Complete Works of Bram Stoker

by Bram Stoker

  Doctor Chillingworth, but ill satisfied with the events that had yet taken place, determined once more upon visiting the Hall, and there to attempt a discovery of something respecting the mysterious apartment in which so much has already taken place.

  He communicated his design to no one; he resolved to prosecute the inquiry alone. He determined to go there and await whatever might turn up in the shape of events. He would not for once take any companion; such adventures were often best prosecuted alone — they were most easily brought to something like an explanatory position, one person can often consider matters more coolly than more. At all events, there is more secrecy than under any other circumstances.

  Perhaps this often is of greater consequence than many others; and, moreover, when there is more than one, something is usually overdone. Where one adventurous individual will rather draw back in a pursuit, more than one would induce them to urge each other on.

  In fact, one in such a case could act the part of a spy — a secret observer; and in that case can catch people at times when they could not under any other circumstances be caught or observed at all.

  “I will go,” he muttered; “and should I be compelled to run away again, why, nobody knows anything about it and nobody will laugh at me.”

  This was all very well; but Mr. Chillingworth was not the man to run away without sufficient cause. But there was so much mystery in all this that he felt much interested in the issue of the affair. But this issue he could not command; at the same time he was determined to sit and watch, and thus become certain that either something or nothing was to take place.

  Even the knowledge of that much — that some inexplicable action was still going on — was far preferable to the uncertainty of not knowing whether what had once been going on was still so or not, because, if it had ceased, it was probable that nothing more would ever be known concerning it, and the mystery would still be a mystery to the end of time.

  “It shall be fathomed if there be any possibility of its being discovered,” muttered Chillingworth. “Who would have thought that so quiet and orderly a spot as this, our quiet village, would have suffered so much commotion and disturbance? Far from every cause of noise and strife, it is quite as great a matter of mystery as the vampyre business itself.

  “I have been so mixed up in this business that I must go through with it. By the way, of the mysteries, the greatest that I have met with is the fact of the vampyre having anything to do with so quiet a family as the Bannerworths.”

  Mr. Chillingworth pondered over the thought; but yet he could make nothing of it. It in no way tended to elucidate anything connected with the affair, and it was much too strange and singular in all its parts to be submitted to any process of thought, with any hope of coming to anything like a conclusion upon the subject — that must remain until some facts were ascertained, and to obtain them Mr. Chillingworth now determined to try.

  This was precisely what was most desirable in the present state of affairs; while things remained in the present state of uncertainty, there would be much more of mystery than could ever be brought to light.

  One or two circumstances cleared up, the minor ones would follow in the same train, and they would be explained by the others; and if ever that happy state of things were to come about, why, then there would be a perfect calm in the town.

  As Mr. Chillingworth was going along, he thought he observed two men sitting inside a hedge, close to a hay-rick, and thinking neither of them had any business there, he determined to listen to their conversation, and ascertain if it had any evil tendency, or whether it concerned the late event.

  Having approached near the gate, and they being on the other side, he got over without any noise, and, unperceived by either of them, crept close up to them.

  “So you haven’t long come from sea?”

  “No; I have just landed.”

  “How is it you have thrown aside your seaman’s clothes and taken to these?”

  “Just to escape being found out.”

  “Found out! what do you mean by that? Have you been up to anything?”

  “Yes, I have, Jack. I have been up to something, worse luck to me; but I’m not to be blamed either.”

  “What is it all about?” inquired his companion. “I always thought you were such a steady-going old file that there was no going out of the even path with you.”

  “Nor would there have been, but for one simple circumstance.”

  “What was that?”

  “I will tell you, Jack — I will tell you; you will never betray me, I am sure.”

  “Never, by heavens!”

  “Well, then, listen — it was this. I had been some time aboard our vessel. I had sailed before, but the captain never showed any signs of being a bad man, and I was willing enough to sail with him again.

  “He knew I was engaged to a young woman in this country, and that I was willing to work hard to save money to make up a comfortable home for us both, and that I would not sail again, but that I intended to remain ashore, and make up my mind to a shore life.”

  “Well, you would have a house then?”

  “Exactly; and that’s what I wished to do. Well, I made a small venture in the cargo, and thought, by so doing, that I should have a chance of realising a sum of money that would put us both in a comfortable line of business.

  “Well, we went on very smoothly until we were coming back. We had disposed of the cargo, and I had received some money, and this seemed to cause our captain to hate me, because I had been successful; but I thought there was something else in it than that, but I could not tell what it was that made him so intolerably cross and tyrannous.

  “Well, I found out, at length, he knew my intended wife. He knew her very well, and at the same time he made every effort he could to induce me to commit some act of disobedience and insubordination; but I would not, for it seemed to me he was trying all he could to prevent my doing my duty with anything like comfort.

  “However, I learned the cause of all this afterwards. It was told me by one of the crew.

  “‘Bill,’ said my mate, ‘look out for yourself.’

  “‘What’s in the wind?’ said I.

  “‘Only the captain has made a dead set at you, and you’ll be a lucky man if you escape.’

  “‘What’s it all about?’ said I. ‘I cannot understand what he means. I have done nothing wrong. I don’t see why I should suddenly be treated in this way.’

  “‘It’s all about your girl, Bill.’

  “‘Indeed!’ said I. ‘What can that have to do with the captain? he knows nothing of her.’

  “‘Oh, yes, he does,’ he said. ‘If it were not for you he would have the girl himself.’

  “‘I see now,’ said I.

  “‘Ay, and so can a blind man if you open his eyes; but he wants to make you do wrong — to goad you on to do something that will give him the power of disgracing you, and, perhaps, of punishing you.’

  “‘He won’t do that,’ said I.

  “‘I am glad to hear you say so, Bill; for, to my mind, he has made up his mind to go the whole length against you. I can’t make it out, unless he wishes you were dead.’

  “‘I dare say he does,’ said I; ‘but I will take care I will live to exact a reckoning when he comes ashore.’

  “‘That is the best; and when we are paid off, Bill, if you will take it out of him, and pay him off, why, I don’t care if I lend you a hand.’

  “‘We’ll say more about that, Dick,’ said I, ‘when we get ashore and are paid off. If we are overheard now, it will be said that we are conspiring, or committing mutiny, or something of that sort.’

  “‘You are right, Bill,’ he said — ’you are right. We’ll say no more about this now, but you may reckon upon me when we are no longer under his orders.’

  “‘Then there’s no danger, you know.’

  “Well, we said nothing about this, but I thought of it, and I had cause enough, too, to think of it; for e
ach day the captain grew more and more tyrannous and brutal. I knew not what to do, but kept my resolution of doing my duty in spite of all he could do, though I don’t mind admitting I had more than one mind to kill him and myself afterwards.

  “However, I contrived to hold out for another week or two, and then we came into port, and were released from his tyranny. I got paid off, and then I met my messmate, and we had some talk about the matter.

  “‘The worst of it is,’ said I, ‘we shall have some difficulty to catch him; and, if we can, I’ll be sworn we shall give him enough to last him for at least a voyage or two.’

  “‘He ought to have it smart,’ said my messmate; ‘and I know where he is to be found.’

  “‘Do you? — at what hour?’

  “‘Late at night, when he may be met with as he comes from a house where he spends his evenings.”

  “‘That will be the best time in the world, when we shall have less interference than at any other time in the day. But we’ll have a turn to-night if you will be with me, as he will be able to make too good a defence to one. It will be a fight, and not a chastisement.’

  “‘It will. I will be with you; you know where to meet me. I shall be at the old spot at the usual time, and then we will go.’

  “We parted; and, in the evening, we both went together, and sought the place where we should find him out, and set upon him to advantage.

  “He was nearly two hours before he came; but when he did come, we saluted him with a rap on the head, that made him hold his tongue; and then we set to, and gave him such a tremendous drubbing, that we left him insensible; but he was soon taken away by some watchmen, and we heard that he was doing well; but he was dreadfully beaten; indeed, it would take him some weeks before he could be about in his duties.

  “He was fearfully enraged, and offered fifty pounds reward to any one who could give him information as to who it was that assaulted him.

  “I believe he had a pretty good notion of who it was; but he could not swear to me; but still, seeing he was busying himself too much about me, I at once walked away, and went on my way to another part of the country.”

  “To get married?”

  “Ay, and to get into business.”

  “Then, things are not quite so bad as I thought for at first.”

  “No — no, not so bad but what they might have been worse a great deal; only I cannot go to sea any more, that’s quite certain.”

  “You needn’t regret that.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why not know? Are you not going to be married? — ain’t that much better?”

  “I can’t say,” replied the sailor; “there’s no knowing how my bargain may turn out; if she does well, why, then the cruising is over; but nothing short of that will satisfy me; for if my wife is at all not what I wish her to be, why, I shall be off to sea.”

  “I don’t blame you, either; I would do so too, if it were possible; but you see, we can’t do so well on land as you do at sea; we can be followed about from pillar to post, and no bounds set to our persecution.”

  “That’s true enough,” said the other; “we can cut and run when we have had enough of it. However, I must get to the village, as I shall sleep there to-night, if I find my quarters comfortable enough.”

  “Come on, then, at once,” said his companion; “it’s getting dark now; and you have no time to lose.”

  These two now got up, and walked away towards the village; and Chillingworth arose also, and pursued his way towards the Hall, while he remarked to himself, —

  “Well — well, they have nothing to do with that affair at all events. By-the-bye, I wonder what amount of females are deserted in the navy; they certainly have an advantage over landsmen, in the respect of being tied to tiresome partners; they can, at least, for a season, get a release from their troubles, and be free at sea.”

  However, Mr. Chillingworth got to the Hall, and unobserved, for he had been especially careful not to be seen; he had watched on all sides, and no signs of a solitary human being had he seen, that could in any way make the slightest observation upon him.

  Indeed, he had sheltered himself from observation at every point of his road, especially so when near Bannerworth Hall, where there were plenty of corners to enable him to do so; and when he arrived there, he entered at the usual spot, and then sat down a few moments in the bower.

  “I will not sit here,” he muttered. “I will go and have a watch at that mysterious picture; there is the centre of attraction, be it what it may.”

  As he spoke, he arose and walked into the house, and entered the same apartment which has been so often mentioned to the reader.

  Here he took a chair, and sat down full before the picture, and began to contemplate it.

  “Well, for a good likeness, I cannot say I ever saw anything more unprepossessing. I am sure such a countenance as that could never have won a female heart. Surely, it is more calculated to terrify the imagination, than to soothe the affections of the timid and shrinking female.

  “However, I will have an inspection of the picture, and see if I can make anything of it.”

  As he spoke, he put his hand upon the picture with the intention of removing it, when it suddenly was thrust open, and a man stepped down.

  The doctor was for a moment completely staggered, it was so utterly unexpected, and he stepped back a pace or two in the first emotion of his surprise; but this soon passed by, and he prepared to close with his antagonist, which he did without speaking a word.

  There was a fair struggle for more than two or three minutes, during which the doctor struggled and fought most manfully; but it was evident that Mr. Chillingworth had met with a man who was his superior in point of strength, for he not only withstood the utmost force that Chillingworth could bring against him, but maintained himself, and turned his strength against the doctor.

  Chillingworth panted with exertion, and found himself gradually losing ground, and was upon the point of being thrown down at the mercy of his adversary, who appeared to be inclined to take all advantages of him, when an occurrence happened that altered the state of affairs altogether.

  While they were struggling, the doctor borne partially to the earth — but yet struggling, suddenly his antagonist released his hold, and staggered back a few paces.

  “There, you swab — take that; I am yard-arm and yard-arm with you, you piratical-looking craft — you lubberly, buccaneering son of a fish-fag.”

  Before, however, Jack Pringle, for it was he who came so opportunely to the rescue of Doctor Chillingworth, could find time to finish the sentence, he found himself assailed by the very man who, but a minute before, he had, as he thought, placed hors de combat.

  A desperate fight ensued, and the stranger made the greatest efforts to escape with the picture, but found he could not get off without a desperate struggle. He was, at length, compelled to relinquish the hope of carrying that off, for both Mr. Chillingworth and Jack Pringle were engaged hand to hand; but the stranger struck Jack so heavy a blow on the head, that made him reel a few yards, and then he escaped through the window, leaving Jack and Mr. Chillingworth masters of the field, but by no means unscathed by the conflict in which they had been engaged.

  CHAPTER XCI.

  THE GRAND CONSULTATION BROKEN UP BY MRS. CHILLINGWORTH, AND THE DISAPPEARANCE OF VARNEY.

  Remarkable was the change that had taken place in the circumstances of the Bannerworth family. From a state of great despondency, and, indeed, absolute poverty, they had suddenly risen to comfort and independence.

  It seemed as if the clouds that had obscured their destiny, had now, with one accord, dissipated, and that a brighter day was dawning. Not only had the circumstances of mental terror which had surrounded them given way in a great measure to the light of truth and reflection, but those pecuniary distresses which had pressed upon them for a time, were likewise passing away, and it seemed probable that they would be in a prosperous condition.

 
; The acquisition of the title deeds of the estate, which they thought had passed away from the family for ever, became to them, in their present circumstances, an immense acquisition, and brought to their minds a feeling of great contentment.

  Many persons in their situation would have been extremely satisfied at having secured so strong an interest in the mind of the old admiral, who was very wealthy, and who, from what he had already said and done, no doubt fully intended to provide handsomely for the Bannerworth family.

  And not only had they this to look forward to, if they had chosen to regard it as an advantage, but they knew that by the marriage of Flora with Charles Holland she would have a fortune at her disposal, while he (Charles) would be the last man in the world to demur at any reasonable amount of it being lavished upon her mother and her brothers.

  But all this did not suit the high and independent spirit of Henry Bannerworth. He was one who would rather have eaten the dust that he procured for himself by some meritorious exertion, than have feasted on the most delicate viands placed before him from the resources of another.

  But now that he knew this small estate, the title deeds of which had been so singularly obtained, had once really belonged to the family, but had been risked and lost at the gaming-table, he had no earthly scruple in calling such property again his own.

  As to the large sum of money which Sir Francis Varney in his confessions had declared to have found its way into the possession of Marmaduke Bannerworth, Henry did not expect, and scarcely wished to become possessed of wealth through so tainted a source.

  “No,” he said to himself frequently; “no — I care not if that wealth be never forthcoming, which was so badly got possession of. Let it sink into the earth, if, indeed, it be buried there; or let it rot in some unknown corner of the old mansion. I care not for it.”

  In this view of the case he was not alone, for a family more unselfish, or who cared so little for money, could scarcely have been found; but Admiral Bell and Charles Holland argued now that they had a right to the amount of money which Marmaduke Bannerworth had hidden somewhere, and the old admiral reasoned upon it rather ingeniously, for he said, —