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) (122 page)

THE INTERVIEW BETWEEN THE MOB AND SIR FRANCIS VARNEY.—THE
MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE.—THE WINE CELLARS.

The
shout that had so discomposed the parties who were thus engaged in a terrific
struggle came from a party above.

"Hurrah!
hurrah!" they shouted a number of times, in a wild strain of delight.
"Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!"

The
fact was, a party of the mob had clambered up a verandah, and entered some of
the rooms upstairs, whence they emerged just above the landing near the spot
where the servants were resisting in a mass the efforts of the mob.

"Hurrah!"
shouted the mob below.

"Hurrah!"
shouted the mob above.

There
was a momentary pause, and the servants divided themselves into two bodies, and
one turned to face those above, and the other those who were below.

A
simultaneous shout was given by both parties of the mob, and a sudden rush was
made by both bodies, and the servants of Sir Francis Varney were broken in an
instant. They were instantly separated, and knocked about a good bit, but they
were left to shift for themselves, the mob had a more important object in view.

"Down
with the vampyre!" they shouted.

"Down
with the vampyre!" shouted they, and they rushed helter skelter through
the rooms, until they came to one where the door was partially open, and they
could see some person very leisurely seated.

"Here
he is," they cried.

"Who?
who?"

"The
vampire."

"Down
with him! kill him! burn him!"

"Hurrah!
down with the vampire!"

These
sounds were shouted out by a score of voices, and they rushed headlong into the
room.

But
here their violence and headlong precipitancy were suddenly restrained by the
imposing and quiet appearance of the individual who was there seated.

The
mob entered the room, and there was a sight, that if it did not astonish them,
at least, it caused them to pause before the individual who was seated there.

The
room was well filled with furniture, and there was a curtain drawn across the
room, and about the middle of it there was a table, behind which sat Sir
Francis Varney himself, looking all smiles and courtesy.

"Well,
dang my smock-frock!" said one, "who'd ha' thought of this? He don't
seem to care much about it."

"Well,
I'm d——d!" said another; "he seems pretty easy, at all events. What
is he going to do?"

"Gentlemen,"
said Sir Francis Varney, rising, with the blandest smiles, "pray,
gentlemen, permit me to inquire the cause of this condescension on your part.
The visit is kind."

The
mob looked at Sir Francis, and then at each other, and then at Sir Francis
again; but nobody spoke. They were awed by this gentlemanly and collected
behaviour.

"If
you honour me with this visit from pure affection and neighbourly good-will, I
thank you."

"Down
with the vampyre!" said one, who was concealed behind the rest, and not so
much overawed, as he had not seen Sir Francis.

Sir
Francis Varney rose to his full height; a light gleamed across his features;
they were strongly defined then. His long front teeth, too, showed most
strongly when he smiled, as he did now, and said, in a bland voice,—

"Gentlemen,
I am at your service. Permit me to say you are welcome to all I can do for you.
I fear the interview will be somewhat inconvenient and unpleasant to you. As
for myself, I am entirely at your service."

As
Sir Francis spoke, he bowed, and folded his hands together, and stepped
forwards; but, instead of coming onwards to them, he walked behind the curtain,
and was immediately hid from their view.

"Down
with the vampyre!" shouted one.

"Down
with the vampyre!" rang through the apartment; and the mob now, not awed
by the coolness and courtesy of Sir Francis, rushed forward, and, overturning
the table, tore down the curtain to the floor; but, to their amazement, there
was no Sir Francis Varney present.

"Where
is he?"

"Where
is the vampyre?"

"Where
has he gone?"

These
were cries that escaped every one's lips; and yet no one could give an answer
to them.

There
Sir Francis Varney was not. They were completely thunderstricken. They could
not find out where he had gone to. There was no possible means of escape, that
they could perceive. There was not an odd corner, or even anything that could,
by any possibility, give even a suspicion that even a temporary concealment
could take place.

They
looked over every inch of flooring and of wainscoting; not the remotest trace
could be discovered.

"Where
is he?"

"I
don't know," said one—"I can't see where he could have gone. There
ain't a hole as big as a keyhole."

"My
eye!" said one; "I shouldn't be at all surprised, if he were to blow
up the whole house."

"You
don't say go!"

"I
never heard as how vampyres could do so much as that. They ain't the sort of
people," said another.

"But
if they can do one thing, they can do another."

"That's
very true."

"And
what's more, I never heard as how a vampyre could make himself into nothing
before; yet he has done so."

"He
may be in this room now."

"He
may."

"My
eyes! what precious long teeth he had!"

"Yes;
and had he fixed one on 'em in to your arm, he would have drawn every drop of
blood out of your body; you may depend upon that," said an old man.

"He
was very tall."

"Yes;
too tall to be any good."

"I
shouldn't like him to have laid hold of me, though, tall as he is; and then he
would have lifted me up high enough to break my neck, when he let me
fall."

The
mob routed about the room, tore everything out of its place, and as the object
of their search seemed to be far enough beyond their reach, their courage rose
in proportion, and they shouted and screamed with a proportionate increase of
noise and bustle; and at length they ran about mad with rage and vexation,
doing all the mischief that was in their power to inflict.

Then
they became mischievous, and tore the furniture from its place, and broke it in
pieces, and then amused themselves with breaking it up, throwing pieces at the
pier-glasses, in which they made dreadful holes; and when that was gone, they
broke up the frames.

Every
hole and corner of the house was searched, but there was no Sir Francis Varney
to be found.

"The
cellars, the cellars!" shouted a voice.

"The
cellars, the cellars!" re-echoed nearly every pair of lips in the whole
place; in another moment, there was crushing and crowding to get down into the
cellars.

"Hurray!"
said one, as he knocked off the neck of the bottle that first came to hand.

"Here's
luck to vampyre-hunting! Success to our chase!"

"So
say I, neighbour; but is that your manners to drink before your betters?"

So
saying, the speaker knocked the other's elbow, while he was in the act of
lifting the wine to his mouth; and thus he upset it over his face and eyes.

"D—n
it!" cried the man; "how it makes my eyes smart! Dang thee! if I
could see, I'd ring thy neck!"

"Success
to vampyre-hunting!" said one.

"May
we be lucky yet!" said another.

"I
wouldn't be luckier than this," said another, as he, too, emptied a
bottle. "We couldn't desire better entertainment, where the reckoning is
all paid."

"Excellent!"

"Very
good!"

"Capital
wine this!"

"I
say, Huggins!"

"Well,"
said Huggins.

"What
are you drinking?"

"Wine."

"What
wine?"

"Danged
if I know," was the reply. "It's wine, I suppose; for I know it ain't
beer nor spirits; so it must be wine."

"Are
you sure it ain't bottled men's blood?"

"Eh?"

"Bottled
blood, man! Who knows what a vampyre drinks? It may be his wine. He may feast
upon that before he goes to bed of a night, drink anybody's health, and make
himself cheerful on bottled blood!"

"Oh,
danged! I'm so sick; I wish I hadn't taken the stuff. It may be as you say,
neighbour, and then we be cannibals."

"Or
vampyres."

"There's
a pretty thing to think of."

By
this time some were drunk, some were partially so, and the remainder were
crowding into the cellars to get their share of the wine.

The
servants had now slunk away; they were no longer noticed by the rioters, who,
having nobody to oppose them, no longer thought of anything, save the searching
after the vampyre, and the destruction of the property. Several hours had been
spent in this manner, and yet they could not find the object of their search.

There
was not a room, or cupboard, or a cellar, that was capable of containing a cat,
that they did not search, besides a part of the rioters keeping a very strict
watch on the outside of the house and all about the grounds, to prevent the
possibility of the escape of the vampyre.

There
was a general cessation of active hostilities at that moment; a reaction after
the violent excitement and exertion they had made to get in. Then the escape of
their victim, and the mysterious manner in which he got away, was also a cause
of the reaction, and the rioters looked in each others' countenances
inquiringly.

Above
all, the discovery of the wine-cellar tended to withdraw them from violent
measures; but this could not last long, there must be an end to such a scene,
for there never was a large body of men assembled for an evil purpose, who ever
were, for any length of time, peaceable.

To
prevent the more alarming effects of drunkenness, some few of the rioters,
after having taken some small portion of the wine, became, from the peculiar
flavour it possessed, imbued with the idea that it was really blood, and
forthwith commenced an instant attack upon the wine and liquors, and they were
soon mingling in one stream throughout the cellars.

This
destruction was loudly declaimed against by a large portion of the rioters, who
were drinking; but before they could make any efforts to save the liquor, the
work of destruction had not only been begun, but was ended, and the consequence
was, the cellars were very soon evacuated by the mob.

THE DESTRUCTION OF SIR FRANCIS VARNEY'S HOUSE BY FIRE.—THE
ARRIVAL OF THE MILITARY, AND A SECOND MOB.

Thus
many moments had not elapsed ere the feelings of the rioters became directed
into a different channel from that in which it had so lately flowed. When urged
about the house and grounds for the vampyre, they became impatient and angry at
not finding him. Many believed that he was yet about the house, while many were
of opinion that he had flown away by some mysterious means only possessed by
vampyres and such like people.

"Fire
the house, and burn him out," said one.

"Fire
the house!"

"Burn
the den!" now arose in shouts from all present, and then the mob were
again animated by the love of mischief that seemed to be the strongest feelings
that animated them.

"Burn
him out—burn him out!" were the only words that could be heard from any of
the mob. The words ran through the house like wildfire, nobody thought of
anything else, and all were seen running about in confusion.

There
was no want of good will on the part of the mob to the undertaking; far from
it, and they proceeded in the work
 
con
amore
. They worked together with right good will, and the result was soon
seen by the heaps of combustible materials that were collected in a short time
from all parts of the house.

All
the old dry wood furniture that could be found was piled up in a heap, and to
these were added a number of faggots, and also some shavings that were found in
the cellar.

"All
right!" exclaimed one man, in exultation.

"Yes,"
replied a second; "all right—all right! Set light to it, and he will be
smoked out if not burned."

"Let
us be sure that all are out of the house," suggested one of the
bystanders.

"Ay,
ay," shouted several; "give them all a chance. Search through the
house and give them a warning."

"Very
well; give me the light, and then when I come back I will set light to the fire
at once, and then I shall know all is empty, and so will you too."

This
was at once agreed to by all, with acclamations, and the light being handed to
the man, he ascended the stairs, crying out in a loud voice,—

"Come
out—come out! the house is on fire!"

"Fire!
fire! fire!" shouted the mob as a chorus, every now and then at intervals.

In
about ten minutes more, there came a cry of "all right; the house is
empty," from up the stairs, and the man descended in haste to the hall.

"Make
haste, lads, and fire away, for I see the red coats are leaving the town."

"Hurra!
hurra!" shouted the infuriated mob. "Fire—fire—fire the house! Burn
out the vampyre! Burn down the house—burn him out, and see if he can stand
fire."

Amidst
all this tumult there came a sudden blaze upon all around, for the pile had
been fired.

"Hurra!"
shouted the mob—"hurra!" and they danced like maniacs round the fire;
looking, in fact, like so many wild Indians, dancing round their roasting
victims, or some demons at an infernal feast.

The
torch had been put to twenty different places, and the flames united into one,
and suddenly shot up with a velocity, and roared with a sound that caused many
who were present to make a precipitate retreat from the hall.

This
soon became a necessary measure of self-preservation, and it required no urging
to induce them to quit a place that was burning rapidly and even furiously.

"Get
the poles and firewood—get faggots," shouted some of the mob, and, lo, it
was done almost by magic. They brought the faggots and wood piled up for winter
use, and laid them near all the doors, and especially the main entrance. Nay,
every gate or door belonging to the outhouses was brought forward and placed
upon the fire, which now began to reach the upper stories.

"Hurra—fire!
Hurra—fire!"

And a
loud shout of triumph came from the mob as they viewed the progress of the
flames, as they came roaring and tearing through the house doors and the
windows.

Each
new victory of the element was a signal to the mob for a cheer; and a hearty
cheer, too, came from them.

"Where
is the vampyre now?" exclaimed one.

"Ha!
where is he?" said another.

"If
he be there," said the man, pointing to the flames, "I reckon he's
got a warm berth of it, and, at the same time, very little water to boil in his
kettle."

"Ha,
ha! what a funny old man is Bob Mason; he's always poking fun; he'd joke if his
wife were dying."

"There
is many a true word spoken in jest," suggested another; "and, to my
mind, Bob Mason wouldn't be very much grieved if his wife were to die."

"Die?"
said Bob; "she and I have lived and quarrelled daily a matter of
five-and-thirty years, and, if that ain't enough to make a man sick of being
married, and of his wife, hand me, that's all. I say I am tired."

This
was said with much apparent sincerity, and several laughed at the old man's
heartiness.

"It's
all very well," said the old man; "it's all very well to laugh about
matters you don't understand, but I know it isn't a joke—not a bit on it. I
tells you what it is, neighbour, I never made but one grand mistake in all my
life."

"And
what was that?"

"To
tie myself to a woman."

"Why,
you'd get married to-morrow if your wife were to die to-day," said one.

"If
I did, I hope I may marry a vampyre. I should have something then to think
about. I should know what's o'clock. But, as for my old woman, lord, lord, I
wish Sir Francis Varney had had her for life. I'll warrant when the next
natural term of his existence came round again, he wouldn't be in no hurry to
renew it; if he did, I should say that vampyres had the happy lot of managing
women, which I haven't got."

"No,
nor anybody else."

A
loud shout now attracted their attention, and, upon looking in the quarter
whence it came, they descried a large body of people coming towards them; from
one end of the mob could be seen a long string of red coats.

"The
red coats!" shouted one.

"The
military!" shouted another.

It
was plain the military who had been placed in the town to quell disturbances,
had been made acquainted with the proceedings at Sir Francis Varney's house,
and were now marching to relieve the place, and to save the property.

They
were, as we have stated, accompanied by a vast concourse of people, who came
out to see what they were going to see, and seeing the flames at Sir Francis
Varney's house, they determined to come all the way, and be present.

The
military, seeing the disturbance in the distance, and the flames issuing from
the windows, made the best of their way towards the scene of tumult with what
speed they could make.

"Here
they come," said one.

"Yes,
just in time to see what is done."

"Yes,
they can go back and say we have burned the vampyre's house down—hurra!"

"Hurra!"
shouted the mob, in prolonged accents, and it reached the ears of the military.

The
officer urged the men onwards, and they responded to his words, by exerting
themselves to step out a little faster.

"Oh,
they should have been here before this; it's no use, now, they are too
late."

"Yes,
they are too late."

"I
wonder if the vampyre can breathe through the smoke, and live in fire,"
said one.

"I
should think he must be able to do so, if he can stand shooting, as we know he
can—you can't kill a vampyre; but yet he must be consumed, if the fire actually
touches him, but not unless he can bear almost anything."

"So
he can."

"Hurra!"
shouted the mob, as a tall flame shot through the top windows of the house.

The
fire had got the ascendant now, and no hopes could be entertained, however
extravagant, of saving the smallest article that had been left in the mansion.

"Hurra!"
shouted the mob with the military, who came up with them.

"Hurra!"
shouted the others in reply.

"Quick
march!" said the officer; and then, in a loud, commanding tone, he
shouted, "Clear the way, there! clear the way."

"Ay,
there's room enough for you," said old Mason; "what are you making so
much noise about?"

There
was a general laugh at the officer, who took no notice of the words, but
ordered his men up before the burning pile, which was now an immense mass of
flame.

The
mob who had accompanied the military now mingled with the mob that had set the
house of Sir Francis Varney on fire ere the military had come up with them.

"Halt!"
cried out the officer; and the men, obedient to the word of command, halted, and
drew up in a double line before the house.

There
were then some words of command issued, and some more given to some of the
subalterns, and a party of men, under the command of a sergeant, was sent off
from the main body, to make a circuit of the house and grounds.

The
officer gazed for some moments upon the burning pile without speaking; and
then, turning to the next in command, he said in low tones, as he looked upon
the mob,—

"We
have come too late."

"Yes,
much."

"The
house is now nearly gutted."

"It
is."

"And
those who came crowding along with us are inextricably mingled with the others
who have been the cause of all this mischief: there's no distinguishing them
one from another."

"And
if you did, you could not say who had done it, and who had not; you could prove
nothing."

"Exactly."

"I
shall not attempt to take prisoners, unless any act is perpetrated beyond what
has been done."

"It
is a singular affair."

"Very."

"This
Sir Francis Varney is represented to be a courteous, gentlemanly man,"
said the officer.

"No
doubt about it, but he's beset by a parcel of people who do not mind cutting a
throat if they can get an opportunity of doing so."

"And
I expect they will."

"Yes,
when there is a popular excitement against any man, he had better leave this
part at once and altogether. It is dangerous to tamper with popular prejudices;
no man who has any value for his life ought to do so. It is a sheer act of
suicide."