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) (140 page)

"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 positive certainty, and he knows,
of course, that I do know it, and has purchased my silence pretty handsomely,
although I must confess that nothing but my positive necessities would have
induced me to make the large demands upon him that I have, and I hope soon to
be able to release him altogether from them."

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

"I
suspected it; I suspected it, do you know, from the first moment that I saw you
there in his house. His face haunted me ever since—awfully haunted me; and yet,
although I felt certain that I had once seen it under strange circumstances, I
could not identify it with—but no matter, 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 so leave the coast clear for
him."

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

"It
is as I suspected, then," muttered this man. "Confound him! Now can I
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? Tell me,
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 whole family to
know it. You say you have made inquiries about this neighbourhood, and, if you
have done so, you have discovered how the family of the Bannerworths have been
persecuted by Varney, and how, in particular, Flora Bannerworth, a beautiful
and intelligent girl, has been most cruelly made to suffer."

"I
have heard all that, and I dare say with many exaggerations."—"It
would be difficult for any one really to exaggerate the horrors that have taken
place in this house, so that any information which you can give respecting the
motives of Varney will tend, probably, to restore peace to those who have been
so cruelly persecuted, and be an act of kindness 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 and vilest; and yet you
talk of an act of kindness not being altogether inconsistent with my
nature!"—"I do, because I know something more of you than many."

There
was a silence of some moments' duration, and then the stranger spoke in a tone
of voice which looked as it he were struggling with some emotion.

"Sir,
you do know more of me than many. You know what I have been, and you know how I
left an occupation which would have made me loathed. But you—even you—do not
know what made me take to so terrible a trade."—"I do not."

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

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

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

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

"You
knew me years ago, when I had all the chances in the world of becoming
respectable and respected. I did, indeed; and you may, therefore, judge of my
surprise when, some years since, being in the metropolis, 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 leave you, but
insisted upon your dining with me. Then you told me, when you found that I
would take no other course whatever, that you were no other than
the—the——"—

"Out
with it! I can bear to hear it now better than I could then! I told you 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 to allow you to
do so, you would, from old associations, have countenanced me; but I could not,
and I would not, let you do so. I told you then that, although I held the
terrible office, that I had not been yet called upon to perform its loathsome
functions. Soon—soon—come the first 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, was why I went
ever to it. The wounds my heart had received were then too fresh to allow me to
speak of them, but I will tell you now. The story is a brief one, Mr.
Chillingworth. I pray you be seated."

THE STRANGE STORY.—THE ARRIVAL OF THE MOB AT THE HALL, AND
THEIR DISPERSION.

"You
will find that the time which elapsed since I last saw you in London, to have
been spent in an eventful, varied manner."—"You were in good
circumstances then," said Mr. Chillingworth.—"I was, but many events
happened after that which altered the prospect; made it even more gloomy than
you can well imagine: but I will tell you all candidly, and you can keep watch
upon Bannerworth Hall at the same time. You are well aware that I was well to
do, and had ample funds, and inclination to spend them."—"I
recollect: but you were married then, surely?"—"I was," said the
stranger, sadly, "I was married then."—"And now?"—"I
am a widower." The stranger seemed much moved, but, after a moment or so,
he resumed—"I am a widower now; but how that event came about is partly my
purpose to tell you. I had not married long—that is very long—for I have but
one child, and she is not old, or of an age to know much more than what she may
be taught; she is still in the course of education. I was early addicted to
gamble; the dice had its charms, as all those who have ever engaged in play but
too well know; it is perfectly fascinating."—"So I have heard,"
said Mr. Chillingworth; "though, for myself, I found a wife and
professional pursuits quite incompatible with any pleasure that took either
time or resources."—

"It
is so. I would I had never entered one of those houses where men are deprived
of their money and their own free will, for at the gambling-table you have no
liberty, save that in gliding down the stream in company with others. How few
have ever escaped destruction—none, I believe—men are perfectly fascinated; it
is ruin alone that enables a man to see how he has been hurried onwards without
thought or reflection; and how fallacious were all the hopes he ever
entertained! Yes, ruin, and ruin alone, can do this; but, alas! 'tis then too
late—the evil is done. Soon after my marriage I fell in with a Chevalier St.
John. He was a man of the world in every sense of the word, and one that was
well versed in all the ways of society. I never met with any man who was so
perfectly master of himself, and of perfect ease and self-confidence as he was.
He was never at a loss, and, come what would, never betrayed surprise or
vexation—two qualities, he thought, never ought to be shown by any man who
moved in society."—

"Indeed!"—"He
was a strange man—a very strange man."—

"Did
he gamble?"—

"It
is difficult to give you a correct and direct answer. I should say he did, and
yet he never lost or won much; but I have often thought he was more connected
with those who did than was believed."—

"Was
that a fact?" inquired Mr. Chillingworth.—

"You
shall see as we go on, and be able to judge for yourself. I have thought he
was. Well, he first took me to a handsome saloon, where gambling was carried
on. We had been to the opera. As we came out, he recommended that we should sup
at a house where he was well known, and where he was in the habit of spending
his evenings after the opera, and before he retired. I agreed to this. I saw no
reason why I should not. We went there, and bitterly have I repented of so
doing for years since, and do to this day."—

"Your
repentance has been sincere and lasting," said Mr. Chillingworth;
"the one proves the other."—"It does; but I thought not so then.
The place was glittering, and the wine good. It was a kind of earthly paradise;
and when we had taken some wine, the chevalier said to me,—

"'I
am desirous of seeing a friend backwards; he is at the hazard-table. Will you
go with me?'—I hesitated. I feared to see the place where a vice was carried
on. I knew myself inclined to prudential motives. I said to him,—'No, St. John,
I'll wait here for you; it may be as well—the wine is good, and it will content
me?'

"'Do
so,' he said, smiling; 'but remember I seldom or never play myself, nor is
there any reason why you should.'—'I'll go, but I will not play.'—'Certainly
not; you are free alike to look on, play, or quit the place at any moment you
please, and not be noticed, probably, by a single soul.'

"I
arose, and we walked backwards, having called one of the men who were waiting
about, but who were watchers and door-keepers of the 'hell.' We were led along
the passage, and passed through the pair of doors, which were well secured and
rendered the possibility of a surprise almost impossible. After these dark
places, we were suddenly let into a place where we were dazzled by the light
and brilliancy of the saloon. It was not so large as the one we left, but it
was superior to it in all its appointments.

"At
first I could not well see who was, or who was not, in the room where we were.
As soon, however, as I found the use of my eyes, I noticed many well-dressed
men, who were busily engaged in play, and who took no notice of any one who
entered. We walked about for some minutes without speaking to any one, but
merely looking on. I saw men engaged in play; some with earnestness, others
again with great nonchalance, and money changed hands without the least remark.
There were but few who spoke, and only those in play. There was a hum of
conversation; but you could not distinguish what was said, unless you paid some
attention to, and was in close vicinity with, the individual who spoke.

"'Well,'
said St. John, 'what do you think of this place?'—'Why,' I replied, 'I had no
notion of seeing a place fitted up as this is.'

"'No;
isn't it superb?'—'It is beautifully done. They have many visitors,' said I,
'many more than I could have believed.'

"'Yes,
they are all
 
bona fide
 
players; men of stamp and rank—none of
your seedy legs who have only what they can cheat you out of.'—'Ah!'—'And
besides,' he added, 'you may often form friendships here that lead to fortune
hereafter. I do not mean in play, because there is no necessity for your doing
so, or, if you do so, in going above a stake which you know won't hurt
you.'—'Exactly.'

"'Many
men can never approach a table like this, and sit down to an hour's play, but,
if they do, they must stake not only more than they can afford, but all their
property, leaving themselves beggars.' 'They do?" said I.

"'But
men who know themselves, their resources, and choose to indulge for a time, may
often come and lay the foundation to a very pretty fortune.'

"'Do
you see your friend?' I inquired.—'No, I do not; but I will inquire if he has
been here—if not, we will go.'

"He
left me for a moment or two to make some inquiry, and I stood looking at the
table, where there were four players, and who seemed to be engaged at a
friendly game; and when one party won they looked grave, and when the other
party lost they smiled and looked happy. I walked away, as the chevalier did
not return immediately to me; and then I saw a gentleman rise up from a table.
He had evidently lost. I was standing by the seat, unconsciously holding the
back in my hand. I sat down without thinking or without speaking, and found
myself at the hazard table.

"'Do
you play, sir?'—'Yes,' I said. I had hardly uttered the words when I was sorry
for them; but I could not recall them. I sat down, and play at once commenced.

"In
about ten or fifteen minutes, often losing and then winning, I found myself
about a hundred and twenty pounds in pocket, clear gain by the play.

"'Ah!'
said the chevalier, who came up at that moment, 'I thought you wouldn't
play.'—'I really don't know how it happened,' said I, 'but I suddenly found
myself here without any previous intention.'

"'You
are not a loser, I hope?'—'Indeed I am not,' I replied; 'but not much a
gainer.'

"'Nor
need you desire to be. Do you desire to give your adversary his revenge now, or
take another opportunity.'—'At another time,' I replied.

"'You
will find me here the day after to-morrow, when I shall be at your service;'
then bowing, he turned away.

"'He
is a very rich man whom you have been playing with,' said the chevalier.—"

"Indeed!"

"'Yes,
and I have known him to lose for three days together; but you may take his word
for any amount; he is a perfect gentleman and man of honour.'—''Tis well to
play with such,' I replied; 'but I suppose you are about to leave.'

"'Yes,
it grows late, and I have some business to transact to-morrow, so I must
leave.'—'I will accompany you part of the way home,' said I, 'and then I shall
have finished the night.'

"I
did leave with him, and accompanied him home, and then walked to my own
home."

"This
was my first visit, and I thought a propitious beginning, but it was the more
dangerous. Perhaps a loss might have effectually deterred me, but it is
doubtful to tell how certain events might have been altered. It is just
possible that I might have been urged on by my desire to retrieve any loss I
might have incurred, and so made myself at once the miserable being it took
months to accomplish in bringing me to.

"I
went the day but one after this, to meet the same individual at the
gambling-table, and played some time with varied success, until I left off with
a trifling loss upon the night's play, which was nothing of any consequence.

"Thus
matters went on; I sometimes won and sometimes lost, until I won a few
hundreds, and this determined me to play for higher stakes than any I had yet
played for.

"It
was no use going on in the peddling style I had been going on; I had won two
hundred and fifty pounds in three months, and had I been less fearful I might
have had twenty-five thousand pounds. Ah! I'll try my fortune at a higher game.

"Having
once made this resolution, I was anxious to begin my new plan, which I hoped
would have the effect of placing me far above my then present position in
society, which was good, and with a little attention it would have made me an
independent man; but then it required patience, and nothing more. However, the
other method was so superior since it might all be done with good luck in a few
months. Ah! good luck; how uncertain is good luck; how changeful is fortune;
how soon is the best prospect blighted by the frosts of adversity. In less than
a month I had lost more than I could pay, and then I gambled on for a living.

"My
wife had but one child; her first and only one; an infant at her breast; but
there was a change came over her; for one had come over me—a fearful one it was
too—one not only in manner but in fortune too. She would beg me to come home
early; to attend to other matters, and leave the dreadful life I was then leading.

"'Lizzy,'
said I, 'we are ruined.'—'Ruined!' she exclaimed, and staggered back, until she
fell into a seat. 'Ruined!'

"'Ay,
ruined. It is a short word, but expressive.'—'No, no, we are not ruined. I know
what you mean, you would say, we cannot live as we have lived; we must
retrench, and so we will, right willingly.'

"'You
must retrench most wonderfully,' I said, with desperate calmness, 'for the
murder must out.'—'And so we will; but you will be with us; you will not go out
night after night, ruining your health, our happiness, and destroying both
peace and prospects.'

"'No,
no, Lizzy, we have no chance of recovering ourselves; house and home—all
gone—all, all.'—'My God!' she exclaimed.

"'Ay,
rail on,' said I; 'you have cause enough; but, no matter—we have lost
all.'—'How—how?'

"'It
is useless to ask how; I have done, and there is an end of the matter; you
shall know more another day; we must leave this house for a lodging.'—'It
matters little,' she said; 'all may be won again, if you will but say you will
quit the society of those who have ruined you.'

"'No
one,' said I, 'has ruined me; I did it; it was no fault of any one else's; I
have not that excuse.'—'I am sure you can recover.'

"'I
may; some day fortune will shower her favours upon me, and I live on in that
expectation.'—'You cannot mean that you will chance the gaming-table? for I am
sure you must have lost all there?'

"'I
have.'—'God help me,' she said; 'you have done your child a wrong, but you may
repair it yet.'

"'Never!'—''Tis
a long day! let me implore you, on my knees, to leave this place, and adopt
some other mode of life; we can be careful; a little will do, and we shall, in
time, be equal to, and better than what we have been.'

"'We
never can, save by chance.'—'And by chance we never shall,' she replied; 'if
you will exert yourself, we may yet retrieve ourselves.'

"'And
exert myself I will.'—'And quit the gaming-table?'

"'Ask
me to make no promises,' said I; 'I may not be able to keep them; therefore,
ask me to make none.'—'I do ask you, beg of, entreat of you to promise, and
solemnly promise me that you will leave that fearful place, where men not only
lose all their goods, but the feelings of nature also.'

"'Say
no more, Lizzy; if I can get a living elsewhere I will, but if not, I must get
it there.'

"She
seemed to be cast down at this, and she shed tears. I left the room, and again
went to the gambling-house, and there that night, I won a few pounds, which
enabled me to take my wife and child away from the house they had so long lived
in, and took them afterwards to a miserable place,—one room, where, indeed,
there were a few articles of furniture that I had saved from the general wreck
of my own property.