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Varney the Vampire by Thomas Preskett Prest

T >> Thomas Preskett Prest >> Varney the Vampire




Sir Francis Varney looked coldly on while Charles uttered this
enthusiastic speech.

"Remember," he said, "till two o'clock;" and he walked towards the door
of the dungeon. "You will have no difficulty in finding your way out
from this place. Doubtless you already perceive the entrance by which I
gained admission."

"Had I been free," said Charles, "and had the use of my limbs, I should,
long ere this, have worked my way to life and liberty."

"'Tis well. Goodnight."

Varney walked from the place, and just closed the door behind him. With
a slow and stately step he left the ruins, and Charles Holland found
himself once more alone, but in a much more enviable condition than for
many weeks he could have called his.




CHAPTER LXVI.

FLORA BANNERWORTH'S APPARENT INCONSISTENCY.--THE ADMIRAL'S CIRCUMSTANCES
AND ADVICE.--MR. CHILLINGWORTH'S MYSTERIOUS ABSENCE.


[Illustration]

For a brief space let us return to Flora Bannerworth, who had suffered
so much on account of her affections, as well as on account of the
mysterious attack that had been made upon her by the reputed vampyre.

After leaving Bannerworth Hall for a short time, she seemed to recover
her spirits; but this was a state of things which did not last, and only
showed how fallacious it was to expect that, after the grievous things
that had happened, she would rapidly recover her equanimity.

It is said, by learned physiologists, that two bodily pains cannot
endure at the same space of time in the system; and, whether it be so or
not, is a question concerning which it would be foreign to the nature of
our work, to enter into anything like an elaborate disquisition.

Certainly, however, so far as Flora Bannerworth was concerned, she
seemed inclined to show that, mentally, the observation was a true one,
for that, now she became released from a continued dread of the visits
of the vampyre, her mind would, with more painful interest than ever,
recur to the melancholy condition, probably, of Charles Holland, if he
were alive, and to soul-harrowing reflections concerning him, if he were
dead.

She could not, and she did not, believe, for one moment, that his
desertion of her had been of a voluntary character. She knew, or fancied
she knew, him by far too well for that; and she more than once expressed
her opinion, to the effect that she was perfectly convinced his
disappearance was a part and parcel of all that train of circumstances
which had so recently occurred, and produced such a world of unhappiness
to her, as well as to the whole of the Bannerworth family.

"If he had never loved me," she said to her brother Henry, "he would
have been alive and well; but he has fallen a victim to the truth of a
passion, and to the constancy of an affection which, to my dying day, I
will believe in."

Now that Mr. Marchdale had left the place there was no one to dispute
this proposition with Flora, for all, as well as she, were fully
inclined to think well of Charles Holland.

It was on the very morning which preceded that evening when Sir Francis
Varney called upon Charles Holland in the manner we have related, with
the gratifying news that, upon certain conditions, he might be released,
that Flora Bannerworth, when the admiral came to see them, spoke to him
of Charles Holland, saying,--

"Now, sir, that I am away from Bannerworth Hall, I do not, and cannot
feel satisfied; for the thought that Charles may eventually come back,
and seek us there, still haunts me. Fancy him, sir, doing so, and seeing
the place completely deserted."

"Well, there's something in that," said the admiral; "but, however, he's
hardly such a goose, if it were so to happen, to give up the chase--he'd
find us out somehow."

"You think he would, sir? or, do you not think that despair would seize
upon him, and that, fancying we had all left the spot for ever, he might
likewise do so; so that we should lose him more effectually than we have
done at present?"

"No; hardly," said the admiral; "he couldn't be such a goose as that.
Why, when I was of his age, if I had secured the affections of a young
girl like you, I'd have gone over all the world, but I'd have found out
where she was; and what I mean to say is, if he's half such a goose as
you think him, he deserves to lose you."

"Did you not tell me something, sir, of Mr. Chillingworth talking of
taking possession of the Hall for a brief space of time?"

"Why, yes, I did; and I expect he is there now; in fact, I'm sure he's
there, for he said he would be."

"No, he ain't," said Jack Pringle, at that moment entering the room;
"you're wrong again, as you always are, somehow or other."

"What, you vagabond, are you here, you mutinous rascal?"--"Ay, ay, sir;
go on; don't mind me. I wonder what you'd do, sir, if you hadn't
somebody like me to go on talking about"

"Why, you infernal rascal, I wonder what you'd do if you had not an
indulgent commander, who puts up even with real mutiny, and says nothing
about it. But where have you been? Did you go as I directed you, and
take some provisions to Bannerworth Hall?"

"Yes, I did; but I brought them back again; there's nobody there, and
don't seem likely to be, except a dead body."

"A dead body! Whose body can that be!"--"Tom somebody; for I'm d----d if
it ain't a great he cat."

"You scoundrel, how dare you alarm me in such a way? But do you mean to
tell me that you did not see Dr. Chillingworth at the Hall?"--"How could
I see him, if he wasn't there?"

"But he was there; he said he would be there."--"Then he's gone again,
for there's nobody there that I know of in the shape of a doctor. I went
through every part of the ship--I mean the house--and the deuce a soul
could I find; so as it was rather lonely and uncomfortable, I came away
again. 'Who knows,' thought I, 'but some blessed vampyre or another may
come across me.'"

"This won't do," said the old admiral, buttoning up his coat to the
chin; "Bannerworth Hall must not be deserted in this way. It is quite
clear that Sir Francis Varney and his associates have some particular
object in view in getting possession of the place. Here, you
Jack."--"Ay, ay, sir."

[Illustration]

"Just go back again, and stay at the Hall till somebody comes to you.
Even such a stupid hound as you will be something to scare away
unwelcome visitors. Go back to the Hall, I say. What are you staring
at?"--"Back to Bannerworth Hall!" said Jack. "What! just where I've come
from; all that way off, and nothing to eat, and, what's worse, nothing
to drink. I'll see you d----d first."

The admiral caught up a table-fork, and made a rush at Jack; but Henry
Bannerworth interfered.

"No, no," he said, "admiral; no, no--not that. You must recollect that
you yourself have given this, no doubt, faithful fellow of your's
liberty to do and say a great many things which don't look like good
service; but I have no doubt, from what I have seen of his disposition,
that he would risk his life rather than, that you should come to any
harm."

"Ay, ay," said Jack; "he quite forgets when the bullets were scuttling
our nobs off Cape Ushant, when that big Frenchman had hold of him by the
_skirf_ of his neck, and began pummelling his head, and the lee scuppers
were running with blood, and a bit of Joe Wiggins's brains had come slap
in my eye, while some of Jack Marling's guts was hanging round my neck
like a nosegay, all in consequence of grape-shot--then he didn't say as
I was a swab, when I came up, and bored a hole in the Frenchman's back
with a pike. Ay, it's all very well now, when there's peace, and no
danger, to call Jack Pringle a lubberly rascal, and mutinous. I'm
blessed if it ain't enough to make an old pair of shoes faint away."

"Why, you infernal scoundrel," said the admiral, "nothing of the sort
ever happened, and you know it. Jack, you're no seaman."--"Werry good,"
said Jack; "then, if I ain't no seaman, you are what shore-going people
calls a jolly fat old humbug."

"Jack, hold your tongue," said Henry Bannerworth; "you carry these
things too far. You know very well that your master esteems you, and you
should not presume too much upon that fact."--"My master!" said Jack;
"don't call him my master. I never had a master, and don't intend. He's
my admiral, if you like; but an English sailor don't like a master."

"I tell you what it is, Jack," said the admiral; "you've got your good
qualities, I admit."--"Ay, ay, sir--that's enough; you may as well leave
off well while you can."

"But I'll just tell you what you resemble more than anything
else."--"Chew me up! what may that be, sir?"

"A French marine."--"A what! A French marine! Good-bye. I wouldn't say
another word to you, if you was to pay me a dollar a piece. Of all the
blessed insults rolled into one, this here's the worstest. You might
have called me a marine, or you might have called me a Frenchman, but to
make out that I'm both a marine and a Frenchman, d--me, if it isn't
enough to make human nature stand on an end! Now, I've done with you."

"And a good job, too," said the admiral. "I wish I'd thought of it
before. You're worse than a third day's ague, or a hot and a cold fever
in the tropics."--"Very good," said Jack; "I only hope Providence will
have mercy upon you, and keep an eye upon you when I'm gone, otherwise,
I wonder what will become of you? It wasn't so when young Belinda, who
you took off the island of Antiggy, in the Ingies, jumped overboard, and
I went after her in a heavy swell. Howsomdever, never mind, you shook
hands with me then; and while a bushel of the briny was weeping out of
the corner of each of your blinkers, you says, says you,--"

"Hold!" cried the admiral, "hold! I know what I said, Jack. It's cut a
fathom deep in my memory. Give us your fist, Jack, and--and--"--"Hold
yourself," said Jack; "I know what you're going to say, and I won't hear
you say it--so there's an end of it. Lor bless you! I knows you. I ain't
a going to leave you. Don't be afraid; I only works you up, and works
you down again, just to see if there's any of that old spirit in you
when we was aboard the Victory. Don't you recollect, admiral?"

"Yes--yes; enough, Jack."--"Why, let me see--that was a matter of forty
years ago, nearly, when I was a youngster."

"There--there, Jack--that'll do. You bring the events of other years
fresh upon my memory. Peace--peace. I have not forgotten; but still, to
hear what you know of them, if recited, would give the old man a
pang."--"A pang," said Jack; "I suppose that's some dictionary word for
a punch in the eye. That would be mutiny with a vengeance; so I'm off."

"Go, go."--"I'm a going; and just to please you, I'll go to the Hall, so
you sha'n't say that you told me to do anything that I didn't."

Away went Jack, whistling an air, that might have been popular when he
and the admiral were young, and Henry Bannerworth could not but remark
that an appearance of great sadness came over the old man, when Jack was
gone.

"I fear, sir," he said, "that heedless sailor has touched upon some
episode in your existence, the wounds of which are still fresh enough to
give you pain."--"It is so," said the old admiral; "just look at me,
now. Do I look like the here of a romantic love story?"

"Not exactly, I admit."--"Well, notwithstanding that, Jack Pringle has
touched a chord that vibrates in my heart yet," replied the admiral.

"Have you any objection to tell me of it?"--"None, whatever; and
perhaps, by the time I have done, the doctor may have found his way back
again, or Jack may bring us some news of him. So here goes for a short,
but a true yarn."




CHAPTER LXVII.

THE ADMIRAL'S STORY OF THE BEAUTIFUL BELINDA.


[Illustration]

Just at this moment Flora Bannerworth stole into the room from whence
she had departed a short time since; but when she saw that old Admiral
Bell was looking so exceedingly serious, and apparently about to address
Henry upon some very important subject, she would have retired, but he
turned towards her, and said,--

"My story, my dear, I've no objection to your hearing, and, like all
women folks, a love story never comes amiss to you; so you may as well
stay and hear it."--"A love story," said Flora; "you tell a love story,
sir?"

"Yes, my dear, and not only tell it, but be the hero of it, likewise;
ain't you astonished?"--"I am, indeed."

"Well, you'll be more astonished then before I've done; so just listen.
As Jack Pringle says, it was the matter of about somewhere forty years
ago, that I was in command of the Victory frigate, which was placed upon
the West Indian station, during a war then raging, for the protection of
our ports and harbours in that vicinity. We'd not a strong force in that
quarter, therefore, I had to cut about from place to place, and do the
best I could. After a time, though, I rather think that we frightened
off the enemy, during which time I chiefly anchored off the island of
Antigua, and was hospitably received at the house of a planter, of the
name of Marchant, who, in fact, made his house my home, and introduced
me to all the _elite_ of the society of the island. Ah! Miss Flora,
you've no idea, to look at me now, what I was then; I held a captain's
commission, and was nearly the youngest man in the service, with such a
rank. I was as slender, ay, as a dancing master. These withered and
bleached locks were black as the raven's plume. Ay, ay, but no matter:
the planter had a daughter."

"And you loved her?" said Flora--"Loved her," said the old man, and the
flush of youthful animation come to his countenance; "loved her, do you
say! I adored her; I worshipped her; she was to me--but what a d----d
old fool, I am; we'll skip that if you please."

"Nay, nay," said Flora; "that is what I want to hear."--"I haven't the
least doubt of that, in the world; but that's just what you won't hear;
none of your nonsense, Miss Flora; the old man may be a fool, but he
isn't quite an idiot."

"He's neither," said Flora; "true feelings can never disgrace any
one."--"Perhaps not; but, however, to make a long story short, somehow
or other, one day, Belinda was sitting alone, and I rudely pounced upon
her; I rather think then I must have said something that I oughtn't to
have said, for it took her so aback; I was forced, somehow or other, to
hold her up, and then I--I--yes; I'm sure I kissed her; and so, I told
her I loved her; and then, what do you think she said?"

"Why," said Flora, "that she reciprocated the passion."--"D--n my rags,"
said Jack, who at the moment came into the room, "I suppose that's the
name of some shell or other."

"You here, you villain!" said the admiral; "I thought you were
gone."--"So I was," said Jack, "but I came back for my hat, you see."

Away he went again, and the admiral resumed his story.

"Well, Miss Flora," he said, "you haven't made a good guess, as she
didn't say anything at all, she only clung to me like some wild bird to
its mother's breast, and cried as if her heart would break."--"Indeed!"

"Yes; I didn't know the cause of her emotion, but at last I got it out
of her."--"What was it?"

"Oh, a mere trifle; she was already married to somebody else, that's
all; some d----d fellow, who had gone trading about the islands, a
fellow she didn't care a straw about, that was old enough to be her
father."

"And you left her?"--"No, I didn't. Guess again. I was a mad-headed
youngster. I only felt--I didn't think. I persuaded her to come away
with me. I took her aboard my ship, and set sail with her. A few weeks
flew like hours; but one day we were hailed by a vessel, and when we
neared her, she manned a boat and brought a letter on board, addressed
to Belinda. It was from her father, written in his last moments. It
began with a curse and ended with a blessing. There was a postscript in
another hand, to say the old man died of grief. She read it by my side
on the quarter-deck. It dropped from her grasp, and she plunged into the
sea. Jack Pringle went after her; but I never saw her again."

"Gracious Heavens! what a tragedy!"--"Yes, tolerable," said the old man.

He arose and took his hat and placed it on his head. He gave the crown
of it a blow that sent it nearly over his eyes. He thrust his hands deep
into his breeches pockets, clenched his teeth, and muttered something
inaudible as he strode from the apartment.

"Who would have thought, Henry," said Flora, "that such a man as Admiral
Bell had been the hero of such an adventure?"--"Ay, who indeed; but it
shows that we never can judge from appearances, Flora; and that those
who seem to us the most heart-whole may have experienced the wildest
vicissitudes of passion."

"And we must remember, likewise, that this was forty years ago, Henry,
which makes a material difference in the state of the case as regards
Admiral Bell."

"It does indeed--more than half a lifetime; and yet how evident it was
that his old feelings clung to him. I can well imagine the many hours of
bitter regret which the memory of this his lost love must have given
him."

"True--true. I can feel something for him; for have I not lost one who
loved me--a worse loss, too, than that which Admiral Bell relates; for
am I not a prey to all the horrors of uncertainty? Whereas he knew the
worst, and that, at all events, death had claimed its victim, leaving
nothing to conjecture in the shape of suffering, so that the mind had
nothing to do but to recover slowly, but surely, as it would from the
shock which it had received."

"That is worse than you, Flora; but rather would I have you cherish hope
of soon beholding Charles Holland, probably alive and well, than fancy
any great disaster has come over him."

"I will endeavour to do so," replied Flora.

"I long to hear what has become of Dr. Chillingworth. His disappearance
is most singular; for I fully suspected that he had some particular
object in view in getting possession for a short time of Bannerworth
Hall; but now, from Jack Pringle's account, he appears not to be in it,
and, in fact, to have disappeared completely from the sight of all who
knew him."

"Yes," said Flora; "but he may have done that, brother, still in
furtherance of his object."

"It may be so, and I will hope that it is so. Keep yourself close,
sister, and see no one, while I proceed to his house to inquire if they
have heard anything of him. I will return soon, be assured; and, in the
meantime, should you see my brother, tell him I shall be at home in an
hour or so, and not to leave the cottage; for it is more than likely
that the admiral has gone to Bannerworth Hall, so that you may not see
anything of him for some time."




CHAPTER LXVIII.

MARCHDALE'S ATTEMPTED VILLANY, AND THE RESULT.


[Illustration]

Varney the vampyre left the dungeon of Charles Holland amid the grey
ruins, with a perfect confidence the young man would keep his word, and
not attempt to escape from that place until the time had elapsed which
he had dictated to him.

And well might he have that confidence, for having once given his word
that he would remain until he heard the clock strike two from a
neighbouring church, Charles Holland never dreamt for a moment of
breaking it.

To be sure it was a weary time to wait when liberty appeared before him;
but he was the soul of honour, and the least likely man in all the world
to infringe in the slightest upon the condition which he had, of his own
free will, acceded to.

Sir Francis Varney walked rapidly until he came nearly to the outskirts
of the town, and then he slackened his pace, proceeding more cautiously,
and looking carefully about him, as if he feared to meet any one who
might recognise him.

He had not proceeded far in this manner, when be became conscious of the
cautious figure of a man gliding along in the opposite direction to that
which he was taking.

A suspicion struck him, from the general appearance, that it was
Marchdale, and if so he wondered to see him abroad at such a time. Still
he would not be quite certain; but he hurried forward, so as to meet the
advancing figure, and then his suspicions were confirmed; and Marchdale,
with some confusion in his looks and manners, accosted him.

"Ah, Sir Francis Varney," he said, "you are out late."--

"Why, you know I should be out late," said Varney, "and you likewise
know the errand upon which I was to be out."

"Oh, I recollect; you were to release your prisoner."--

"Yes, I was."

"And have you done so?"--

"Oh, no."

"Oh, indeed. I--I am glad you have taken better thoughts of it. Good
night--good night; we shall meet to-morrow."--

"Adieu," said Sir Francis Varney; and he watched the retreating figure
of Marchdale, and then he added, in a low tone to himself,--

"I know his object well. His craven spirit shrinks at the notion, a
probable enough one, I will admit, that Charles Holland has recognised
him, and that, if once free, he would denounce him to the Bannerworths,
holding him up to scorn in his true colours, and bringing down upon his
head, perhaps, something more than detestation and contempt. The
villain! he is going now to take the life of the man whom he considers
chained to the ground. Well, well, they must fight it out together.
Charles Holland is sufficiently free to take his own part, although
Marchdale little thinks that such is the case."

Marchdale walked on for some little distance, and then he turned and
looked after Sir Francis Varney.

"Indeed!" he said; "so you have not released him to-night, but I know
well will do so soon. I do not, for my part, admire this romantic
generosity which sets a fox free at the moment that he's the most
dangerous. It's all very well to be generous, but it is better to be
just first, and that I consider means looking after one's self first. I
have a poniard here which will soon put an end to the troubles of the
prisoner in his dungeon--its edge is keen and sharp, and will readily
find a way to his heart."

He walked on quite exultingly and carelessly now, for he had got into
the open country, and it was extremely unlikely that he would meet
anybody on his road to the ruins.

It did not take many minutes, sharp walking now to bring him close to
the spot which he intended should become such a scene of treacherous
slaughter, and just then he heard from afar off something like the
muttering of thunder, as if Heaven itself was proclaiming its vengeance
against the man who had come out to slay one of its best and noblest
creatures.

"What is that'" said Marchdale, shrinking back a moment; "what is
that--an approaching storm? It must be so, for, now I recollect me, the
sun set behind a bank of clouds of a fiery redness, and as the evening
drew in there was every appearance in the heavens of some ensuing strife
of the elements."

He listened for a few moments, and fixed his eyes intently in the
direction of the horizon from where the muttering sounds had proceeded.

He had not long to wait before he saw a bright flash of blue lightning,
which for one instant illumined the sky; then by the time he could have
counted twelve there came the thunder which the flash preceded, and he
felt terribly anxious to complete his enterprize, so that he might get
back to the town and be safely housed before the storm, which was
evidently approaching, should burst upon him.

"It is sweeping on apace," he said; "why did I not come earlier?"

Even as he spoke he plunged among the recesses of the ruins, and
searching about for the old stone which covered the entrance to the
dungeon, he was surprised to find it rolled from its place, and the
aperture open.

"What is the meaning of this?" he said; "how negligent of Sir Francis
Varney; or perhaps, after all, he was only jesting with me, and let the
prisoner go. If that should be the case, I am foiled indeed; but surely
he could not be so full of indiscretion."

Again came a dazzling flash of lightning, which now, surrounded by the
ruins as he was, made him shrink back and cover his eyes for a moment;
and then followed a peal of thunder with not half the duration of time
between it and the flash which had characterized the previous electric
phenomenon.

"The storm approaches fast," said Marchdale; "I must get my work done
quickly, if indeed my victim be here, which I begin seriously to doubt."

He descended the intricate winding passage to the vault below, which
served the purpose of a dungeon, and when he got very nearly into the
depth of its recesses, he called aloud, saying,--

"Ho! what ho! is there any one here?"--"Yes," said Charles Holland, who
fancied it might be his former visitor returned. "Have you come to
repent of your purpose?"

"Ah!" said Marchdale to himself, "Sir Francis, after all, has told me
the truth--the prisoner is still here."

The light from without was not near sufficient to send the least ray
into the depths of that dungeon; so that Marchdale, when he entered the
place, could see nothing but an absolute blackness.

It was not so, however, with Charles Holland, whose eyes had been now so
long accustomed to the place that he could see in it as if a dim
twilight irradiated it, and he at once, in his visitor, saw his worst
foe, and not the man who had comparatively set him free.

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