by Hall, Ian
It immediately caught my attention. The sliver parts looked worn to a small degree, so would not attract the same attention as a new one. It also had a straight handle, which meant I would hold it much like a sword. “How much?” I queried.
I had already fallen in love with the whole idea, and this one was perfect for me. I knew little about any kind of swordplay, but the blade seemed to have some balance to it. The main walking-stick part was also heavier than I had expected, and would deliver quite a blow on its own. In one weapon I had both sword and club. “How much?” I asked again.
“Six guineas, sir,”
I swear I winced. “Ouch.” I replaced the blade in the sheath, and clicked it into place. The piece looked and felt good, but at six guineas it cut a huge hole in my budget. It was perfect for me, but with some reluctance I handed it back to the shopkeeper.
“Five guineas, sir,” He managed a smile. “That would be my lowest price.”
Bolder than I felt, I fixed his gaze. “Four guineas, no more. You are the first store I have looked in, there are many others.”
He hesitated, biting his lip. “Will you pay cash, sir?” he’d cocked his head to one side again, a strange affliction.
“Of course,”
“Then can we meet in the middle? Say four pounds ten shillings, sir?”
I nodded immediately and shook his hand.
When I parted, I stepped outside with my new walking-stick.
“Ooh, nice, Mister MacNeill.” Reggie said, falling into step with me. “Nuffink too fancy, huh?”
Getting the Ducks in a Row
I made a similar trip to a general outfitter, and by the end of Friday owned a completely unremarkable set of clothes. A brown tweed jacket matched moleskin trousers and suede shoes. A cloth cap topped the look. The whole regalia had cost me just two guineas.
“Jus’ like Da’ looks on Sundays!” Reggie announced with a craggy-toothed smile.
I felt good. I had scored through another line from my list, but the hardest one was still to come. I had the horse to arrange, and the scouting journey to the stables would take me across the Thames River for the first time.
“We’re going to the Tunnel.” I announced.
“What?” Reggie said, his face half smiling, half incredulous. “That’s dangerous ground, sir.”
I had read reviews of Brunel’s Tunnel, finished just two years ago. It had rave reviews from all over the country; some had called it the eighth wonder of the world.
“It only costs a penny,” I offered to the boy as he followed me along the road, my hand waving in the air at the cabs that passed. At last one stopped, and the driver dismounted to open the door. “Thames Tunnel,” I said getting aboard. The driver shut the door behind me, leaving Reggie outside. “Oh, the boy’s coming with me.” I protested as I seated myself.
“Beg pardon, sir,” The driver shook his head. “No he ain’t.”
I stuck my head out the window. “He’s coming, and that’s that. I will tip well.” I wanted Reggie’s streetwise knowhow on today’s excursion.
The driver gave him far more scrutiny than the situation deserved. “He can sit up front wi’ me.” I nodded, quite tolerant with the arrangement, and within ten minutes or so got out at Wapping.
The entrance to the tunnel was a marvelous mix of marble and mosaic. We walked through huge glass into a huge octagon shaped building where we paid our twopence entrance fee. As I passed on, a pamphlet showing details of the tunnel’s construction was thrust into my hand. Sweeping past the souvenir hawkers we followed the crowd further inside. A series of busy spiral stairways carried us down into the tunnel’s base, where the ceiling opened to a high concourse. Two arched mouths stood before us, each wide enough for a coach and horses with room for pedestrians beside.
“Which way?” I asked a wide eyed Reggie. “Left or right?”
“That one,” he indicated the left hand passage.
“Why?”
“I dunno.” He shrugged his shoulders and off we went. “Watch yer pockets.”
Gas lights flickered on the bricked ceiling, giving a good level of light as we walked onwards. Only when we passed under the arch and viewed the length of the tunnel, did I realize the amount of people it held. Thousands of heads bobbed up and down along the unbelievably straight road. Women accosted me, attempting to thrust some souvenir of the ‘Tunnel’ into my hands. Archways between the two tunnels held vendors booths of every persuasion. The musty smell quickly felt sick and overpowering.
As we traversed the tunnel I found I could buy the wildest paraphernalia of goods. Gypsies offered my fortune told, magicians demonstrated magic tricks with silk handkerchiefs and wild screeching monkeys. Scantily-clad dancers writhed before bands of musicians. To my chagrin I was blatantly propositioned with sexual relief of every persuasion. It seemed that in just two years, Brunel’s masterpiece had degenerated into a den of all iniquities.
But despite the constant barracking, the experience proved an interesting one. Above the millions of shiny ceiling bricks flowed the Thames River. With such an atmosphere below, it seemed difficult to believe.
The exit on the other side was an exact copy of the one on the north side, and after climbing up the staircases, we were out in the open again. Suddenly Reggie was on edge. “What is it?”
“New ground.” He said, openly nervous. “Foreign territory.”
I looked around, and at first noticed nothing out of the ordinary, then as my mind became accustomed to the new sights, saw men on street corners, supposedly reading newspapers, but mostly watching people coming out of the tunnel. Their gazes were steely and focused; predators looking for the weakest prey.
Reggie assuaged my fears. “They won’t target us for pickpocketing,” Reggie said, matter-of-factly. He scanned the area constantly. “Couples are far easier pickings. Plus they’ll see the cane.”
“They’ll know it’s a sword?”
“Na, but the cane’s enough for most.” He pulled my hand towards the main street. “None of them wants a difficult mark.”
We had to walk a fair way into Rotherhithe before we got a cab. “Abbeyfield Stables,” I said. The driver just nodded, and did not blink an eye when Reggie climbed up beside him. For five minutes I watched the buildings get fewer, the trees get bigger, until we were technically out in the country.
Abbeyfield Stables would have been an impressive house if it had been a bit tidier. Ivy crawled chaotically up the front walls and I got the immediate feeling that things were not exactly as they seemed. I stood outside the coach for a good two minutes before a young man approached. “Yes?”
“Eh, I’m looking for Stanley,” I said haltingly.
He turned on a sixpence, and marched off towards the side of the house. A single wave beckoned us to follow. At the back of the house sat an impressive building, much newer than the house, and well kept.
Our guide approached a middle-aged man who glanced once in our direction, then moved toward us. His shirt was mainly unbuttoned, and his chest and stomach were well muscled. “I’m Stanley.” His voice sounded like gravel.
“I was told to tell you I’m a friend of Charlie Swann’s.” I said with far more courage than I felt.
“Oh, aye?” he rubbed his chin for a moment, while he looked me up and down. “Scotsman?”
I nodded. “Edinburgh.”
“What business do you have here?”
“I’m looking to hire, rent, or lease a horse.” I said. “I have some travel in the country to do, but I’m not exactly certain when I’ll need it. Or for how long.”
He looked at me, seemingly sizing me up. “Four pounds, and you’ve got your horse.”
I decided to not attempt to beat the price down, but handed over guineas, which he pocketed, not seeming to offer the four shillings change.
“How quickly will you get me on the road?” I asked.
“You turn up, mention my name, and we’ll get you on your way in fifteen minutes.”
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I nodded, and offered my hand. He spat in his first, and watched my face as he shook mine very firmly. I did not let my gaze leave his until he turned away.
We were left in the courtyard, with me feeling like I’d had a run in with a prizefighter. I gave a deep sigh. “Are we going back through the tunnel?” I asked Reggie, who met my question with a wrinkled nose expression. “No, let’s just find a bridge to cross; it’s easier.”
~ ~ ~
So on Monday morning, when my Varney manuscript appeared on my desk, I was so eager to begin, I barely noticed the coach arriving outside. It was only the loud exclamation of Lady Clara’s name that alerted me to her presence.
I dashed to the window, and there stood her dark coach, fox coat of arms on the door, and Uncle James and Thomas Prest fawning over the figure in the window.
I could hear some words, but not enough to quote them here in any detail. All I can say is they kissed her offered hand a dozen times, and she left it dangling in the air out the window for them to do so.
Then between the men, she looked right at me.
Damn if I hadn’t been caught. I pulled my body quickly behind the curtain, then chanced another look, but the coach had already pulled away, and Rymer and Prest were opening the front door.
I quickly regained my seat at my desk and bent over the manuscript, breathing heavy. Lady Clara had looked at the window, yes, but had she seen me? I sighed, then reasoned that at least she hadn’t bared her fangs this time.
The partners passed my open door without stopping, and entered the office. The first chapter I finished in short time, but the second took me longer. For some reason the writers had included a story which Flora read. That made it a tale within a tale, and of course, since I now repeat it below, it is surely a tale within a tale within a tale.
I considered it either a wonder or a farce, I still cannot tell you which.
CHAPTER 18
THE ADMIRAL'S ADVICE
THE CHALLENGE TO THE VAMPYRE
THE NEW SERVANT AT THE HALL
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 do so. To be sure she sent a boy for her money afterwards, which may be considered as 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 it 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, by 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 Holl
and 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, as he exclaimed, --
"By all that's surprising, there is my uncle!"
"Your uncle!" said Henry.
"Yes, as good a hearted 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 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 is 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 see Jack Pringle," said that individual, introducing himself, since no one appeared inclined to do that office for him, "a tar for all weathers. One who hates the French, and is never so happy as when he's alongside o' some o' those lubberly craft blazing away."
