Varney the Vampire; Or, the Feast of Blood

by Thomas Preskett Prest

  CHAPTER LXXI.

  THE STRANGE MEETING AT THE HALL BETWEEN MR. CHILLINGWORTH AND THEMYSTERIOUS FRIEND OF VARNEY.

  When we praise our friend Mr. Chillingworth for not telling his wifewhere he was going, in pursuance of a caution and a discrimination sohighly creditable to him, we are quite certain that he has no suchexcuse as regards the reader. Therefore we say at once that he had hisown reasons now for taking up his abode at Bannerworth Hall for a time.These reasons seemed to be all dependant upon the fact of having met themysterious man at Sir Francis Varney's; and although we perhaps wouldhave hoped that the doctor might have communicated to Henry Bannerworthall that he knew and all that he surmised, yet have we no doubt thatwhat he keeps to himself he has good reasons for so keeping, and thathis actions as regards it are founded upon some very just conclusions.

  He has then made a determination to take possession of, and remain in,Bannerworth Hall according to the full and free leave which the admiralhad given him so to do. What results he anticipated from so lonely andso secret a watch we cannot say, but probably they will soon exhibitthemselves. It needed no sort of extraordinary discrimination for anyone to feel it once that not the least good, in the way of an ambuscade,was likely to be effected by such persons as Admiral Bell or JackPringle. They were all very well when fighting should actually ensue,but they both were certainly remarkably and completely deficient indiplomatic skill, or in that sort of patience which should enable themat all to compete with the cunning, the skill, and the nicediscrimination of such a man as Sir Francis Varney.

  If anything were to be done in that way it was unquestionably to be doneby some one alone, who, like the doctor, would, and could, remainprofoundly quiet and await the issue of events, be they what they might,and probably remain a spy and attempt no overt act which should be of ahostile character. This unquestionably was the mode, and perhaps weshould not be going too far when we say it was the only mode which couldbe with anything like safety relied upon as one likely to lead really toa discovery of Sir Francis Varney's motives in making such determinedexertions to get possession of Bannerworth Hall.

  That night was doomed to be a very eventful one, indeed; for on it hadCharles Holland been, by a sort of wild impulsive generosity of SirFrancis Varney, rescued from the miserable dungeon in which he had beenconfined, and on that night, too, he, whom we cannot otherwise describethan as the villain Marchdale, had been, in consequence of the evil thathe himself meditated, and the crime with which he was quite willing tostain his soul, been condemned to occupy Charles's position.

  On that night, too, had the infuriated mob determined upon thedestruction of Bannerworth Hall, and on that night was Mr. Chillingworthwaiting with what patience he could exert, at the Hall, for whatever inthe chapter of accidents might turn up of an advantageous character tothat family in whose welfare and fortunes he felt so friendly and sodeep an interest.

  Let us look, then, at the worthy doctor as he keeps his solitary watch.

  He did not, as had been the case when the admiral shared the place withhim in the hope of catching Varney on that memorable occasion when hecaught only his boot, sit in a room with a light and the means andappliances for making the night pass pleasantly away; but, on thecontrary, he abandoned the house altogether, and took up a station inthat summer-house which has been before mentioned as the scene of aremarkable interview between Flora Bannerworth and Varney the vampyre.

  Alone and in the dark, so that he could not be probably seen, he watchedthat one window of the chamber where the first appearance of the hideousvampyre had taken place, and which seemed ever since to be the specialobject of his attack.

  By remaining from twilight, and getting accustomed to the graduallyincreasing darkness of the place, no doubt the doctor was able to seewell enough without the aid of any artificial light whether any one wasin the place besides himself.

  "Night after night," he said, "will I watch here until I have succeededin unravelling this mystery; for that there is some fearful and undreamtof mystery at the bottom of all these proceedings I am well convinced."

  When he made such a determination as this, Dr. Chillingworth was not atall a likely man to break it, so there, looking like a modern statue inthe arbour, he sat with his eyes fixed upon the balcony and the windowof what used to be called Flora's room for some hours.

  The doctor was a contemplative man, and therefore he did not so acutelyfeel the loneliness of his position as many persons would have done;moreover, he was decidedly not of a superstitious turn of mind, althoughcertainly we cannot deny an imagination to him. However, if he reallyhad harboured some strange fears and terrors they would have beenexcusable, when we consider how many circumstances had combined to makeit almost a matter of demonstration that Sir Francis Varney wassomething more than mortal.

  What quantities of subjects the doctor thought over during his vigil inthat garden it is hard to say, but never in his whole life, probably,had he such a glorious opportunity for the most undisturbedcontemplation of subjects requiring deep thought to analyze, than as hehad then. At least he felt that since his marriage he had never been sothoroughly quiet, and left so completely to himself.

  It is to be hoped that he succeeded in settling any medical points of aknotty character that might be hovering in his brain, and certain it isthat he had become quite absorbed in an abstruse matter connected withphysiology, when his ears were startled, and he was at once aroused to afull consciousness of where he was, and why he had come there, by thedistant sound of a man's footstep.

  It was a footstep which seemed to be that of a person who scarcelythought it at all necessary to use any caution, and the doctor's heartleaped within him as in the lowest possible whisper he said tohimself,--

  "I am successful--I am successful. It is believed now that the Hall isdeserted, and no doubt that is Sir Francis Varney come with confidence,to carry out his object in so sedulously attacking it, be that objectwhat it may."

  Elated with this idea, the doctor listened intently to the advancingfootstep, which each moment sounded more clearly upon his ears.

  It was evidently approaching from the garden entrance towards the house,and he thought, by the occasional deadened sound of the person's feet,be he whom he might, that he could not see his way very well, and,consequently, frequently strayed from the path, on to some of thenumerous flower-beds which were in the way.

  "Yes," said the doctor, exultingly, "it must be Varney; and now I havebut to watch him, and not to resist him; for what good on earth is it tostop him in what he wishes to do, and, by such means, never wrest hissecret from him. The only way is to let him go on, and that will I do,most certainly."

  Now he heard the indistinct muttering of the voice of some one, so lowthat he could not catch what words were uttered; but he fancied that, inthe deep tones, he recognised, without any doubt, the voice of SirFrancis Varney.

  "It must be he," he said, "it surely must be he. Who else would comehere to disturb the solitude of an empty house? He comes! he comes!"

  Now the doctor could see a figure emerge from behind some thick beeches,which had before obstructed his vision, and he looked scrutinisinglyabout, while some doubts stole slowly over his mind now as to whether itwas the vampyre or not. The height was in favour of the supposition thatit was none other than Varney; but the figure looked so much stouter,that Mr. Chillingworth felt a little staggered upon the subject, andunable wholly to make up his mind upon it.

  The pausing of this visitor, too, opposite that window where Sir FrancisVarney had made his attempts, was another strong reason why the doctorwas inclined to believe it must be him, and yet he could not quite makeup his mind upon the subject, so as to speak with certainty.

  A very short time, however, indeed, must have sufficed to set such aquestion as that at rest; and patience seemed the only quality of mindnecessary under those circumstances for Mr. Chillingworth to exert.

  The visitor continued gazing either at that window, or at the wholefront of the h
ouse, for several minutes, and then he turned away from acontemplation of it, and walked slowly along, parallel with the windowsof that dining-room, one of which had been broken so completely on theoccasion of the admiral's attempt to take the vampyre prisoner.

  The moment the stranger altered his position, from looking at thewindow, and commenced walking away from it, Mr. Chillingworth's mind wasmade up. It was not Varney--of that he felt now most positively assured,and could have no doubt whatever upon the subject.

  The gait, the general air, the walk, all were different; and then arosethe anxious question of who could it be that had intruded upon thatlonely place, and what could be the object of any one else but Varneythe vampyre to do so.

  The stranger looked a powerful man, and walked with a firm tread, and,altogether he was an opponent that, had the doctor been ever sobelligerently inclined, it would have been the height of indiscretionfor him to attempt to cope with.

  It was a very vexatious thing, too, for any one to come there at such ajuncture, perhaps only from motives of curiosity, or possibly just toendeavour to commit some petty depredations upon the deserted building,if possible; and most heartily did the doctor wish that, in some way, hecould scare away the intruder.

  The man walked along very slowly, indeed, and seemed to be quite takinghis time in making his observations of the building; and this was themore provoking, as it was getting late, and if having projected a visitat all, it would surely soon be made, and then, when he found any onethere, of course, he would go.

  Amazed beyond expression, the doctor felt about on the ground at hisfeet, until he found a tolerably large stone, which he threw at thestranger with so good an aim, that it hit him a smart blow on the back,which must have been anything but a pleasant surprise.

  That it was a surprise, and that, too, a most complete one, was evidentfrom the start which the man gave, and then he uttered a furious oath,and rubbed his back, as he glanced about him to endeavour to ascertainfrom whence the missile had come.

  "I'll try him again with that," thought the doctor; "it may succeed inscaring him away;" and he stooped to watch for another stone.

  It was well that he did so at that precise moment; for, before he roseagain, he heard the sharp report of a pistol, and a crashing sound amongsome of the old wood work of which the summer-house was composed, toldhim that a shot had there taken effect. Affairs were now getting muchtoo serious; and, accordingly, Dr. Chillingworth thought that, ratherthan stay there to be made a target of, he would face the intruder.

  "Hold--hold!" he cried. "Who are you, and what do you mean bythat?"--"Oh! somebody is there," cried the man, as he advanced. "Myfriend, whoever you are, you were very foolish to throw a stone at me."

  "And, my friend, whoever you are," responded the doctor, "you were veryspiteful to fire a pistol bullet at me in consequence."--

  "Not at all."

  "But I say yes; for, probably, I can prove a right to be here, which youcannot."--"Ah!" said the stranger, "that voice--why--you are Dr.Chillingworth?"

  "I am; but I don't know you," said the doctor, as he emerged now fromthe summer-house, and confronted the stranger who was within a few pacesof the entrance to it. Then he started, as he added,--

  "Yes, I do know you, though. How, in the name of Heaven, came you here,and what purpose have you in so coming?"

  "What purpose have you? Since we met at Varney's, I have been makingsome inquiries about this neighbourhood, and learn strangethings."--"That you may very easily do here; and, what is moreextraordinary, the strange things are, for the most part, I can assureyou, quite true."

  The reader will, from what has been said, now readily recognise this manas Sir Francis Varney's mysterious visitor, to whom he gave, from somehidden cause or another, so large a sum of money, and between whom andDr. Chillingworth a mutual recognition had taken place, on the occasionwhen Sir Francis Varney had, with such cool assurance, invited theadmiral to breakfast with him at his new abode.

  "You, however," said the man, "I have no doubt, are fully qualified totell me of more than I have been able to learn from other people; and,first of all, let me ask you why you are here?"--"Before I answer youthat question, or any other," said the doctor, "let me beg of you totell me truly, is Sir Francis Varney--"

  The doctor whispered in the ear of the stranger some name, as if hefeared, even there, in the silence of that garden, where everythingconspired to convince him that he could not be overheard, to pronounceit in an audible tone.

  "He is," said the other.--"You have no manner of doubt of it?"

  "Doubt?--certainly not. What doubt can I have? I know it for a positivecertainty, and he knows, of course, that I do know it, and has purchasedmy silence pretty handsomely, although I must confess that nothing butmy positive necessities would have induced me to make the large demandsupon him that I have, and I hope soon to be able to release himaltogether from them."

  The doctor shook his head repeatedly, as he said,--

  "I suspected it; I suspected it, do you know, from the first moment thatI saw you there in his house. His face haunted me ever since--awfullyhaunted me; and yet, although I felt certain that I had once seen itunder strange circumstances, I could not identify it with--but nomatter, no matter. I am waiting here for him."

  "Indeed!"--"Ay, that I am; and I flung a stone at you, not knowing you,with hope that you would be, by such means, perhaps, scared away, and soleave the coast clear for him."

  "Then you have an appointment with him?"--"By no means; but he has madesuch repeated and determined attacks upon this house that the family whoinhabited it were compelled to leave it, and I am here to watch him, andascertain what can possibly be his object."

  "It is as I suspected, then," muttered this man. "Confound him! Now canI read, as if in a book, most clearly, the game that he is playing!"

  "Can you?" cried the doctor, energetically--"can you? What is it? Tellme, for that is the very thing I want to discover."--"You don't say so?"

  "It is, indeed; and I assure you that it concerns the peace of a wholefamily to know it. You say you have made inquiries about thisneighbourhood, and, if you have done so, you have discovered how thefamily of the Bannerworths have been persecuted by Varney, and how, inparticular, Flora Bannerworth, a beautiful and intelligent girl, hasbeen most cruelly made to suffer."

  "I have heard all that, and I dare say with many exaggerations."--"Itwould be difficult for any one really to exaggerate the horrors thathave taken place in this house, so that any information which you cangive respecting the motives of Varney will tend, probably, to restorepeace to those who have been so cruelly persecuted, and be an act ofkindness which I think not altogether inconsistent with your nature."

  "You think so, and yet know who I am."--"I do, indeed."

  "And what I am. Why, if I were to go into the market-place of yon town,and proclaim myself, would not all shun me--ay, even the very lowest andvilest; and yet you talk of an act of kindness not being altogetherinconsistent with my nature!"--"I do, because I know something more ofyou than many."

  There was a silence of some moments' duration, and then the strangerspoke in a tone of voice which looked as if he were struggling with someemotion.

  "Sir, you do know more of me than many. You know what I have been, andyou know how I left an occupation which would have made me loathed. Butyou--even you--do not know what made me take to so terrible atrade."--"I do not."

  "Would it suit you for me now to tell you?"--"Will you first promise methat you will do all you can for this persecuted family of theBannerworths, in whom I take so strange an interest?"

  "I will. I promise you that freely. Of my own knowledge, of course, Ican say but little concerning them, but, upon that warranting, I wellbelieve they deserve abundant sympathy, and from me they shall have it."

  "A thousand thanks! With your assistance, I have little doubt of beingable to extricate them from the tangled web of dreadful incidents whichhas turned them from their home; and now, whatever you may
choose totell me of the cause which drove you to be what you became, I shalllisten to with abundant interest. Only let me beseech you to come intothis summer-house, and to talk low."

  "I will, and you can pursue your watch at the same time, while I beguileits weariness."--"Be it so."

  "You knew me years ago, when I had all the chances in the world ofbecoming respectable and respected. I did, indeed; and you may,therefore, judge of my surprise when, some years since, being in themetropolis, I met you, and you shunned my company."--"Yes; but, at last,you found out why it was that I shunned your company."

  "I did. You yourself told me once that I met you, and would not leaveyou, but insisted upon your dining with me. Then you told me, when youfound that I would take no other course whatever, that you were no otherthan the--the----"--

  "Out with it! I can bear to hear it now better than I could then! I toldyou that I was the common hangman of London!"

  "You did, I must confess, to my most intense surprise."

  "Yes, and yet you kept to me; and, but that I respected you too much toallow you to do so, you would, from old associations, have countenancedme; but I could not, and I would not, let you do so. I told you thenthat, although I held the terrible office, that I had not been yetcalled upon to perform its loathsome functions. Soon--soon--come thefirst effort--it was the last!"

  "Indeed! You left the dreadful trade?"

  "I did--I did. But what I want to tell you, for I could not then, waswhy I went ever to it. The wounds my heart had received were then toofresh to allow me to speak of them, but I will tell you now. The storyis a brief one, Mr. Chillingworth. I pray you be seated."