Once more I demand of you who you want?" said George, who was now
perhaps a little amused at the conduct of the impatient visitors.

"We want the admiral's _nevey_" said Jack.

"But how do I know who is the admiral's _nevey_ as you call him."

"Why, Charles Holland, to be sure. Have you got him aboard or not?"

"Mr. Charles Holland is certainly here; and, if you had said at once,
and explicitly, that you wished to see him, I could have given you a
direct answer."

"He is here?" cried the admiral.

"Most certainly."

"Come along, then; yet, stop a bit. I say, young fellow, just before we
go any further, tell us if he has maimed the vampyre?"

"The what?

"The _wamphigher_," said Jack, by way of being, as he considered, a
little more explanatory than the admiral.

"I do not know what you mean," said George; "if you wish to see Mr.
Charles Holland walk in and see him. He is in this house; but, for
myself, as you are strangers to me, I decline answering any questions,
let their import be what they may."

"Hilloa! who are they?" suddenly cried Jack, as he pointed to two
figures some distance off in the meadows, who appeared to be angrily
conversing.

George glanced in the direction towards which Jack pointed, and there he
saw Sir Francis Varney and Mr. Marchdale standing within a few paces of
each other, and apparently engaged in some angry discussion.

His first impulse was to go immediately towards them; but, before he
could execute even that suggestion of his mind, he saw Varney strike
Marchdale, and the latter fell to the ground.

"Allow me to pass," cried George, as he endeavoured to get by the rather
unwieldy form of the admiral. But, before he could accomplish this, for
the gate was narrow, he saw Varney, with great swiftness, make off, and
Marchdale, rising to his feet, came towards the Hall.

When Marchdale got near enough to the garden-gate to see George, he
motioned to him to remain where he was, and then, quickening his pace,
he soon came up to the spot.

"Marchdale," cried George, "you have had an encounter with Sir Francis
Varney."

"I have," said Marchdale, in an excited manner. "I threatened to follow
him, but he struck me to the earth as easily as I could a child. His
strength is superhuman."

"I saw you fall."

"I believe, but that he was observed, he would have murdered me."

"Indeed!"

"What, do you mean to say that lankey, horse-marine looking fellow is as
bad as that!" said the admiral.

Marchdale now turned his attention to the two new comers, upon whom he
looked with some surprise, and then, turning to George, he said,--

"Is this gentleman a visitor?"

"To Mr. Holland, I believe he is," said George; "but I have not the
pleasure of knowing his name."

"Oh, you may know my name as soon as you like," cried the admiral. "The
enemies of old England know it, and I don't care if all the world knows
it. I'm old Admiral Bell, something of a hulk now, but still able to
head a quarter-deck if there was any need to do so."

"Ay, ay," cried Jack, and taking from his pocket a boatswain's whistle,
he blew a blast so long, and loud, and shrill, that George was fain to
cover his ears with his hands to shut out the brain-piercing, and, to
him unusual sound.

"And are you, then, a relative," said Marchdale, "of Mr. Holland's, sir,
may I ask?"

"I'm his uncle, and be d----d to him, if you must know, and some one has
told me that the young scamp thinks of marrying a mermaid, or a ghost,
or a vampyre, or some such thing, so, for the sake of the memory of his
poor mother, I've come to say no to the bargain, and d--n me, who
cares."

"Come in, sir," said George, "I will conduct you to Mr. Holland. I
presume this is your servant?"

"Why, not exactly. That's Jack Pringle, he was my boatswain, you see,
and now he's a kind o' something betwixt and between. Not exactly a
servant."

"Ay, ay, sir," said Jack. "Have it all your own way, though we is paid
off."

"Hold your tongue, you audacious scoundrel, will you."

"Oh, I forgot, you don't like anything said about paying off, cos it
puts you In mind of--"

"Now, d--n you, I'll have you strung up to the yard-arm, you dog, if you
don't belay there."

"I'm done. All's right."

By this time the party, including the admiral, Jack, George Bannerworth,
and Marchdale, had got more than half-way across the garden, and were
observed by Charles Holland and Henry, who had come to the steps of the
hall to see what was going on. The moment Charles saw the admiral a
change of colour came over his face, and he exclaimed,--

"By all that's surprising, there is my uncle!"

"Your uncle!" said Henry.

"Yes, as good a hearted a man as ever drew breath, and yet, withal, as
full of prejudices, and as ignorant of life, as a child."

Without waiting for any reply from Henry, Charles Holland rushed
forward, and seizing his uncle by the hand, he cried, in tones of
genuine affection,--

"Uncle, dear uncle, how came you to find me out?"

"Charley, my boy," cried the old man, "bless you; I mean, confound your
d----d impudence; you rascal, I'm glad to see you; no, I ain't, you
young mutineer. What do you mean by it, you ugly, ill-looking, d----d
fine fellow--my dear boy. Oh, you infernal scoundrel."

All this was accompanied by a shaking of the hand, which was enough to
dislocate anybody's shoulder, and which Charles was compelled to bear as
well as he could.

It quite prevented him from speaking, however, for a few moments, for it
nearly shook the breath out of him. When, then, he could get in a word,
he said,--

"Uncle, I dare say you are surprised."

"Surprised! D--n me, I am surprised."

"Well, I shall be able to explain all to your satisfaction, I am sure.
Allow me now to introduce you to my friends."

Turning then to Henry, Charles said,--

"This is Mr. Henry Bannerworth, uncle; and this Mr. George Bannerworth,
both good friends of mine; and this is Mr. Marchdale, a friend of
theirs, uncle."

"Oh, indeed!"

"And here you see Admiral Bell, my most worthy, but rather eccentric
uncle."

"Confound your impudence."

"What brought him here I cannot tell; but he is a brave officer, and a
gentleman."

"None of your nonsense," said the admiral.

"And here you sees Jack Pringle," said that individual, introducing
himself, since no one appeared inclined to do that office for him, "a
tar for all weathers. One as hates the French, and is never so happy as
when he's alongside o' some o' those lubberly craft blazing away."

"That's uncommonly true," remarked the admiral.

"Will you walk in, sir?" said Henry, courteously. "Any friend of Charles
Holland's is most welcome here. You will have much to excuse us for,
because we are deficient in servants at present, in consequence of come
occurrences in our family, which your nephew has our full permission to
explain to you in full"

"Oh, very good, I tell you what it is, all of you, what I've seen of
you, d----e, I like, so here goes. Come along, Jack."

The admiral walked into the house, and as he went, Charles Holland said
to him,--

"How came you to know I was here, uncle?"

"Some fellow wrote me a despatch."

"Indeed!"

"Yes, saying at you was a going to marry some odd sort of fish as it
wasn't at all the thing to introduce into the family."

"Was--was a vampyre mentioned?"

"That's the very thing."

"Hush, uncle--hush."

"What for?"

"Do not, I implore, hint at such a thing before these kind friends of
mine. I will take an opportunity within the next hour of explaining all
to you, and you shall form your own kind and generous judgement upon
circumstances in which my honour and my happiness are so nearly
concerned."

"Gammon," said the admiral.

"What, uncle?"

"Oh, I know you want to palaver me into saying it's all right. I suppose
if my judgment and generosity don't like it, I shall be an old fool, and
a cursed goose?"

"Now, uncle."

"Now, _nevey_."

"Well, well--no more at present. We will talk over this at leisure. You
promise me to say nothing about it until you have heard my explanation,
uncle?"

"Very good. Make it as soon as you can, and as short as you can, that's
all I ask of you."

"I will, I will."

Charles was to the full as anxious as his uncle could be to enter upon
the subject, some remote information of which, he felt convinced, had
brought the old man down to the Hall. Who it could have been that so far
intermeddled with his affairs as to write to him, he could not possibly
conceive.

A very few words will suffice to explain the precise position in which
Charles Holland was. A considerable sum of money had been left to him,
but it was saddled with the condition that he should not come into
possession of it until he was one year beyond the age which is usually
denominated that of discretion, namely, twenty-one. His uncle, the
admiral, was the trustee of his fortune, and he, with rare discretion,
had got the active and zealous assistance of a professional gentleman of
great honour and eminence to conduct the business for him.

This gentleman had advised that for the two years between the ages of
twenty and twenty-two, Charles Holland should travel, inasmuch as in
English society he would find himself in an awkward position, being for
one whole year of age, and yet waiting for his property.

Under such circumstances, reasoned the lawyer, a young man, unless he is
possessed of very rare discretion indeed, is almost sure to get
fearfully involved with money-lenders. Being of age, his notes, and
bills, and bonds would all be good, and he would be in a ten times worse
situation than a wealthy minor.

All this was duly explained to Charles, who, rather eagerly than
otherwise, caught at the idea of a two years wander on the continent,
where he could visit so many places, which to a well read young man like
himself, and one of a lively imagination, were full of the most
delightful associations.

But the acquaintance with Flora Bannerworth effected a great revolution
in his feelings. The dearest, sweetest spot on earth became that which
she inhabited. When the Bannerworths left him abroad, he knew not what
to do with himself. Everything, and every pursuit in which he had before
taken a delight, became most distasteful to him. He was, in fact, in a
short time, completely "used up," and then he determined upon returning
to England, and finding out the dear object of his attachment at once.
This resolution was no sooner taken, than his health and spirits
returned to him, and with what rapidity he could, he now made his way to
his native shores.

The two years were so nearly expired, that he made up his mind he would
not communicate either with his uncle, the admiral, or the professional
gentleman upon whose judgment he set so high and so just a value. And at
the Hall he considered he was in perfect security from any interruption,
and so he would have been, but for that letter which was written to
Admiral Bell, and signed Josiah Crinkles, but which Josiah Crinkles so
emphatically denied all knowledge of. Who wrote it, remains at present
one of those mysteries which time, in the progress of our narrative,
will clear up.

The opportune, or rather the painful juncture at which Charles Holland
had arrived at Bannerworth Hall, we are well cognisant of. Where he
expected to find smiles he found tears, and the family with whom he had
fondly hoped he should pass a time of uninterrupted happiness, he found
plunged in the gloom incidental to an occurrence of the most painful
character.

Our readers will perceive, too, that coming as he did with an utter
disbelief in the vampyre, Charles had been compelled, in some measure,
to yield to the overwhelming weight of evidence which had been brought
to bear upon the subject, and although he could not exactly be said to
believe in the existence and the appearance of the vampyre at
Bannerworth Hall, he was upon the subject in a most painful state of
doubt and indecision.

Charles now took an opportunity to speak to Henry privately, and inform
him exactly how he stood with his uncle, adding--

"Now, my dear friend, if you forbid me, I will not tell my uncle of this
sad affair, but I must own I would rather do so fully and freely, and
trust to his own judgment upon it."

"I implore you to do so," said Henry. "Conceal nothing. Let him know the
precise situation and circumstances of the family by all means. There is
nothing so mischievous as secrecy: I have the greatest dislike to it. I
beg you tell him all."

"I will; and with it, Henry, I will tell him that my heart is
irrevocably Flora's."

"Your generous clinging to one whom your heart saw and loved, under very
different auspices," said Henry, "believe me, Charles, sinks deep into
my heart. She has related to me something of a meeting she had with
you."

"Oh, Henry, she may tell you what I said; but there are no words which
can express the depth of my tenderness. 'Tis only time which can prove
how much I love her."

"Go to your uncle," said Henry, in a voice of emotion. "God bless you,
Charles. It is true you would have been fully justified in leaving my
sister; but the nobler and the more generous path you have chosen has
endeared you to us all."

"Where is Flora now?" said Charles.

"She is in her own room. I have persuaded her, by some occupation, to
withdraw her mind from a too close and consequently painful
contemplation of the distressing circumstances in which she feels
herself placed."

"You are right. What occupation best pleases her?"

"The pages of romance once had a charm for her gentle spirit."

"Then come with me, and, from among the few articles I brought with me
here, I can find some papers which may help her to pass some merry
hours."

Charles took Henry to his room, and, unstrapping a small valise, he took
from it some manuscript papers, one of which he handed to Henry,
saying--

"Give that to her: it contains an account of a wild adventure, and shows
that human nature may suffer much more--and that wrongfully too--than
came ever under our present mysterious affliction."

"I will," said Henry; "and, coming from you, I am sure it will have a
more than ordinary value in her eyes."

"I will now," said Charles, "seek my uncle. I will tell him how I love
her; and at the end of my narration, if he should not object, I would
fain introduce her to him, that he might himself see that, let what
beauty may have met his gaze, her peer he never yet met with, and may in
vain hope to do so."

"You are partial, Charles."

"Not so. 'Tis true I look upon her with a lover's eyes, but I look still
with those of truthful observation."

"Well, I will speak to her about seeing your uncle, and let you know. No
doubt, he will not be at all averse to an interview with any one who
stands high in your esteem."

The young men now separated--Henry, to seek his beautiful sister; and
Charles, to communicate to his uncle the strange particulars connected
with Varney, the Vampyre.

CHAPTER XIX.

FLORA IN HER CHAMBER.--HER FEARS.--THE MANUSCRIPT.--AN ADVENTURE.

[Illustration]

Henry found Flora in her chamber. She was in deep thought when he tapped
at the door of the room, and such was the state of nervous excitement in
which she was that even the demand for admission made by him to the room
was sufficient to produce from her a sudden cry of alarm.

"Who--who is there?" she then said, in accents full of terror.

"'Tis I, dear Flora," said Henry.

She opened the door in an instant, and, with a feeling of grateful
relief, exclaimed--

"Oh, Henry, is it only you?"

"Who did you suppose it was, Flora?"

She shuddered.

"I--I--do not know; but I am so foolish now, and so weak-spirited, that
the slightest noise is enough to alarm me."

"You must, dear Flora, fight up, as I had hoped you were doing, against
this nervousness."

"I will endeavour. Did not some strangers come a short time since,
brother?"

"Strangers to us, Flora, but not to Charles Holland. A relative of
his--an uncle whom he much respects, has found him out here, and has now
come to see him."

"And to advise him," said Flora, as she sunk into a chair, and wept
bitterly; "to advise him, of course, to desert, as he would a
pestilence, a vampyre bride."

"Hush, hush! for the sake of Heaven, never make use of such a phrase,
Flora. You know not what a pang it brings to my heart to hear you."

"Oh, forgive me, brother."

"Say no more of it, Flora. Heed it not. It may be possible--in fact, it
may well be supposed as more than probable--that the relative of Charles
Holland may shrink from sanctioning the alliance, but do you rest
securely in the possession of the heart which I feel convinced is wholly
yours, and which, I am sure, would break ere it surrendered you."

A smile of joy came across Flora's pale but beautiful face, as she
cried,--

"And you, dear brother--you think so much of Charles's faith?"

"As Heaven is my judge, I do."

"Then I will bear up with what strength God may give me against all
things that seek to depress me; I will not be conquered."

"You are right, Flora; I rejoice to find in you such a disposition. Here
is some manuscript which Charles thinks will amuse you, and he bade me
ask you if you would be introduced to his uncle."

"Yes, yes--willingly."

"I will tell him so; I know he wishes it, and I will tell him so. Be
patient, dear Flora, and all may yet be well."

"But, brother, on your sacred word, tell me do you not think this Sir
Francis Varney is the vampyre?"

"I know not what to think, and do not press me for a judgment now. He
shall be watched."

Henry left his sister, and she sat for some moments in silence with the
papers before her that Charles had sent her.

"Yes," she then said, gently, "he loves me--Charles loves me; I ought to
be very, very happy. He loves me. In those words are concentrated a
whole world of joy--Charles loves me--he will not forsake me. Oh, was
there ever such dear love--such fond devotion?--never, never. Dear
Charles. He loves me--he loves me!"

The very repetition of these words had a charm for Flora--a charm which
was sufficient to banish much sorrow; even the much-dreaded vampyre was
forgotten while the light of love was beaming upon her, and she told
herself,--

"He is mine!--he is mine! He loves me truly."

After a time, she turned to the manuscript which her brother had brought
her, and, with a far greater concentration of mind than she had thought
it possible she could bring to it, considering the many painful subjects
of contemplation that she might have occupied herself with, she read the
pages with very great pleasure and interest.

The tale was one which chained her attention both by its incidents and
the manner of its recital. It commenced as follows, and was entitled,
"Hugo de Verole; or, the Double Plot."

In a very mountainous part of Hungary lived a nobleman whose paternal
estates covered many a mile of rock and mountain land, as well as some
fertile valleys, in which reposed a hardy and contented peasantry. The
old Count de Hugo de Verole had quitted life early, and had left his
only son, the then Count Hugo de Verole, a boy of scarcely ten years,
under the guardianship of his mother, an arbitrary and unscrupulous
woman.

The count, her husband, had been one of those quiet, even-tempered men,
who have no desire to step beyond the sphere in which they are placed;
he had no cares, save those included in the management of his estate,
the prosperity of his serfs, and the happiness of those, around him.

His death caused much lamentation throughout his domains, it was so
sudden and unexpected, being in the enjoyment of his health and strength
until a few hours previous, and then his energies became prostrated by
pain and disease. There was a splendid funeral ceremony, which,
according to the usages of his house, took place by torch-light.

So great and rapid were the ravages of disease, that the count's body
quickly became a mass of corruption. All were amazed at the phenomena,
and were heartily glad when the body was disposed of in the place
prepared for its reception in the vaults of his own castle. The guests
who came to witness the funeral, and attend the count's obsequies, and
to condole with the widow on the loss she had sustained, were
entertained sumptuously for many days.

The widow sustained her part well. She was inconsolable for the loss of
her husband, and mourned his death bitterly. Her grief appeared
profound, but she, with difficulty, subdued it to within decent bounds,
that she might not offend any of her numerous guests.