A \ B \ C \ D \ E \ F \ G \ H \ I \ J \ K \ L \ M \ N \ O \ P \ R \ S \ T \ U \ V \ W \Z

Varney the Vampire by Thomas Preskett Prest

T >> Thomas Preskett Prest >> Varney the Vampire




Filled with these thoughts, he fell asleep; he slept till morning broke.
He was not disturbed; it seemed as though the influence of sleep was
sweeter far there, in the cottage of the Bannerworths, than ever he had
before received.

It was late on that morning before Sir Francis rose, and then only
through hearing the family about, and, having performed his toilet, so
far as circumstances permitted, he descended, and entered the
front-parlour, the room he had been in the night before.

Flora Bannerworth was already there; indeed, breakfast was waiting the
appearance of Sir Francis Varney.

"Good morning, Miss Bannerworth," said Sir Francis, bowing with his
usual dignified manner, but in the kindest and sincerest way he was able
to assume.

"Good morning, Sir Francis," said Flora, rising to receive him; and she
could not avoid looking at him as he entered the room. "I hope you have
had a pleasant night?"

"It has been the best night's rest I have had for some time, Miss
Bannerworth. I assure you I have to express my gratitude to you for so
much kindness. I have slept well, and soundly."

"I am glad to hear it."

"I think yet I shall escape the search of these people who have hunted
me from so many places."

"I hope you may, indeed, Sir Francis."

"You, Miss Bannerworth! and do you hope I may escape the vengeance of
these people--the populace?"

"I do, Sir Francis, most sincerely hope so. Why should I wish evil to
you, especially at their hands?"

Sir Francis did not speak for a minute or two, and then he said, turning
full upon Flora--

"I don't know why, Miss Bannerworth, that I should think so, but perhaps
it is because there are peculiar circumstances connected with myself,
that have made me feel conscious that I have not deserved so much
goodness at your hands."

"You have not deserved any evil. Sir Francis, we could not do that if it
were in our power; we would do you a service at any time."

"You have done so, Miss Bannerworth--the greatest that can be performed.
You have saved my life."

At that moment Charles Holland entered, and Sir Francis bowed, as he
said,--

"I hope you, Mr. Holland, have slept as well, and passed as good a night
as I have passed?"

"I am glad you, at least, have passed a quiet one," said Charles
Holland; "you, I dare say, feel all the better for it? How do you feel
yourself? Are you much hurt?"

"Not at all, not at all," said Sir Francis Varney. "Only a few bruises,
and so forth, some of which, as you may perceive, do not add to one's
personal appearance. A week or two's quiet would rid me of them. At all
events, I would it may do the same with my enemies."

"I wish they were as easily gotten rid of myself," said Charles; "but as
that cannot be, we must endeavour to baffle them in the best way we
may."

"I owe a debt to you I shall never be able to repay; but where there is
a will, they say there is a way; and if the old saying be good for
anything, I need not despair, though the way is by no means apparent at
present."

"Time is the magician," said Flora, "whose wand changes all things--the
young to the aged, and the aged to nothing."

"Certainly, that is true," said Varney, "and many such changes have I
seen. My mind is stored with such events; but this is sadness, and I
have cause to rejoice."

* * * *

The breakfast was passed off in pleasing conversation, and Varney found
himself much at home with the Bannerworths, whose calm and even tenour
was quite new to him.

He could not but admit the charms of such a life as that led by the
Bannerworths; but what it must have been when they were supplied by
ample means, with nothing to prey upon their minds, and no fearful
mystery to hang on and weigh down their spirits, he could scarcely
imagine.

Thy were amiable, accomplished; they were in the same mind at all times,
and nothing seemed to ruffle them; and when night came, he could not but
acknowledge to himself that he had never formed half the opinion of them
they were deserving of.

Of course during that day he was compelled to lie close, so as not to be
seen by any one, save the family. He sat in a small room, which was
overlooked by no other in the neighbourhood, and he remained quiet,
sometimes conversing, and sometimes reading, but at the same time ever
attentive to the least sound that appeared at all of a character to
indicate the approach of persons for any purpose whatever.

At supper time he spoke to Flora and to Charles Holland, saying,--

"There are certain matters connected with myself--I may say with you
now--sure all that has happened will make it so--of which you would be
glad to hear some thing."

"You mean upon the same subject upon which I had some conversation with
you a day or two back?"

"Yes, the same. Allow me one week, and you shall know all. I will then
relate to you that which you so much desire to know--one week, and all
shall be told."

"Well," said Charles Holland, "this has not been exacted from you as the
price of your safety, but you can choose your own time, of course; what
you promise is most desired, for it will render those happy who now are
much worse than they were before these occurrences took place."

"I am aware of all that; grant me but one week, and then you shall be
made acquainted with all."

"I am satisfied, Sir Francis," said Flora; "but while here under our
roof, we should never have asked you a question."

"Of this, Miss Bannerworth, the little I have seen of you assures me you
would not do so; however, I am the more inclined to make it--I am under
so deep an obligation to you all, that I can never repay it."

* * * * *

Sir Francis Varney retired to rest that night--his promise to the
Bannerworths filled his mind with many reflections--the insecurity of
his own position, and the frail tenure which he even held in the hands
of those whom he had most injured.

This produced a series of reflections of a grave and melancholy nature,
and he sat by his window, watching the progress of the clouds, as they
appeared to chase each other over the face of the scene--now casting a
shade over the earth, and then banishing the shadows, and throwing a
gentle light over the earth's surface, which was again chased away, and
shadows again fell upon the scene below.

How long he had sat there in melancholy musing he knew not; but suddenly
he was aroused from his dreams by a voice that shook the skies, and
caused him to start to his feet.

"Hurrah!--hurrah!--hurrah!" shouted the mob, which had silently
collected around the cottage of the Bannerworths.

"Curses!" muttered Sir Francis, as he again sank in his chair, and
struck his head with his hand. "I am hunted to death--they will not
leave me until my body has graced a cross-road."

"Hurrah!--down with the vampyre--pull him out!"

Then came an instant knocking at the doors, and the people on the
outside made so great a din, that it seemed as though they contemplated
knocking the house down at once, without warning the inmates that they
waited there.

There was a cessation for about a minute, when one of the family
hastened to the door, and inquired what was wanted.

"Varney, the vampyre," was the reply.

"You must seek him elsewhere."

"We will search this place before we go further," replied a man.

"But he is not here."

"We have reason to believe otherwise. Open the door, and let us in--no
one shall be hurt, or one single object in the house; but we must come
in, and search for the vampyre."

"Come to-morrow, then."

"That will not do," said the voice; "open, or we force our way in
without more notice."

At the same a tremendous blow was bestowed upon the door, and then much
force was used to thrust it in. A consultation was suddenly held among
the inmates, as to what was to be done, but no one could advise, and
each was well aware of the utter impossibility of keeping the mob out.

"I do not see what is to become of me," said Sir Francis Varney,
suddenly appearing before them. "You must let them in; there is no
chance of keeping them off, neither can you conceal me. You will have no
place, save one, that will be sacred from their profanation."

"And which is that?"

"Flora's own room."

All started at the thought that Flora's chamber could in any way be
profaned by any such presence as Sir Francis Varney's.

However, the doors below were suddenly burst open, amid loud cries from
the populace, who rushed in in great numbers, and began to search the
lower rooms, immediately.

"All is lost!" said Sir Francis Varney, as he dashed away and rushed to
the chamber of Flora, who, alarmed at the sounds that were now filling
the house, stood listening to them.

"Miss Bannerworth--" began Varney.

"Sir Francis!"

"Yes, it is indeed I, Miss Bannerworth; hear me, for one moment."

"What is the matter?"

"I am again in peril--in more imminent peril than before; my life is not
worth a minute's purchase, unless you save me. You, and you alone, can
now save me. Oh! Miss Bannerworth, if ever pity touched your heart, save
me from those only whom I now fear. I could meet death in any shape but
that in which they will inflict it upon me. Hear their execrations
below!"

"Death to the vampyre! death to Varney! burn him! run a stake through
his body!"

[Illustration]

"What can I do, Sir Francis?"

"Admit me to your chamber."

"Sir Francis, are you aware of what you are saying?"

"I am well. It is a request which you would justly scorn to reply to,
but now my life--recollect you have saved me once--my life,--do not now
throw away the boon you have so kindly bestowed. Save me, Miss
Bannerworth."

"It is not possible. I--"

"Nay, Miss Bannerworth, do you imagine this is a time for ceremony, or
the observances of polished life! On my honour, you run no risk of
censure."

"Where is Varney? Where is the vampyre? He ain't far off."

"Hear--hear them, Miss Bannerworth. They are now at the foot of the
stairs. Not a moment to lose. One minute more, and I am in the hands of
a crew that has no mercy."

"Hurrah! upstairs! He's not below. Upstairs, neighbours, we shall have
him yet!"

These words sounded on the stairs: half-a-dozen more steps, and Varney
would be seen. It was a miracle he was not heard begging for his life.

Varney cast a look of despair at the stairhead and felt for his sword,
but it was not there, he had lost it. He struck his head with his
clenched hand, and was about to rush upon his foes, when he heard the
lock turn; he looked, and saw the door opened gently, and Flora stood
there; he passed in, and sank cowering into a chair, at the other end of
the room, behind some curtains.

The door was scarcely shut ere some tried to force it, and then a loud
knocking came at the door.

"Open! open! we want Varney, the vampyre. Open! or we will burst it
open."

Flora did open it, but stood resolutely in the opening, and held up her
hand to impose silence.

"Are you men, that you can come thus to force yourselves upon the
privacy of a female? Is there nothing in the town or house, that you
must intrude in numbers into a private apartment? Is no place sacred
from you?"

"But, ma'am--miss--we only want Varney, the vampyre."

"And can you find him nowhere but in a female's bedroom? Shame on you!
shame on you! Have you no sisters, wives, or mothers, that you act
thus?"

"He's not there, you may be sure of that, Jack," said a gruff voice.
"Let the lady be in quiet; she's had quite enough trouble with him to
sicken her of a vampyre. You may be sure that's the last place to find
him in."

With this they all turned away, and Flora shut the door and locked it
upon them, and Varney was safe.

"You have saved me," said Varney.

"Hush!" said Flora. "Speak not; there maybe some one listening."

Sir Francis Varney stood in the attitude of one listening most anxiously
to catch some sounds; the moon fell across his face, and gave it a
ghastly hue, that, added to his natural paleness and wounds, gave him an
almost unearthly aspect.

The sounds grew more and more distant; the shouts and noise of men
traversing the apartments subsided, and gradually the place became
restored to its original silence. The mob, after having searched every
other part of the house, and not finding the object of their search,
they concluded that he was not there, but must have made his escape
before.

* * * * *

This most desperate peril of Sir Francis Varney seemed to have more
effect upon him than anything that had occurred during his most strange
and most eventful career.

When he was assured that the riotous mob that had been so intent upon
his destruction was gone, and that he might emerge from his place of
concealment, he did so with an appearance of such utter exhaustion that
the Bannerworth family could not but look upon him as a being who was
near his end.

At any time his countenance, as we long have had occasion to remark, was
a strange and unearthly looking one; but when we come to superadd to the
strangeness of his ordinary appearance the traces of deep mental
emotion, we may well say that Varney's appearance was positively of the
most alarming character.

When he was seated in the ordinary sitting apartment of the
Bannerworths, he drew a long sighing breath, and placing his hand upon
his heart, he said, in a faint tone of voice,--

"It beats now laboriously, but it will soon cease its pulsations for
ever."

These words sounded absolutely prophetic, there was about them such a
solemn aspect, and he looked at the same time that he uttered them so
much like one whose mortal race was run, and who was now a candidate for
the grave.

"Do not speak so despairingly," said Charles Holland; "remember, that if
your life has been one of errors hitherto, how short a space of time may
suffice to redeem some of them at least, and the communication to me
which you have not yet completed may to some extent have such an
effect."

"No, no. It may contribute to an act of justice, but it can do no good
to me. And yet do not suppose that because such is my impression that I
mean to hesitate in finishing to you that communication."

"I rejoice to hear you say so, and if you would, now that you must be
aware of what good feelings towards you we are all animated with, remove
the bar of secrecy from the communication, I should esteem it a great
favour."

Varney appeared to be considering for a few moments, and then he said,--

"Well, well. Let the secrecy no longer exist. Have it removed at once. I
will no longer seek to maintain it. Tell all, Charles Holland--tell
all."

Thus empowered by the mysterious being, Charles Holland related briefly
what Varney had already told him, and then concluded by saying,--

"That is all that I have myself as yet been made aware of, and I now
call upon Sir Francis Varney to finish his narration."

"I am weak," said Varney, "and scarcely equal to the task; but yet I
will not shrink from the promise that I have made. You have been the
preservers of my life, and more particularly to you, Flora Bannerworth,
am I indebted for an existence, which otherwise must have been
sacrificed upon the altar of superstition."

"But you will recollect, Master Varney," said the admiral, who had sat
looking on for some time in silent wonder, "you must recollect, Master
Varney, that the people are, after all, not so much to blame for their
superstition, because, whether you are a vampyre or not, and I don't
pretend to come to a positive opinion now, you took good care to
persuade them you were."

"I did," said Varney, with a shudder; "but why did I?"

"Well, you know best."

"It was, then, because I did believe, and do believe, that there is
something more than natural about my strangely protracted existence; but
we will waive that point, and, before my failing strength, for it
appears to me to be failing, completely prevents me from doing so, let
me relate to you the continued particulars of the circumstances that
made me what I am."

Flora Bannerworth, although she had heard before from the lips of
Charles Holland the to her dreadful fact, that her father, in addition
to having laid violent hands upon his own life, was a murderer, now that
that fearful circumstance was related more publicly, felt a greater pang
than she had done when it was whispered to her in the accents of pure
affection, and softened down by a gentleness of tone, which Charles
Holland's natural delicacy would not allow him to use even to her whom
he loved so well in the presence of others.

She let her beautiful face be hidden by her hands, and she wept as she
listened to the sad detail.

Varney looked inquiringly in the countenance of Charles Holland,
because, having given him leave to make Flora acquainted with the
circumstance, he was rather surprised at the amount of emotion which it
produced in her.

Charles Holland answered the appealing look by saying,--

"Flora is already aware of the facts, but it naturally affects her much
to hear them now repeated in the presence of others, and those too,
towards whom she cannot feel--"

What Charles Holland was going to say was abruptly stopped short by the
admiral, who interposed, exclaiming,--

"Why, what do you mean, you son of a sea cook? The presence of who do
you mean? Do you mean to say that I don't feel for Miss Flora, bless her
heart! quite as much as a white-faced looking swab like you? Why, I
shall begin to think you are only fit for a marine."

"Nay, uncle, now do not put yourself out of temper. You must be well
aware that I could not mean anything disrespectful to you. You should
not suppose such a state of things possible; and although, perhaps, I
did not express myself so felicitously as I might, yet what I intended
to say, was--"

"Oh, bother what you intended to say. You go on, Mr. Vampyre, with your
story. I want to know what became of it all; just you get on as quick as
you can, and let us know what you did after the man was murdered."

"When the dreadful deed was committed," said Varney, "and our victim lay
weltering in his blood, and had breathed his last, we stood like men who
for the first time were awakened to the frightful consequences of what
they had done.

"I saw by the dim light that hovered round us a great change come over
the countenance of Marmaduke Bannerworth, and he shook in every limb.

"This soon passed away, however, and the powerful and urgent necessity
which arose of avoiding the consequences of the deed that we had done,
restored us to ourselves. We stooped and took from the body the
ill-gotten gains of the gambler. They amounted to an immense sum, and I
said to Marmaduke Bannerworth,--

"'Take you the whole of this money and proceed to your own home with it,
where you will be least suspected. Hide it in some place of great
secrecy, and to-morrow I will call upon you, when we will divide it, and
will consider of some means of safely exchanging the notes for gold.'

"He agreed to this, and placed the money in his pocket, after which it
became necessary that we should dispose of the body, which, if we did
not quickly remove, must in a few hours be discovered, and so,
perchance, accompanied by other criminating circumstances, become a
frightful evidence against us, and entail upon us all those consequences
of the deed which we were so truly anxious to escape from.

"It is ever the worst part of the murderer's task, that after he has
struck the blow that has deprived his victim of existence, it becomes
his frightful duty to secrete the corpse, which, with its dead eyes,
ever seems to be glaring upon him such a world of reproach.

"That it is which should make people pause ere they dipped their hands
in the blood of others, and that it is which becomes the first
retribution that the murderer has to endure for the deep crime that he
has committed.

"We tore two stakes from a hedge, and with their assistance we contrived
to dig a very superficial hole, such a hole as was only sufficient, by
placing a thin coating of earth over it, to conceal the body of the
murdered man.

"And then came the loathsome task of dragging him into it--a task full
of horror, and from which we shrunk aghast; but it had to be done, and,
therefore, we stooped, and grasping the clothes as best we might, we
dragged the body into the chasm we had prepared for its reception. Glad
were we then to be enabled to throw the earth upon it and to stamp upon
it with such vehemence as might well be supposed to actuate men deeply
anxious to put out of sight some dangerous and loathsome object.

"When we had completed this, and likewise gathered handsfull of dust
from the road, and dry leaves, and such other matter, to sprinkle upon
the grave, so as to give the earth an appearance of not having been
disturbed, we looked at each other and breathed from our toil.

"Then, and not till then, was it that we remembered that among other
things which the gambler had won of Marmaduke were the deeds belonging
to the Dearbrook property."

"The Dearbrook property!" exclaimed Henry Bannerworth; "I know that
there was a small estate going by that name, which belonged to our
family, but I always understood that long ago my father had parted with
it."

"Yes; it was mortgaged for a small sum--a sum not a fourth part of its
value--and it had been redeemed by Marmaduke Bannerworth, not for the
purpose of keeping it, but in order that he might sell it outright, and
so partially remedy his exhausted finances."

"I was not aware of that," returned Henry.

"Doubtless you were not, for of late--I mean for the twelve months or so
preceding your father's death--you know he was much estranged from all
the family, so that you none of you knew much of what he was doing,
except that he was carrying on a very wild and reckless career, such as
was sure to end in dishonour and poverty; but I tell you he had the
title deeds of the Dearbrook property, and that they were only got from
him, along with everything else of value that he possessed, at the
gaming-table, by the man who paid such a fearful penalty for his
success.

"It was not until after the body was completely buried, and we had
completed all our precautions for more effectually hiding it from
observation, that we recollected the fact of those important papers
being in his possession. It was Marmaduke Bannerworth who first
remembered it, and he exclaimed,--

"'By Heaven, we have buried the title deeds of the property, and we
shall have again to exhume the corpse for the purpose of procuring
them.'

"Now those deeds were nothing to me, and repugnant as I had felt from
the first to having anything whatever to do with the dead body, it was
not likely that I would again drag it from the earth for such an object.

"'Marmaduke Bannerworth,' I said, 'you can do what you please, and take
the consequences of what you do, but I will not again, if I can help it,
look upon the face of that corpse. It is too fearful a sight to
contemplate again. You have a large sum of money, and what need you care
now for the title deeds of a property comparatively insignificant?'

"'Well, well,' he said, 'I will not, at the present time, disturb the
remains; I will wait to see if anything should arise from the fact of
the murder; if it should turn out that no suspicion of any kind is
excited, but that all is still and quiet, I can then take measures to
exhume the corpse, and recover those papers, which certainly are
important.'

"By this time the morning was creeping on apace, and we thought it
prudent to leave the spot. We stood at the end of the lane for a few
moments conversing, and those moments were the last in which I ever saw
Marmaduke Bannerworth."

"Answer me a question," said Henry.

"I will; ask me what you please, I will answer it."

"Was it you that called at Bannerworth Hall, after my father's
melancholy death, and inquired for him?"

"I did; and when I heard of the deed that he had done, I at once left,
in order to hold counsel with myself as to what I should do to obtain at
least a portion of the property, one-half of which, it was understood,
was to have been mine. I heard what had been the last words used by
Marmaduke Bannerworth on the occasion of his death, and they were amply
sufficient to let me know what had been done with the money--at all
events, so far as regards the bestowal of it in some secret place; and
from that moment the idea of, by some means or another, getting the
exclusive possession of it, never forsook my mind.

"I thought over the matter by day and, by night; and with the exception
of having a knowledge of the actual hiding-place of the money, I could
see, in the clearest possible manner, how the whole affair had been
transacted. There can be no doubt but that Marmaduke Bannerworth had
reached home safely with the large sum of which he had become possessed,
and that he had hidden it securely, which was but an ordinary measure of
precaution, when we come to consider how the property had been obtained.

"Then I suspect that, being alone, and left to the gloom of his own
miserable thoughts, they reverted so painfully to the past that he was
compelled to drink deeply for the purpose of drowning reflection.

Copyright (c) 2007. bestextbooks.com. All rights reserved.

Herman Melville - "The Piazza Tales"

Warren T. Ashton - "Hatchie, the Guardian Slave; or, The Heiress of Bellevue"

Laura Lee Hope - "Six Little Bunkers at Grandma Bell's"

Edmund Spenser - "Spenser's The Faerie Queene, Book I"

The green room: Carol Ann Duffy, poet
Articles published by guardian.co.uk Books

Audio slideshow: Robert Shaw discusses his production of Sylvia Plath's only play
What is your biggest guilty green secret?

Stephen King fan publishes Shining's Jack Torrance's novel
Three Women was first heard as a radio drama and then published as a poem. Robert Shaw explains his desire to stage the piece as it was intended