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) (85 page)

So
accurate was it now, that the same light fell upon his face as that under which
the painter had executed the portrait, that all started back a step or two.

"Some
artists," remarked Varney, "have the sense to ask where a portrait is
to be hung before they paint it, and then they adapt their lights and shadows
to those which would fall upon the original, were it similarly situated."

"I
cannot stand this," said Charles to Henry; "I must question him
farther."

"As
you please, but do not insult him."

"I
will not."

"He
is beneath my roof now, and, after all, it is but a hideous suspicion we have
of him."

"Rely
upon me."

Charles
stepped forward, and once again confronting Varney, with an earnest gaze, he
said—

"Do
you know, sir, that Miss Bannerworth declares the vampyre she fancies to have
visited this chamber to be, in features, the exact counterpart of this
portrait?"

"Does
she indeed?"

"She
does, indeed."

"And
perhaps, then, that accounts for her thinking that I am the vampyre, because I
bear a strong resemblance to the portrait."

"I
should not be surprised," said Charles.

"How
very odd."

"Very."

"And
yet entertaining. I am rather amused than otherwise. The idea of being a
vampyre. Ha! ha! If ever I go to a masquerade again, I shall certainly assume
the character of a vampyre."

"You
would do it well."

"I
dare say, now, I should make quite a sensation."

"I
am certain you would. Do you not think, gentlemen, that Sir Francis Varney
would enact the character to the very life? By Heavens, he would do it so well
that one might, without much difficulty, really imagine him a vampyre."

"Bravo—bravo,"
said Varney, as he gently folded his hands together, with that genteel applause
that may even be indulged in in a box at the opera itself. "Bravo. I like
to see young persons enthusiastic; it looks as if they had some of the real
fire of genius in their composition. Bravo—bravo."

This
was, Charles thought, the very height and acme of impudence, and yet what could
he do? What could he say? He was foiled by the downright coolness of Varney.

As
for Henry, George, and Mr. Marchdale, they had listened to what was passing
between Sir Francis and Charles in silence. They feared to diminish the effect
of anything Charles might say, by adding a word of their own; and, likewise,
they did not wish to lose one observation that might come from the lips of
Varney.

But
now Charles appeared to have said all he had to say, he turned to the window
and looked out. He seemed like a man who had made up his mind, for a time, to
give up some contest in which he had been engaged.

And,
perhaps, not so much did he give it up from any feeling or consciousness of
being beaten, as from a conviction that it could be the more effectually, at
some other and far more eligible opportunity, renewed.

Varney
now addressed Henry, saying,—

"I
presume the subject of our conference, when you did me the honour of a call, is
no secret to any one here?"

"None
whatever," said Henry.

"Then,
perhaps, I am too early in asking you if you have made up your mind?"

"I
have scarcely, certainly, had time to think."

"My
dear sir, do not let me hurry you; I much regret, indeed, the intrusion."

"You
seem anxious to possess the Hall," remarked Mr. Marchdale, to Varney.

"I
am."

"Is
it new to you?"

"Not
quite. I have some boyish recollections connected with this neighbourhood,
among which Bannerworth Hall stands sufficiently prominent."

"May
I ask how long ago that was?" said Charles Howard, rather abruptly.

"I
do not recollect, my enthusiastic young friend," said Varney. "How
old are you?"

"Just
about twenty-one."

"You
are, then, for your age, quite a model of discretion."

It
would have been difficult for the most accurate observer of human nature to
have decided whether this was said truthfully or ironically, so Charles made no
reply to it whatever.

"I
trust," said Henry, "we shall induce you, as this is your first
visit, Sir Francis Varney, to the Hall, to partake of some thing."

"Well,
well, a cup of wine—"

"Is
at your service."

Henry
now led the way to a small parlour, which, although by no means one of the
showiest rooms of the house, was, from the care and exquisite carving with
which it abounded, much more to the taste of any who possessed an accurate
judgment in such works of art.

Then
wine was ordered, and Charles took an opportunity of whispering to Henry,—

"Notice
well if he drinks."

"I
will."

"Do
you see that beneath his coat there is a raised place, as if his arm was bound
up?"

"I
do."

"There,
then, was where the bullet from the pistol fired by Flora, when we were at the
church, hit him."

"Hush!
for God's sake, hush! you are getting into a dreadful state of excitement,
Charles; hush! hush!"

"And
can you blame—"

"No,
no; but what can we do?"

"You
are right. Nothing can we do at present. We have a clue now, and be it our
mutual inclination, as well as duty, to follow it. Oh, you shall see how calm I
will be!"

"For
Heaven's sake, be so. I have noted that his eyes flash upon yours with no
friendly feeling."

"His
friendship were a curse."

"Hush!
he drinks!"

"Watch
him."

"I
will."

"Gentlemen
all," said Sir Francis Varney, in such soft, dulcet tones, that it was
quite a fascination to hear him speak; "gentlemen all, being as I am, much
delighted with your company, do not accuse me of presumption, if I drink now,
poor drinker as I am, to our future merry meetings."

He
raised the wine to his lips, and seemed to drink, after which he replaced the
glass upon the table.

Charles
glanced at it, it was still full.

"You
have not drank, Sir Francis Varney," he said.

"Pardon
me, enthusiastic young sir," said Varney, "perhaps you will have the
liberality to allow me to take my wine how I please and when I please."

"Your
glass is full."

"Well,
sir?"

"Will
you drink it?"

"Not
at any man's bidding, most certainly. If the fair Flora Bannerworth would grace
the board with her sweet presence, methinks I could then drink on, on,
on."

"Hark
you, sir," cried Charles, "I can bear no more of this. We have had in
this house most horrible and damning evidence that there are such things as
vampyres."

"Have
you really? I suppose you eat raw pork at supper, and so had the
nightmare?"

"A
jest is welcome in its place, but pray hear me out, sir, if it suit your lofty
courtesy to do so."

"Oh,
certainly."

"Then
I say we believe, as far as human judgment has a right to go, that a vampyre
has been here."

"Go
on, it's interesting. I always was a lover of the wild and the wonderful."

"We
have, too," continued Charles, "some reason to believe that you are
the man."

Varney
tapped his forehead as he glanced at Henry, and said,—

"Oh,
dear, I did not know. You should have told me he was a little wrong about the
brain; I might have quarreled with the lad. Dear me, how lamentable for his
poor mother."

"This
will not do, Sir Francis Varney
 
alias
 
Bannerworth."

"Oh—oh!
Be calm—be calm."

"I
defy you to your teeth, sir! No, God, no! Your teeth!"

"Poor
lad! Poor lad!"

"You
are a cowardly demon, and here I swear to devote myself to your
destruction."

Sir
Francis Varney drew himself up to his full height, and that was immense, as he
said to Henry,—

"I
pray you, Mr. Bannerworth, since I am thus grievously insulted beneath your
roof, to tell me if your friend here be mad or sane?"

"He's
not mad."

"Then—"

"Hold,
sir! The quarrel shall be mine. In the name of my persecuted sister—in the name
of Heaven. Sir Francis Varney, I defy you."

Sir
Francis, in spite of his impenetrable calmness, appeared somewhat moved, as he
said,—

"I
have already endured insult sufficient—I will endure no more. If there are
weapons at hand—"

"My
young friend," interrupted Mr. Marchdale, stepping between the excited
men, "is carried away by his feelings, and knows not what he says. You
will look upon it in that light, Sir Francis."

"We
need no interference," exclaimed Varney, his hitherto bland voice changing
to one of fury. "The hot blooded fool wishes to fight, and he shall—to the
death—to the death."

"And
I say he shall not," exclaimed Mr. Marchdale, taking Henry by the arm.
"George," he added, turning to the young man, "assist me in
persuading your brother to leave the room. Conceive the agony of your sister
and mother if anything should happen to him."

Varney
smiled with a devilish sneer, as he listened to these words, and then he said,—

"As
you will—as you will. There will be plenty of time, and perhaps better
opportunity, gentlemen. I bid you good day."

And
with provoking coolness, he then moved towards the door, and quitted the room.

"Remain
here," said Marchdale; "I will follow him, and see that he quits the
premises."

He
did so, and the young men, from the window, beheld Sir Francis walking slowly
across the garden, and then saw Mr. Marchdale follow on his track.

While
they were thus occupied, a tremendous ringing came at the gate, but their
attention was so rivetted to what was passing in the garden, that they paid not
the least attention to it.

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. To be sure, she sent a boy for her money afterwards, which may be
considered 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 that 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, 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 Holland 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, and he exclaimed,—

"By
all that's surprising, there is my uncle!"

"Your
uncle!" said Henry.

"Yes,
as good a hearted a 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 was 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 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 sees Jack Pringle," said that individual, introducing himself,
since no one appeared inclined to do that office for him, "a tar for all
weathers. One as hates the French, and is never so happy as when he's alongside
o' some o' those lubberly craft blazing away."

"That's
uncommonly true," remarked the admiral.

"Will
you walk in, sir?" said Henry, courteously. "Any friend of Charles
Holland's is most welcome here. You will have much to excuse us for, because we
are deficient in servants at present, in consequence of come occurrences in our
family, which your nephew has our full permission to explain to you in
full."

"Oh,
very good, I tell you what it is, all of you, what I've seen of you, d——e, I
like, so here goes. Come along, Jack."

The
admiral walked into the house, and as he went, Charles Holland said to him,—

"How
came you to know I was here, uncle?"

"Some
fellow wrote me a despatch."

"Indeed!"

"Yes,
saying at you was a going to marry some odd sort of fish as it wasn't at all
the thing to introduce into the family."

"Was—was
a vampyre mentioned?"

"That's
the very thing."

"Hush,
uncle—hush."

"What
for?"

"Do
not, I implore, hint at such a thing before these kind friends of mine. I will
take an opportunity within the next hour of explaining all to you, and you
shall form your own kind and generous judgement upon circumstances in which my
honour and my happiness are so nearly concerned."

"Gammon,"
said the admiral.

"What,
uncle?"

"Oh,
I know you want to palaver me into saying it's all right. I suppose if my
judgment and generosity don't like it, I shall be an old fool, and a cursed
goose?"

"Now,
uncle."

"Now,
 
nevey
."

"Well,
well—no more at present. We will talk over this at leisure. You promise me to
say nothing about it until you have heard my explanation, uncle?"

"Very
good. Make it as soon as you can, and as short as you can, that's all I ask of
you."

"I
will, I will."

Charles
was to the full as anxious as his uncle could be to enter upon the subject,
some remote information of which, he felt convinced, had brought the old man
down to the Hall. Who it could have been that so far intermeddled with his
affairs as to write to him, he could not possibly conceive.

A
very few words will suffice to explain the precise position in which Charles
Holland was. A considerable sum of money had been left to him, but it was
saddled with the condition that he should not come into possession of it until
he was one year beyond the age which is usually denominated that of discretion,
namely, twenty-one. His uncle, the admiral, was the trustee of his fortune, and
he, with rare discretion, had got the active and zealous assistance of a
professional gentleman of great honour and eminence to conduct the business for
him.

This
gentleman had advised that for the two years between the ages of twenty and
twenty-two, Charles Holland should travel, inasmuch as in English society he
would find himself in an awkward position, being for one whole year of age, and
yet waiting for his property.

Under
such circumstances, reasoned the lawyer, a young man, unless he is possessed of
very rare discretion indeed, is almost sure to get fearfully involved with
money-lenders. Being of age, his notes, and bills, and bonds would all be good,
and he would be in a ten times worse situation than a wealthy minor.

All
this was duly explained to Charles, who, rather eagerly than otherwise, caught
at the idea of a two years wander on the continent, where he could visit so
many places, which to a well read young man like himself, and one of a lively
imagination, were full of the most delightful associations.

But
the acquaintance with Flora Bannerworth effected a great revolution in his
feelings. The dearest, sweetest spot on earth became that which she inhabited.
When the Bannerworths left him abroad, he knew not what to do with himself.
Everything, and every pursuit in which he had before taken a delight, became
most distasteful to him. He was, in fact, in a short time, completely
"used up," and then he determined upon returning to England, and
finding out the dear object of his attachment at once. This resolution was no
sooner taken, than his health and spirits returned to him, and with what
rapidity he could, he now made his way to his native shores.