Varney the Vampire; Or, the Feast of Blood

by Thomas Preskett Prest

  CHAPTER LXI.

  THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER.--THE PARTICULARS OF THE SUICIDE AT BANNERWORTHHALL.

  "Hilloa where the deuce is he?" said the admiral. "Was there ever such aconfounded take-in?"

  "Well, I really don't know," said Mr. Chillingworth; "but it seems to methat he must have gone out of that door that was behind him: I begin, doyou know, admiral, to wish--"

  "What?"

  "That we had never come here at all; and I think the sooner we get outof it the better."

  "Yes; but I am not going to be hoaxed and humbugged in this way. I willhave satisfaction, but not with those confounded scythes and things hetalks about in the dark room. Give me broad daylight and no favour;yardarm and yardarm; broadside and broadside; hand-grenades andmarling-spikes."

  "Well, but that's what he won't do. Now, admiral, listen to me."

  "Well, go on; what next?"

  "Come away at once."

  "Oh, you said that before."

  "Yes; but I'm going to say something else. Look round you. Don't youthink this a large, scientific-looking room?"

  "What of that?"

  "Why, what if suppose it was to become as dark as the grave, and Varneywas to enter with his scythe, that he talks of, and begin mowing aboutour legs."

  "The devil! Come along!"

  The door at which they entered was at this moment opened, and the oldwoman made her appearance.

  "Please, sir," she said, "here's a Mr. Mortimer," in a loud voice. "Oh,Sir Francis ain't here! Where's he gone, gentlemen?"

  "To the devil!" said the admiral. "Who may Mr. Mortimer be?"

  There walked past the woman a stout, portly-looking man, well dressed,but with a very odd look upon his face, in consequence of an obliquityof vision, which prevented the possibility of knowing which way he waslooking.

  "I must see him," he said; "I must see him."

  Mr. Chillingworth started back as if in amazement.

  "Good God!" he cried, "you here!"

  "Confusion!" said Mortimer; "are you Dr.---- Dr.----"

  "The same. Hush! there is no occasion to betray--that is, to state mysecret."

  "And mine, too," said Chillingworth. "But what brings you here?"

  "I cannot and dare not tell you. Farewell!"

  He turned abruptly, and was leaving the room; but he ran against someone at the entrance, and in another moment Henry Bannerworth, heated andalmost breathless by evident haste, made his appearance.

  "Hilloa! bravo!" cried the admiral; "the more the merrier! Here's acombined squadron! Why, how came you here, Mr. Henry Bannerworth?"

  "Bannerworth!" said Mortimer; "is that young man's name Bannerworth?"

  "Yes," said Henry. "Do you know me, sir?"

  "No, no; only I--I--must be off. Does anybody know anything of SirFrancis Varney?"

  "We did know something of him," said the admiral, "a little while ago;but he's taken himself off. Don't you do so likewise. If you've gotanything to say, stop and say it, like an Englishman."

  "Stuff! stuff!" said Mortimer, impatiently. "What do you all want here?"

  "Why, Sir Francis Varney," said Henry,--"and I care not if the wholeworld heard it--is the persecutor of my family."

  "How? in what way?"

  "He has the reputation of a vampyre; he has hunted me and mine fromhouse and home."

  "Indeed!"

  "Yes," cried Dr. Chillingworth; "and, by some means or another, he seemsdetermined to get possession of Bannerworth Hall."

  "Well, gentlemen," said Mortimer, "I promise you that I will inquireinto this. Mr. Chillingworth, I did not expect to meet you. Perhaps theleast we say to each other is, after all, the better."

  "Let me ask but one question," said Dr. Chillingworth, imploringly.

  "Ask it."

  "Did he live after--"

  "Hush! he did."

  "You always told me to the contrary."

  "Yes; I had an object; the game is up. Farewell; and, gentlemen, as I ammaking my exit, let me do so with a sentiment:--Society at large isdivided into two great classes."

  "And what may they be?" said the admiral.

  "Those who have been hanged, and those who have not. Adieu!"

  He turned and left the room; and Mr. Chillingworth sunk into a chair,and said, in a low voice,--

  "It's uncommonly true; and I've found out an acquaintance among theformer."

  "-D--n it! you seem all mad," said the admiral. "I can't make out whatyou are about. How came you here, Mr. Henry Bannerworth?"

  "By mere accident I heard," said Henry, "that you were keeping watch andward in the Hall. Admiral, it was cruel, and not well done of you, toattempt such an enterprise without acquainting me with it. Did yousuppose for a moment that I, who had the greatest interest in thisaffair, would have shrunk from danger, if danger there be; or lackedperseverance, if that quality were necessary in carrying out any plan bywhich the safety and honour of my family might be preserved?"

  "Nay, now, my young friend," said Mr. Chillingworth.

  "Nay, sir; but I take it ill that I should have been kept out of thisaffair; and it should have been sedulously, as it were, kept a secretfrom me."

  "Let him go on as he likes," said the admiral; "boys will be boys. Afterall, you know, doctor, it's my affair, and not yours. Let him say whathe likes; where's the odds? It's of no consequence."

  "I do not expect. Admiral Bell," said Henry, "that it is to you; but itis to me."

  "Psha!"

  "Respecting you, sir, as I do--"

  "Gammon!"

  "I must confess that I did expect--"

  "What you didn't get; therefore, there's an end of that. Now, I tell youwhat, Henry, Sir Francis Varney is within this house; at least, I havereason to suppose so."

  "Then," exclaimed Henry, impetuously, "I will wring from him answers tovarious questions which concern my peace and happiness."

  "Please, gentlemen," said the woman Deborah, making her appearance, "SirFrancis Varney has gone out, and he says I'm to show you all the door,as soon as it is convenient for you all to walk out of it."

  "I feel convinced," said Mr. Chillingworth, "that it will be a uselesssearch now to attempt to find Sir Francis Varney here. Let me beg of youall to come away; and believe me that I do not speak lightly, or with aview to get you from here, when I say, that after I have heard somethingfrom you, Henry, which I shall ask you to relate to me, painful thoughit may be, I shall be able to suggest some explanation of many thingswhich appear at present obscure, and to put you in a course of freeingyou from the difficulties which surround you, which, Heaven knows, Ilittle expected I should have it in my power to propose to any of you."

  "I will follow your advice, Mr. Chillingworth," said Henry; "for I havealways found that it has been dictated by good feeling as well ascorrect judgment. Admiral Bell, you will oblige me much by coming awaywith me now and at once."

  "Well," remarked the admiral, "if the doctor has really something tosay, it alters the appearance of things, and, of course, I have noobjection."

  Upon this, the whole three of them immediately left the place, and itwas evident that Mr. Chillingworth had something of an uncomfortablecharacter upon his mind. He was unusually silent and reserved, and, whenhe did speak, he seemed rather inclined to turn the conversation uponindifferent topics, than to add anything more to what he had said uponthe deeply interesting one which held so foremost a place in all theirminds.

  "How is Flora, now," he asked of Henry, "since her removal?"

  "Anxious still," said Henry; "but, I think, better."

  "That is well. I perceive that, naturally, we are all three walkingtowards Bannerworth Hall, and, perhaps, it is as well that on that spotI should ask of you, Henry, to indulge me with a confidence such as,under ordinary circumstances, I should not at all feel myself justifiedin requiring of you."

  "To what does it relate?" said Henry. "You may be assured, Mr.Chillingworth, that I am not likely to refuse my confidence to you, whomI have so much reas
on to respect as an attached friend of myself and myfamily."

  "You will not object, likewise, I hope," added Mr. Chillingworth, "toextend that confidence to Admiral Bell; for, as you well know, a truerand more warm-hearted man than he does not exist."

  "What do you expect for that, doctor?" said the admiral.

  "There is nothing," said Henry, "that I could relate at all, that Ishould shrink from relating to Admiral Bell."

  "Well, my boy," said the admiral, "and all I can reply to that is, youare quite right; for there can be nothing that you need shrink fromtelling me, so far as regards the fact of trusting me with it goes."

  "I am assured of that."

  "A British officer, once pledging his word, prefers death to breakingit. Whatever you wish kept secret in the communication you make to me,say so, and it will never pass my lips."

  "Why, sir, the fact is," said Henry, "that what I am about to relate toyou consists not so much of secrets as of matters which would be painfulto my feelings to talk of more than may be absolutely required."

  "I understand you."

  "Let me, for a moment," said Mr Chillingworth, "put myself right. I donot suspect, Mr. Henry Bannerworth, that you fancy I ask you to make arecital of circumstances which must be painful to you from any idlemotive. But let me declare that I have now a stronger impulse, whichinduces me to wish to hear from your own lips those matters whichpopular rumour may have greatly exaggerated or vitiated."

  "It is scarcely possible," remarked Henry, sadly, "that popular rumourshould exaggerate the facts."

  "Indeed!"

  "No. They are, unhappily, of themselves, in their bare truthfulness, sofull of all that can be grievous to those who are in any way connectedwith them, that there needs no exaggeration to invest them with moreterror, or with more of that sadness which must ever belong to arecollection of them in my mind."

  In suchlike discourse as this, the time was passed, until HenryBannerworth and his friends once more reached the Hall, from which he,with his family, had so recently removed, in consequence of the fearfulpersecution to which they had been subjected.

  They passed again into the garden which they all knew so well, and thenHenry paused and looked around him with a deep sigh.

  In answer to an inquiring glance from Mr. Chillingworth, he said,--

  "Is it not strange, now, that I should have only been away from here aspace of time which may be counted by hours, and yet all seems changed.I could almost fancy that years had elapsed since I had looked at it."

  "Oh," remarked the doctor, "time is always by the imagination measuredby the number of events which are crowded into a given space of it, andnot by its actual duration. Come into the house; there you will find alljust as you left it, Henry, and you can tell us your story at leisure."

  "The air," said Henry, "about here is fresh and pleasant. Let us sitdown in the summer-house yonder, and there I will tell you all. It has alocal interest, too, connected with the tale."

  This was agreed to, and, in a few moments, the admiral, Mr.Chillingworth, and Henry were seated in the same summer-house which hadwitnessed the strange interview between Sir Francis Varney and FloraBannerworth, in which he had induced her to believe that he felt for thedistress he had occasioned her, and was strongly impressed with theinjustice of her sufferings.

  Henry was silent for some few moments, and then he said, with a deepsigh, as he looked mournfully around him,--

  "It was on this spot that my father breathed his last, and hence have Isaid that it has a local interest in the tale I have to tell, whichmakes it the most fitting place in which to tell it."

  "Oh," said the admiral, "he died here, did he?"

  "Yes, where you are now sitting."

  "Very good, I have seen many a brave man die in my time, and I hope tosee a few more, although, I grant you, the death in the heat ofconflict, and fighting for our country, is a vastly different thing tosome shore-going mode of leaving the world."

  "Yes," said Henry, as if pursuing his own meditations, rather thanlistening to the admiral. "Yes, it was from this precise spot that myfather took his last look at the ancient house of his race. What we cannow see of it, he saw of it with his dying eyes and many a time I havesat here and fancied the world of terrible thoughts that must at such amoment have come across his brain."

  "You might well do so," said the doctor.

  "You see," added Henry, "that from here the fullest view you have of anyof the windows of the house is of that of Flora's room, as we havealways called it, because for years she had had it as her chamber; and,when all the vegetation of summer is in its prime, and the vine whichyou perceive crawls over this summer-house is full of leaf and fruit,the view is so much hindered that it is difficult, without making anartificial gap in the clustering foliage, to see anything but thewindow."

  "So I should imagine," replied Mr. Chillingworth.

  "You, doctor," added Henry, "who know much of my family, need not betold what sort of man my father was."

  "No, indeed."

  "But you, Admiral Bell, who do not know, must be told, and, howevergrievous it may be to me to have to say so, I must inform you that hewas not a man who would have merited your esteem."

  "Well," said the admiral, "you know, my boy, that can make no differenceas regards you in anybody's mind, who has got the brains of an owl.Every man's credit, character, and honour, to my thinking, is in his ownmost special keeping, and let your father be what he might, or who hemight, I do not see that any conduct of his ought to raise upon yourcheek the flush of shame, or cost you more uneasiness than ordinary goodfeeling dictates to the errors and feelings of a fellow creature."

  "If all the world," said Henry, "would take such liberal andcomprehensive views as you do, admiral, it would be much happier than itis; but such is not the case, and people are but too apt to blame oneperson for the evil that another has done."

  "Ah, but," said Mr. Chillingworth, "it so happens that those are thepeople whose opinions are of the very least consequence."

  "There is some truth in that," said Henry, sadly; "but, however, let meproceed; since I have to tell the tale, I could wish it over. My father,then, Admiral Bell, although a man not tainted in early life with vices,became, by the force of bad associates, and a sort of want ofcongeniality and sentiment that sprang up between him and my mother,plunged into all the excesses of his age."

  "These excesses were all of that character which the most readily layhold strongly of an unreflecting mind, because they all presentedthemselves in the garb of sociality.

  "The wine cup is drained in the name of good fellowship; money which iswanted for legitimate purposes is squandered under the mask of a nobleand free generosity, and all that the small imaginations of a number ofpersons of perverted intellects could enable them to do, has been donefrom time to time, to impart a kind of lustre to intemperance and allits dreadful and criminal consequences.

  "My father, having once got into the company of what he considered witsand men of spirit, soon became thoroughly vitiated. He was almost theonly one of the set among whom he passed what he considered his highlyconvivial existence, who was really worth anything, pecuniarilyspeaking. There were some among them who might have been respectablemen, and perchance carved their way to fortune, as well as some otherswho had started in life with good patrimonies; but he, my father, at thetime he became associated with them, was the only one, as I say, who, touse a phrase I have heard myself from his lips concerning them, had gota feather to fly with.

  "The consequence of this was, that his society, merely for the sake ofthe animal gratification of drinking at his expense was courted, and hewas much flattered, all of which he laid to the score of his own merits,which had been found out, and duly appreciated by these _bon vivants_,while he considered that the grave admonitions of his real friendsproceeded from nothing in the world but downright envy and malice.

  "Such a state of things as this could not last very long. The associatesof my father wanted money
as well as wine, so they introduced him to thegaming-table, and he became fascinated with the fearful vice to anextent which predicted his own destruction and the ruin of every one whowas in any way dependent upon him.

  "He could not absolutely sell Bannerworth Hall, unless I had given myconsent, which I refused; but he accumulated debt upon debt, and fromtime to time stripped the mansion of all its most costly contents.

  "With various mutations of fortune, he continued this horrible andbaneful career for a long time, until, at last, he found himself utterlyand irretrievably ruined, and he came home in an agony of despair, beingso weak, and utterly ruined in constitution, that he kept his bed formany days.

  "It appeared, however, that something occurred at this juncture whichgave him actually, or all events awakened a hope that he should possesssome money, and be again in a position to try his fortune at thegaming-table.

  "He rose, and, fortifying himself once more with the strong stimulant ofwine and spirits, he left his home, and was absent for about two months.

  "What occurred to him during that time we none of us ever knew, but lateone night he came home, apparently much flurried in manner, and seemingas if something had happened to drive him half mad.

  "He would not speak to any one, but he shut himself up the whole of thenight in the chamber where hangs the portrait that bears so strong aresemblance to Sir Francis Varney, and there he remained till themorning, when he emerged, and said briefly that he intended to leave thecountry.

  "He was in a most fearful state of nervousness, and my mother tells methat he shook like one in an ague, and started at every little soundthat occurred in the house, and glared about him so wildly that it washorrible to see him, or to sit in the same apartment with him.

  "She says that the whole morning passed on in this way till a lettercame to him, the contents of which appeared to throw him into a perfectconvulsion of terror, and he retired again to the room with theportrait, where he remained some hours, and then he emerged, lookinglike a ghost, so dreadfully pale and haggard was he.

  "He walked into the garden here, and was seen to sit down in thissummer-house, and fix his eyes upon the window of that apartment."

  Henry paused for a few moments, and then he added,--

  "You will excuse me from entering upon any details of what next ensuedin the melancholy history. My father here committed suicide. He wasfound dying, and all I he words he spoke were, 'The money is hidden!'Death claimed his victim, and, with a convulsive spasm, he resigned hisspirit, leaving what he had intended to say hidden in the oblivion ofthe grave."

  "That was an odd affair," said the admiral.

  "It was, indeed. We have all pondered deeply, and the result was, that,upon the whole, we were inclined to come to an opinion that the words heso uttered were but the result of the mental disturbance that at such amoment might well be supposed to be ensuing in the mind, and that theyrelated really to no foregone fact any more than some incoherent wordsuttered by a man in a dream might be supposed to do."

  "It may be so."

  "I do not mean," remarked Mr. Chillingworth, "for one moment to attemptto dispute, Henry, the rationality of such an opinion as you have justgiven utterance to; but you forget that another circumstance occurred,which gave a colour to the words used by your father."

  "Yes; I know to what you allude."

  "Be so good as to state it to the admiral."

  "I will. On the evening of that same day there came a man here, who, inseeming ignorance of what had occurred, although by that time it waswell known to all the neighbourhood, asked to see my father.

  "Upon being told that he was dead, he started back, either with wellacted or with real surprise, and seemed to be immensely chagrined. Hethen demanded to know if he had left any disposition of his property;but he got no information, and departed muttering the most diabolicaloaths and curses that can be imagined. He mounted his horse, for he hadridden to the Hall and his last words were, as I am told--

  "'Where, in the name of all that's damnable, can he have put themoney!'"

  "And did you never find out who this man was?" asked the admiral.

  "Never."

  "It is an odd affair."

  "It is," said Mr. Chillingworth, "and full of mystery. The public mindwas much taken up at the time with some other matters, or it would havemade the death of Mr. Bannerworth the subject of more prolific commentthan it did. As it was, however, a great deal was said upon the subject,and the whole comity was in a state of commotion for weeks afterwards."

  "Yes," said Henry; "it so happened that about that very time a murderwas committed in the neighbourhood of London, which baffled all theexertions of the authorities to discover the perpetrators of. It was themurder of Lord Lorne."

  "Oh! I remember," said the admiral; "the newspapers were full of it fora long time."

  "They were; and so, as Mr. Chillingworth says, the more excitinginterest which that affair created drew off public attention, in a greatmeasure, from my father's suicide, and we did not suffer so much frompublic remark and from impertinent curiosity as might have beenexpected."

  "And, in addition," said Mr. Chillingworth, and he changed colour alittle as he spoke, "there was an execution shortly afterwards."

  "Yes," said Henry, "there was."

  "The execution of a man named Angerstein," added Mr. Chillingworth, "fora highway robbery, attended with the most brutal violence."

  "True; all the affairs of that period of time are strongly impressedupon my mind," said Henry; "but you do not seem well, Mr.Chillingworth."

  "Oh, yes; I am quite well--you are mistaken."

  Both the admiral and Henry looked scrutinizingly at the doctor, whocertainly appeared to them to be labouring under some great mentalexcitement, which he found it almost beyond his power to repress.

  "I tell you what it is, doctor," said the admiral; "I don't pretend, andnever did, to see further through a tar-barrel than my neighbours; but Ican see far enough to feel convinced that you have got something on yourmind, and that it somehow concerns this affair."

  "Is it so?" said Henry.

  "I cannot if I would," said Mr. Chillingworth; "and I may with truthadd, that I would not, if I could, hide from you that I have somethingon my mind connected with this affair; but let me assure you it would bepremature of me to tell you of it."

  "Premature be d----d!" said the admiral; "out with it."

  "Nay, nay, dear sir; I am not now in a position to say what is passingthrough my mind."

  "Alter your position, then, and be blowed!" cried Jack Pringle, suddenlystepping forward, and giving the doctor such a push, that he nearly wentthrough one of the sides of the summer-house.

  "Why, you scoundrel!" cried the admiral, "how came you here?"

  "On my legs," said Jack. "Do you think nobody wants to know nothing butyourself? I'm as fond of a yarn as anybody."

  "But if you are," said Mr. Chillingworth, "you had no occasion to comeagainst me as if you wanted to move a house."

  "You said as you wasn't in a position to say something as I wanted tohear, so I thought I'd alter it for you."

  "Is this fellow," said the doctor, shaking his head, as he accosted theadmiral, "the most artful or stupid?"

  "A little of both," said Admiral Bell--"a little of both, doctor. He's agreat fool and a great scamp."

  "The same to you," said Jack; "you're another. I shall hate youpresently, if you go on making yourself so ridiculous. Now, mind, I'llonly give you a trial of another week or so, and if you don't be morepurlite in your d--n language, I'll leave you."

  Away strolled Jack, with his hands in his pockets, towards the house,while the admiral was half choked with rage, and could only glare afterhim, without the ability to say a word.

  Under any other circumstances than the present one of trouble, anddifficulty; and deep anxiety, Henry Bannerworth must have laughed atthese singular little episodes between Jack and the admiral; but hismind was now by far too much harassed to permit him to d
o so.

  "Let him go, let him go, my dear sir," said Mr. Chillingworth to theadmiral, who showed some signs of an intention to pursue Jack; "he nodoubt has been drinking again."

  "I'll turn him off the first moment I catch him sober enough tounderstand me," said the admiral.

  "Well, well; do as you please; but now let me ask a favour of both ofyou."

  "What is it?"

  "That you will leave Bannerworth Hall to me for a week."

  "What for?"

  "I hope to make some discoveries connected with it which shall wellreward you for the trouble."

  "It's no trouble," said Henry; "and for myself, I have amply sufficientfaith, both in your judgment and in your friendship, doctor, to accedeto any request which you may make to me."

  "And I," said the admiral. "Be it so--be it so. For one week, you say?"

  "Yes--for one week. I hope, by the end of that time, to have achievedsomething worth the telling you of; and I promise you that, if I am atall disappointed in my expectation, that I will frankly and freelycommunicate to you all I know and all I suspect."

  "Then that's a bargain."

  "It is."

  "And what's to be done at once?"

  "Why, nothing, but to take the greatest possible care that BannerworthHall is not left another hour without some one in it; and in order thatsuch should be the case, I have to request that you two will remain hereuntil I go to the town, and make preparations for taking quietpossession of it myself, which I will do in the course of two hours, atmost."

  "Don't be longer," said the admiral, "for I am so desperately hungry,that I shall certainly begin to eat somebody, if you are."

  "Depend upon me."

  "Very well," said Henry; "you may depend we will wait here until youcome back."

  The doctor at once hurried from the garden, leaving Henry and theadmiral to amuse themselves as best they might, with conjectures as towhat he was really about, until his return.