Penny Dreadful Multipack Vol. 1 (Illustrated. Annotated. 'Wagner The Wehr-Wolf,' 'Varney The Vampire,' 'The Mysteries of London Vol. 1' + Bonus Features) (Penny Dreadful Multipacks) (76 page)

THE RETURN FROM THE VAULT.—THE ALARM, AND THE SEARCH AROUND
THE HALL.

It so
happened that George and Henry Bannerworth, along with Mr. Marchdale, had just
reached the gate which conducted into the garden of the mansion when they all
were alarmed by the report of a pistol. Amid the stillness of the night, it
came upon them with so sudden a shock, that they involuntarily paused, and
there came from the lips of each an expression of alarm.

"Good
heavens!" cried George, "can that be Flora firing at any
intruder?"

"It
must be," cried Henry; "she has in her possession the only weapons in
the house."

Mr.
Marchdale turned very pale, and trembled slightly, but he did not speak.

"On,
on," cried Henry; "for God's sake, let us hasten on."

As he
spoke, he cleared the gate at a bound, and at a terrific pace he made towards
the house, passing over beds, and plantations, and flowers heedlessly, so that
he went the most direct way to it.

Before,
however, it was possible for any human speed to accomplish even half of the
distance, the report of the other shot came upon his ears, and he even fancied
he heard the bullet whistle past his head in tolerably close proximity. This
supposition gave him a clue to the direction at all events from whence the
shots proceeded, otherwise he knew not from which window they were fired,
because it had not occurred to him, previous to leaving home, to inquire in
which room Flora and his mother were likely to be seated waiting his return.

He was
right as regarded the bullet. It was that winged messenger of death which had
passed his head in such very dangerous proximity, and consequently he made with
tolerable accuracy towards the open window from whence the shots had been
fired.

The
night was not near so dark as it had been, although even yet it was very far
from being a light one, and he was soon enabled to see that there was a room,
the window of which was wide open, and lights burning on the table within. He
made towards it in a moment, and entered it. To his astonishment, the first
objects he beheld were Flora and a stranger, who was now supporting her in his
arms. To grapple him by the throat was the work of a moment, but the stranger
cried aloud in a voice which sounded familiar to Harry,—

"Good
God, are you all mad?"

Henry
relaxed his hold, and looked in his face.

"Gracious
heavens, it is Mr. Holland!" he said.

"Yes;
did you not know me?"

Henry
was bewildered. He staggered to a seat, and, in doing so, he saw his mother,
stretched apparently lifeless upon the floor. To raise her was the work of a
moment, and then Marchdale and George, who had followed him as fast as they
could, appeared at the open window.

Such
a strange scene as that small room now exhibited had never been equalled in
Bannerworth Hall. There was young Mr. Holland, of whom mention has already been
made, as the affianced lover of Flora, supporting her fainting form. There was
Henry doing equal service to his mother; and on the floor lay the two pistols,
and one of the candles which had been upset in the confusion; while the
terrified attitudes of George and Mr. Marchdale at the window completed the
strange-looking picture.

"What
is this—oh! what has happened?" cried George.

"I
know not—I know not," said Henry. "Some one summon the servants; I am
nearly mad."

Mr.
Marchdale at once rung the bell, for George looked so faint and ill as to be
incapable of doing so; and he rung it so loudly and so effectually, that the
two servants who had been employed suddenly upon the others leaving came with
much speed to know what was the matter.

"See
to your mistress," said Henry. "She is dead, or has fainted. For
God's sake, let who can give me some account of what has caused all this
confusion here."

"Are
you aware, Henry," said Marchdale, "that a stranger is present in the
room?"

He
pointed to Mr. Holland as he spoke, who, before Henry could reply, said,—

"Sir,
I may be a stranger to you, as you are to me, and yet no stranger to those
whose home this is."

"No,
no," said Henry, "you are no stranger to us, Mr. Holland, but are
thrice welcome—none can be more welcome. Mr. Marchdale, this is Mr Holland, of
whom you have heard me speak."

"I
am proud to know you, sir," said Marchdale.

"Sir,
I thank you," replied Holland, coldly.

It
will so happen; but, at first sight, it appeared as if those two persons had
some sort of antagonistic feeling towards each other, which threatened to
prevent effectually their ever becoming intimate friends.

The
appeal of Henry to the servants to know if they could tell him what had
occurred was answered in the negative. All they knew was that they had heard
two shots fired, and that, since then, they had remained where they were, in a
great fright, until the bell was rung violently. This was no news at all and,
therefore, the only chance was, to wait patiently for the recovery of the
mother, or of Flora, from one or the other of whom surely some information
could be at once then procured.

Mrs.
Bannerworth was removed to her own room, and so would Flora have been; but Mr.
Holland, who was supporting her in his arms, said,—

"I
think the air from the open window is recovering her, and it is likely to do
so. Oh, do not now take her from me, after so long an absence. Flora, Flora,
look up; do you not know me? You have not yet given me one look of
acknowledgment. Flora, dear Flora!"

The
sound of his voice seemed to act as the most potent of charms in restoring her
to consciousness; it broke through the death-like trance in which she lay, and,
opening her beautiful eyes, she fixed them upon his face, saying,—

"Yes,
yes; it is Charles—it is Charles."

She
burst into a hysterical flood of tears, and clung to him like some terrified
child to its only friend in the whole wide world.

"Oh,
my dear friends," cried Charles Holland, "do not deceive me; has
Flora been ill?"

"We
have all been ill," said George.

"All
ill?"

"Ay,
and nearly mad," exclaimed Harry.

Holland
looked from one to the other in surprise, as well he might, nor was that
surprise at all lessened when Flora made an effort to extricate herself from
his embrace, as she exclaimed,—

"You
must leave me—you must leave me, Charles, for ever! Oh! never, never look upon
my face again!"

"I—I
am bewildered," said Charles.

"Leave
me, now," continued Flora; "think me unworthy; think what you will,
Charles, but I cannot, I dare not, now be yours."

"Is
this a dream?"

"Oh,
would it were. Charles, if we had never met, you would be happier—I could not
be more wretched."

"Flora,
Flora, do you say these words of so great cruelty to try my love?"

"No,
as Heaven is my judge, I do not."

"Gracious
Heaven, then, what do they mean?"

Flora
shuddered, and Henry, coming up to her, took her hand in his tenderly, as he
said,—

"Has
it been again?"

"It
has."

"You
shot it?"

"I
fired full upon it, Henry, but it fled."

"It
did—fly?"

"It
did, Henry, but it will come again—it will be sure to come again."

"You—you
hit it with the bullet?" interposed Mr. Marchdale. "Perhaps you
killed it?"

"I
think I must have hit it, unless I am mad."

Charles
Holland looked from one to the other with such a look of intense surprise, that
George remarked it, and said at once to him,—

"Mr.
Holland, a full explanation is due to you, and you shall have it."

"You
seem the only rational person here," said Charles. "Pray what is it
that everybody calls '
it
?'"

"Hush—hush!"
said Henry; "you shall hear soon, but not at present."

"Hear
me, Charles," said Flora. "From this moment mind, I do release you
from every vow, from every promise made to me of constancy and love; and if you
are wise, Charles, and will be advised, you will now this moment leave this
house never to return to it."

"No,"
said Charles—"no; by Heaven I love you, Flora! I have come to say again
all that in another clime I said with joy to you. When I forget you, let what
trouble may oppress you, may God forget me, and my own right hand forget to do
me honest service."

"Oh!
no more—no more!" sobbed Flora.

"Yes,
much more, if you will tell me of words which shall be stronger than others in
which to paint my love, my faith, and my constancy."

"Be
prudent," said Henry. "Say no more."

"Nay,
upon such a theme I could speak for ever. You may cast me off, Flora; but until
you tell me you love another, I am yours till the death, and then with a
sanguine hope at my heart that we shall meet again, never, dearest, to
part."

Flora
sobbed bitterly.

"Oh!"
she said, "this is the unkindest blow of all—this is worse than all."

"Unkind!"
echoed Holland.

"Heed
her not," said Henry; "she means not you."

"Oh,
no—no!" she cried. "Farewell, Charles—dear Charles."

"Oh,
say that word again!" he exclaimed, with animation. "It is the first
time such music has met my ears."

"It
must be the last."

"No,
no—oh, no."

"For
your own sake I shall be able now, Charles, to show you that I really loved
you."

"Not
by casting me from you?"

"Yes,
even so. That will be the way to show you that I love you."

She
held up her hands wildly, as she added, in an excited voice,—

"The
curse of destiny is upon me! I am singled out as one lost and accursed. Oh,
horror—horror! would that I were dead!"

Charles
staggered back a pace or two until he came to the table, at which he clutched
for support. He turned very pale as he said, in a faint voice,—

"Is—is
she mad, or am I?"

"Tell
him I am mad, Henry," cried Flora. "Do not, oh, do not make his lonely
thoughts terrible with more than that. Tell him I am mad."

"Come
with me," whispered Henry to Holland. "I pray you come with me at
once, and you shall know all."

"I—will."

"George,
stay with Flora for a time. Come, come, Mr. Holland, you ought, and you shall
know all; then you can come to a judgment for yourself. This way, sir. You
cannot, in the wildest freak of your imagination, guess that which I have now
to tell you."

Never
was mortal man so utterly bewildered by the events of the last hour of his existence
as was now Charles Holland, and truly he might well be so. He had arrived in
England, and made what speed he could to the house of a family whom he admired
for their intelligence, their high culture, and in one member of which his
whole thoughts of domestic happiness in this world were centered, and he found
nothing but confusion, incoherence, mystery, and the wildest dismay.

Well
might he doubt if he were sleeping or waking—well might he ask if he or they
were mad.

And
now, as, after a long, lingering look of affection upon the pale, suffering
face of Flora, he followed Henry from the room, his thoughts were busy in
fancying a thousand vague and wild imaginations with respect to the
communication which was promised to be made to him.

But,
as Henry had truly said to him, not in the wildest freak of his imagination
could he conceive of any thing near the terrible strangeness and horror of that
which he had to tell him, and consequently he found himself closeted with Henry
in a small private room, removed from the domestic part of the hall, to the
full in as bewildered a state as he had been from the first.

THE COMMUNICATIONS TO THE LOVER.—THE HEART'S DESPAIR.

Consternation
is sympathetic, and any one who had looked upon the features of Charles
Holland, now that he was seated with Henry Bannerworth, in expectation of a
communication which his fears told him was to blast all his dearest and most
fondly cherished hopes for ever, would scarce have recognised in him the same
young man who, one short hour before, had knocked so loudly, and so full of
joyful hope and expectation, at the door of the hall.

But
so it was. He knew Henry Bannerworth too well to suppose that any unreal cause
could blanch his cheek. He knew Flora too well to imagine for one moment that
caprice had dictated the, to him, fearful words of dismissal she had uttered to
him.

Happier
would it at that time have been for Charles Holland had she acted capriciously
towards him, and convinced him that his true heart's devotion had been cast at
the feet of one unworthy of so really noble a gift. Pride would then have
enabled him, no doubt, successfully to resist the blow. A feeling of honest and
proper indignation at having his feelings trifled with, would, no doubt, have
sustained him, but, alas! the case seemed widely different.

True,
she implored him to think of her no more—no longer to cherish in his breast the
fond dream of affection which had been its guest so long; but the manner in
which she did so brought along with it an irresistible conviction, that she was
making a noble sacrifice of her own feelings for him, from some cause which was
involved in the profoundest mystery.

But
now he was to hear all. Henry had promised to tell him, and as he looked into
his pale, but handsomely intellectual face, he half dreaded the disclosure he
yet panted to hear.

"Tell
me all, Henry—tell me all," he said. "Upon the words that come from
your lips I know I can rely."

"I
will have no reservations with you," said Henry, sadly. "You ought to
know all, and you shall. Prepare yourself for the strangest revelation you ever
heard."

"Indeed!"

"Ay.
One which in hearing you may well doubt; and one which, I hope, you will never
find an opportunity of verifying."

"You
speak in riddles."

"And
yet speak truly, Charles. You heard with what a frantic vehemence Flora desired
you to think no more of her?"

"I
did—I did."

"She
was right. She is a noble-hearted girl for uttering those words. A dreadful
incident in our family has occurred, which might well induce you to pause
before uniting your fate with that of any member of it."

"Impossible.
Nothing can possibly subdue the feelings of affection I entertain for Flora.
She is worthy of any one, and, as such, amid all changes—all mutations of
fortune, she shall be mine."

"Do
not suppose that any change of fortune has produced the scene you were witness
to."

"Then,
what else?"

"I
will tell you, Holland. In all your travels, and in all your reading, did you
ever come across anything about vampyres?"

"About
what?" cried Charles, drawing his chair forward a little. "About
what?"

"You
may well doubt the evidence of your own ears, Charles Holland, and wish me to
repeat what I said. I say, do you know anything about vampyres?"

Charles
Holland looked curiously in Henry's face, and the latter immediately added,—

"I
can guess what is passing in your mind at present, and I do not wonder at it.
You think I must be mad."

"Well,
really, Henry, your extraordinary question—"

"I
knew it. Were I you, I should hesitate to believe the tale; but the fact is, we
have every reason to believe that one member of our own family is one of those
horrible preternatural beings called vampyres."

"Good
God, Henry, can you allow your judgment for a moment to stoop to such a
supposition?"

"That
is what I have asked myself a hundred times; but, Charles Holland, the
judgment, the feelings, and all the prejudices, natural and acquired, must
succumb to actual ocular demonstration. Listen to me, and do not interrupt me.
You shall know all, and you shall know it circumstantially."

Henry
then related to the astonished Charles Holland all that had occurred, from the
first alarm of Flora, up to that period when he, Holland, caught her in his
arms as she was about to leave the room.

"And
now," he said, in conclusion, "I cannot tell what opinion you may
come to as regards these most singular events. You will recollect that here is
the unbiassed evidence of four or five people to the facts, and, beyond that,
the servants, who have seen something of the horrible visitor."

"You
bewilder me, utterly," said Charles Holland.

"As
we are all bewildered."

"But—but,
gracious Heaven! it cannot be."

"It
is."

"No—no.
There is—there must be yet some dreadful mistake."

"Can
you start any supposition by which we can otherwise explain any of the
phenomena I have described to you? If you can, for Heaven's sake do so, and you
will find no one who will cling to it with more tenacity than I."

"Any
other species or kind of supernatural appearance might admit of argument; but
this, to my perception, is too wildly improbable—too much at variance with all
we see and know of the operations of nature."

"It
is so. All that we have told ourselves repeatedly, and yet is all human reason
at once struck down by the few brief words of—'We have seen it.'"

"I
would doubt my eyesight."

"One
might; but many cannot be labouring under the same delusion."

"My
friend, I pray you, do not make me shudder at the supposition that such a
dreadful thing as this is at all possible."

"
I
 
am, believe me, Charles, most unwilling
to oppress anyone with the knowledge of these evils; but you are so situated
with us, that you ought to know, and you will clearly understand that you may,
with perfect honour, now consider yourself free from all engagements you have
entered into with Flora."

"No,
no! By Heaven, no!"

"Yes,
Charles. Reflect upon the consequences now of a union with such a family."

"Oh,
Henry Bannerworth, can you suppose me so dead to all good feeling, so utterly
lost to honourable impulses, as to eject from my heart her who has possession
of it entirely, on such a ground as this?"

"You
would be justified."

"Coldly
justified in prudence I might be. There are a thousand circumstances in which a
man may be justified in a particular course of action, and that course yet may
be neither honourable nor just. I love Flora; and were she tormented by the
whole of the supernatural world, I should still love her. Nay, it becomes,
then, a higher and a nobler duty on my part to stand between her and those
evils, if possible."

"Charles—Charles,"
said Henry, "I cannot of course refuse to you my meed of praise and
admiration for your generosity of feeling; but, remember, if we are compelled,
despite all our feelings and all our predilections to the contrary, to give in
to a belief in the existence of vampyres, why may we not at once receive as the
truth all that is recorded of them?"

"To
what do you allude?"

"To
this. That one who has been visited by a vampyre, and whose blood has formed a
horrible repast for such a being, becomes, after death, one of the dreadful
race, and visits others in the same way."

"Now
this must be insanity," cried Charles.

"It
bears the aspect of it, indeed," said Henry; "oh, that you could by
some means satisfy yourself that I am mad."

"There
may be insanity in this family," thought Charles, with such an exquisite
pang of misery, that he groaned aloud.

"Already,"
added Henry, mournfully, "already the blighting influence of the dreadful
tale is upon you, Charles. Oh, let me add my advice to Flora's entreaties. She
loves you, and we all esteem you; fly, then, from us, and leave us to encounter
our miseries alone. Fly from us, Charles Holland, and take with you our best
wishes for happiness which you cannot know here."

"Never,"
cried Charles; "I devote my existence to Flora. I will not play the
coward, and fly from one whom I love, on such grounds. I devote my life to
her."

Henry
could not speak for emotion for several minutes, and when at length, in a
faltering voice, he could utter some words, he said,—

"God
of heaven, what happiness is marred by these horrible events? What have we all
done to be the victims of such a dreadful act of vengeance?"

"Henry,
do not talk in that way," cried Charles. "Rather let us bend all our
energies to overcoming the evil, than spend any time in useless lamentations. I
cannot even yet give in to a belief in the existence of such a being as you say
visited Flora."

"But
the evidences."

"Look
you here, Henry: until I am convinced that some things have happened which it
is totally impossible could happen by any human means whatever, I will not
ascribe them to supernatural influence."

"But
what human means, Charles, could produce what I have now narrated to you?"

"I
do not know, just at present, but I will give the subject the most attentive consideration.
Will you accommodate me here for a time?"

"You
know you are as welcome here as if the house were your own, and all that it
contains."

"I
believe so, most truly. You have no objection, I presume, to my conversing with
Flora upon this strange subject?"

"Certainly
not. Of course you will be careful to say nothing which can add to her
fears."

"I
shall be most guarded, believe me. You say that your brother George, Mr.
Chillingworth, yourself, and this Mr. Marchdale, have all been cognisant of the
circumstances."

"Yes—yes."

"Then
with the whole of them you permit me to hold free communication upon the
subject?"

"Most
certainly."

"I
will do so then. Keep up good heart, Henry, and this affair, which looks so
full of terror at first sight, may yet be divested of some of its hideous
aspect."

"I
am rejoiced, if anything can rejoice me now," said Henry, "to see you
view the subject with so much philosophy."

"Why,"
said Charles, "you made a remark of your own, which enabled me, viewing
the matter in its very worst and most hideous aspect, to gather hope."

"What
was that?"

"You
said, properly and naturally enough, that if ever we felt that there was such a
weight of evidence in favour of a belief in the existence of vampyres that we
are compelled to succumb to it, we might as well receive all the popular
feelings and superstitions concerning them likewise."

"I
did. Where is the mind to pause, when once we open it to the reception of such
things?"

"Well,
then, if that be the case, we will watch this vampyre and catch it."

"Catch
it?"

"Yes;
surely it can be caught; as I understand, this species of being is not like an
apparition, that may be composed of thin air, and utterly impalpable to the
human touch, but it consists of a revivified corpse."

"Yes,
yes."

"Then
it is tangible and destructible. By Heaven! if ever I catch a glimpse of any
such thing, it shall drag me to its home, be that where it may, or I will make
it prisoner."

"Oh,
Charles! you know not the feeling of horror that will come across you when you
do. You have no idea of how the warm blood will seem to curdle in your veins,
and how you will be paralysed in every limb."

"Did
you feel so?"

"I
did."

"I
will endeavour to make head against such feelings. The love of Flora shall
enable me to vanquish them. Think you it will come again to-morrow?"

"I
can have no thought the one way or the other."

"It
may. We must arrange among us all, Henry, some plan of watching which, without
completely prostrating our health and strength, will always provide that one
shall be up all night and on the alert."

"It
must be done."

"Flora
ought to sleep with the consciousness now that she has ever at hand some
intrepid and well-armed protector, who is not only himself prepared to defend
her, but who can in a moment give an alarm to us all, in case of necessity
requiring it."

"It
would be a dreadful capture to make to seize a vampyre," said Henry.

"Not
at all; it would be a very desirable one. Being a corpse revivified, it is
capable of complete destruction, so as to render it no longer a scourge to any
one."

"Charles,
Charles, are you jesting with me, or do you really give any credence to the
story?"