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) (80 page)

"I
will speak to my mother, to George, and to my sister of the matter. They shall
decide."

Mr.
Marchdale now strove in every possible manner to raise the spirits of Henry
Bannerworth, by painting to him the future in far more radiant colours than the
present, and endeavouring to induce a belief in his mind that a short period of
time might after all replace in his mind, and in the minds of those who were
naturally so dear to him, all their wonted serenity.

Henry,
although he felt not much comfort from these kindly efforts, yet could feel
gratitude to him who made them; and after expressing such a feeling to
Marchdale, in strong terms, he repaired to the house, in order to hold a solemn
consultation with those whom he felt ought to be consulted as well as himself
as to what steps should be taken with regard to the Hall.

The
proposition, or rather the suggestion, which had been made by Marchdale upon
the proposition of Sir Francis Varney, was in every respect so reasonable and
just, that it met, as was to be expected, with the concurrence of every member
of the family.

Flora's
cheeks almost resumed some of their wonted colour at the mere thought now of
leaving that home to which she had been at one time so much attached.

"Yes,
dear Henry," she said, "let us leave here if you are agreeable so to
do, and in leaving this house, we will believe that we leave behind us a world
of terror."

"Flora,"
remarked Henry, in a tone of slight reproach, "if you were so anxious to
leave Bannerworth Hall, why did you not say so before this proposition came
from other mouths? You know your feelings upon such a subject would have been
laws to me."

"I
knew you were attached to the old house," said Flora; "and, besides,
events have come upon us all with such fearful rapidity, there has scarcely
been time to think."

"True—true."

"And
you will leave, Henry?"

"I
will call upon Sir Francis Varney myself, and speak to him upon the
subject."

A new
impetus to existence appeared now to come over the whole family, at the idea of
leaving a place which always would be now associated in their minds with so
much terror. Each member of the family felt happier, and breathed more freely
than before, so that the change which had come over them seemed almost magical.
And Charles Holland, too, was much better pleased, and he whispered to Flora,—

"Dear
Flora, you will now surely no longer talk of driving from you the honest heart
that loves you?"

"Hush,
Charles, hush!" she said; "meet me an hour hence in the garden, and
we will talk of this."

"That
hour will seem an age," he said.

Henry,
now, having made a determination to see Sir Francis Varney, lost no time in
putting it into execution. At Mr. Marchdale's own request, he took him with
him, as it was desirable to have a third person present in the sort of business
negotiation which was going on. The estate which had been so recently entered
upon by the person calling himself Sir Francis Varney, and which common report
said he had purchased, was a small, but complete property, and situated so
close to the grounds connected with Bannerworth Hall, that a short walk soon
placed Henry and Mr. Marchdale before the residence of this gentleman, who had
shown so kindly a feeling towards the Bannerworth family.

"Have
you seen Sir Francis Varney?" asked Henry of Mr. Marchdale, as he rung the
gate-bell.

"I
have not. Have you?"

"No;
I never saw him. It is rather awkward our both being absolute strangers to his
person."

"We
can but send in our names, however; and, from the great vein of courtesy that
runs through his letter, I have no doubt but we shall receive the most
gentlemanly reception from him."

A
servant in handsome livery appeared at the iron-gates, which opened upon a lawn
in the front of Sir Francis Varney's house, and to this domestic Henry
Bannerworth handed his card, on which he had written, in pencil, likewise the
name of Mr. Marchdale.

"If
your master," he said, "is within, we shall be glad to see him."

"Sir
Francis is at home, sir," was the reply, "although not very well. If
you will be pleased to walk in, I will announce you to him."

Henry
and Marchdale followed the man into a handsome enough reception-room, where
they were desired to wait while their names were announced.

"Do
you know if this gentleman be a baronet," said Henry, "or a knight
merely?"

"I
really do not; I never saw him in my life, or heard of him before he came into
this neighbourhood."

"And
I have been too much occupied with the painful occurrences of this hall to know
anything of our neighbours. I dare say Mr. Chillingworth, if we had thought to
ask him, would have known something concerning him."

"No
doubt."

This
brief colloquy was put an end to by the servant, who said,—

"My
master, gentlemen, is not very well; but he begs me to present his best
compliments, and to say he is much gratified with your visit, and will be happy
to see you in his study."

Henry
and Marchdale followed the man up a flight of stone stairs, and then they were
conducted through a large apartment into a smaller one. There was very little
light in this small room; but at the moment of their entrance a tall man, who
was seated, rose, and, touching the spring of a blind that was to the window,
it was up in a moment, admitting a broad glare of light. A cry of surprise,
mingled with terror, came from Henry Bannerworth's lip.
 
The original of the portrait on the
panel stood before him!
 
There
was the lofty stature, the long, sallow face, the slightly projecting teeth,
the dark, lustrous, although somewhat sombre eyes; the expression of the
features—all were alike.

"Are
you unwell, sir?" said Sir Francis Varney, in soft, mellow accents, as he
handed a chair to the bewildered Henry.

"God
of Heaven!" said Henry; "how like!"

"You
seem surprised, sir. Have you ever seen me before?"

Sir
Francis drew himself up to his full height, and cast a strange glance upon
Henry, whose eyes were rivetted upon his face, as if with a species of
fascination which he could not resist.

"Marchdale,"
Henry gasped; "Marchdale, my friend, Marchdale. I—I am surely mad."

"Hush!
be calm," whispered Marchdale.

"Calm—calm—can
you not see? Marchdale, is this a dream? Look—look—oh! look."

"For
God's sake, Henry, compose yourself."

"Is
your friend often thus?" said Sir Francis Varney, with the same
mellifluous tone which seemed habitual to him.

"No,
sir, he is not; but recent circumstances have shattered his nerves; and, to
tell the truth, you bear so strong a resemblance to an old portrait, in his
house, that I do not wonder so much as I otherwise should at his
agitation."

"Indeed."

"A
resemblance!" said Henry; "a resemblance! God of Heaven! it is the
face itself."

"You
much surprise me," said Sir Francis.

Henry
sunk into the chair which was near him, and he trembled violently. The rush of
painful thoughts and conjectures that came through his mind was enough to make
any one tremble. "Is this the vampyre?" was the horrible question
that seemed impressed upon his very brain, in letters of flame. "Is this
the vampyre?"

"Are
you better, sir?" said Sir Francis Varney, in his bland, musical voice.
"Shall I order any refreshment for you?"

"No—no,"
gasped Henry; "for the love of truth tell me! Is—is your name really
Varney!"

"Sir?"

"Have
you no other name to which, perhaps, a better title you could urge?"

"Mr.
Bannerworth, I can assure you that I am too proud of the name of the family to
which I belong to exchange it for any other, be it what it may."

"How
wonderfully like!"

"I
grieve to see you so much distressed. Mr. Bannerworth. I presume ill health has
thus shattered your nerves?"

"No;
ill health has not done the work. I know not what to say, Sir Francis Varney,
to you; but recent events in my family have made the sight of you full of
horrible conjectures."

"What
mean you, sir?"

"You
know, from common report, that we have had a fearful visitor at our
house."

"A
vampyre, I have heard," said Sir Francis Varney, with a bland, and almost
beautiful smile, which displayed his white glistening teeth to perfection.

"Yes;
a vampyre, and—and—"

"I
pray you go on, sir; you surely are far above the vulgar superstition of
believing in such matters?"

"My
judgment is assailed in too many ways and shapes for it to hold out probably as
it ought to do against so hideous a belief, but never was it so much bewildered
as now."

"Why
so?"

"Because—"

"Nay,
Henry," whispered Mr. Marchdale, "it is scarcely civil to tell Sir
Francis to his face, that he resembles a vampyre."

"I
must, I must."

"Pray,
sir," interrupted Varney to Marchdale, "permit Mr. Bannerworth to
speak here freely. There is nothing in the whole world I so much admire as
candour."

"Then
you so much resemble the vampyre," added Henry, "that—that I know not
what to think."

"Is
it possible?" said Varney.

"It
is a damning fact."

"Well,
it's unfortunate for me, I presume? Ah!"

Varney
gave a twinge of pain, as if some sudden bodily ailment had attacked him
severely.

"You
are unwell, sir?" said Marchdale.

"No,
no—no," he said; "I—hurt my arm, and happened accidentally to touch
the arm of this chair with it."

"A
hurt?" said Henry.

"Yes,
Mr. Bannerworth."

"A—a
wound?"

"Yes,
a wound, but not much more than skin deep. In fact, little beyond an abrasion
of the skin."

"May
I inquire how you came by it?"

"Oh,
yes. A slight fall."

"Indeed."

"Remarkable,
is it not? Very remarkable. We never know a moment when, from same most
trifling cause, we may receive really some serious bodily harm. How true it is,
Mr. Bannerworth, that in the midst of life we are in death."

"And
equally true, perhaps," said Henry, "that in the midst of death there
may be found a horrible life."

"Well,
I should not wonder. There are really so many strange things in this world,
that I have left off wondering at anything now."

"There
are strange things," said Henry. "You wish to purchase of me the
Hall, sir?"

"If
you wish to sell."

"You—you
are perhaps attached to the place? Perhaps you recollected it, sir, long
ago?"

"Not
very long," smiled Sir Francis Varney. "It seems a nice comfortable
old house; and the grounds, too, appear to be amazingly well wooded, which, to
one of rather a romantic temperament like myself, is always an additional charm
to a place. I was extremely pleased with it the first time I beheld it, and a
desire to call myself the owner of it took possession of my mind. The scenery
is remarkable for its beauty, and, from what I have seen of it, it is rarely to
be excelled. No doubt you are greatly attached to it."

"It
has been my home from infancy," returned Henry, "and being also the
residence of my ancestors for centuries, it is natural that I should be
so."

"True—true."

"The
house, no doubt, has suffered much," said Henry, "within the last
hundred years."

"No
doubt it has. A hundred years is a tolerable long space of time, you
know."

"It
is, indeed. Oh, how any human life which is spun out to such an extent, must
lose its charms, by losing all its fondest and dearest associations."

"Ah,
how true," said Sir Francis Varney. He had some minutes previously touched
a bell, and at this moment a servant brought in on a tray some wine and
refreshments.

HENRY'S AGREEMENT WITH SIR FRANCIS VARNEY.—THE SUDDEN
ARRIVAL AT THE HALL.—FLORA'S ALARM.

On
the tray which the servant brought into the room, were refreshments of
different kinds, including wine, and after waving his hand for the domestic to
retire, Sir Francis Varney said,—

"You
will be better, Mr. Bannerworth, for a glass of wine after your walk, and you
too, sir. I am ashamed to say, I have quite forgotten your name."

"Marchdale."

"Mr.
Marchdale. Ay, Marchdale. Pray, sir, help yourself."

"You
take nothing yourself?" said Henry.

"I
am under a strict regimen," replied Varney. "The simplest diet alone
does for me, and I have accustomed myself to long abstinence."

"He
will not eat or drink," muttered Henry, abstractedly.

"Will
you sell me the Hall?" said Sir Francis Varney.

Henry
looked in his face again, from which he had only momentarily withdrawn his
eyes, and he was then more struck than ever with the resemblance between him
and the portrait on the panel of what had been Flora's chamber. What made that
resemblance, too, one about which there could scarcely be two opinions, was the
mark or cicatrix of a wound in the forehead, which the painter had slightly
indented in the portrait, but which was much more plainly visible on the
forehead of Sir Francis Varney. Now that Henry observed this distinctive mark,
which he had not done before, he could feel no doubt, and a sickening sensation
came over him at the thought that he was actually now in the presence of one of
those terrible creatures, vampyres.

"You
do not drink," said Varney. "Most young men are not so modest with a
decanter of unimpeachable wine before them. I pray you help yourself."

"I
cannot."

Henry
rose as he spoke, and turning to Marchdale, he said, in addition,—

"Will
you come away?"

"If
you please," said Marchdale, rising.

"But
you have not, my dear sir," said Varney, "given me yet any answer
about the Hall?"

"I
cannot yet," answered Henry, "I will think. My present impression is,
to let you have it on whatever terms you may yourself propose, always provided
you consent to one of mine."

"Name
it."

"That
you never show yourself in my family."

"How
very unkind. I understand you have a charming sister, young, beautiful, and
accomplished. Shall I confess, now, that I had hopes of making myself agreeable
to her?"

"You
make yourself agreeable to her? The sight of you would blast her for ever, and
drive her to madness."

"Am
I so hideous?"

"No,
but—you are—"

"What
am I?"

"Hush,
Henry, hush," cried Marchdale. "Remember you are in this gentleman's
house."

"True,
true. Why does he tempt me to say these dreadful things? I do not want to say
them."

"Come
away, then—come away at once. Sir Francis Varney, my friend, Mr. Bannerworth,
will think over your offer, and let you know. I think you may consider that
your wish to become the purchaser of the Hall will be complied with."

"I
wish to have it," said Varney, "and I can only say, that if I am
master of it, I shall be very happy to see any of the family on a visit at any
time."

"A
visit!" said Henry, with a shudder. "A visit to the tomb were far
more desirable. Farewell, sir."

"Adieu,"
said Sir Francis Varney, and he made one of the most elegant bows in the world,
while there came over his face a peculiarity of expression that was strange, if
not painful, to contemplate. In another minute Henry and Marchdale were clear
of the house, and with feelings of bewilderment and horror, which beggar all
description, poor Henry allowed himself to be led by the arm by Marchdale to
some distance, without uttering a word. When he did speak, he said,—

"Marchdale,
it would be charity of some one to kill me."

"To
kill you!"

"Yes,
for I am certain otherwise that I must go mad."

"Nay,
nay; rouse yourself."

"This
man, Varney, is a vampyre."

"Hush!
hush!"

"I
tell you, Marchdale," cried Henry, in a wild, excited manner, "he is
a vampyre. He is the dreadful being who visited Flora at the still hour of
midnight, and drained the life-blood from her veins. He is a vampyre. There are
such things. I cannot doubt now. Oh, God, I wish now that your lightnings would
blast me, as here I stand, for over into annihilation, for I am going mad to be
compelled to feel that such horrors can really have existence."

"Henry—Henry."

"Nay,
talk not to me. What can I do? Shall I kill him? Is it not a sacred duty to
destroy such a thing? Oh, horror—horror. He must be killed—destroyed—burnt, and
the very dust to which he is consumed must be scattered to the winds of Heaven.
It would be a deed well done, Marchdale."

"Hush!
hush! These words are dangerous."

"I
care not."

"What
if they were overheard now by unfriendly ears? What might not be the
uncomfortable results? I pray you be more cautious what you say of this strange
man."

"I
must destroy him."

"And
wherefore?"

"Can
you ask? Is he not a vampyre?"

"Yes;
but reflect, Henry, for a moment upon the length to which you might carry out
so dangerous an argument. It is said that vampyres are made by vampyres sucking
the blood of those who, but for that circumstance, would have died and gone to
decay in the tomb along with ordinary mortals; but that being so attacked
during life by a vampyre, they themselves, after death, become such."

"Well—well,
what is that to me?"

"Have
you forgotten Flora?"

A cry
of despair came from poor Henry's lips, and in a moment he seemed completely,
mentally and physically, prostrated.

"God
of Heaven!" he moaned, "I had forgotten her!"

"I
thought you had."

"Oh,
if the sacrifice of my own life would suffice to put an end to all this
accumulating horror, how gladly would I lay it down. Ay, in any way—in any way.
No mode of death should appal me. No amount of pain make me shrink. I could
smile then upon the destroyer, and say, 'welcome—welcome—most welcome.'"

"Rather,
Henry, seek to live for those whom you love than die for them. Your death would
leave them desolate. In life you may ward off many a blow of fate from
them."

"I
may endeavour so to do."

"Consider
that Flora may be wholly dependent upon such kindness as you may be able to
bestow upon her."

"Charles
clings to her."

"Humph!"

"You
do not doubt him?"

"My
dear friend, Henry Bannerworth, although I am not an old man, yet I am so much
older than you that I have seen a great deal of the world, and am, perhaps, far
better able to come to accurate judgments with regard to individuals."

"No
doubt—no doubt; but yet—"

"Nay,
hear me out. Such judgments, founded upon experience, when uttered have all the
character of prophecy about them. I, therefore, now prophecy to you that
Charles Holland will yet be so stung with horror at the circumstance of a
vampyre visiting Flora, that he will never make her his wife."

"Marchdale,
I differ from you most completely," said Henry. "I know that Charles
Holland is the very soul of honour."

"I
cannot argue the matter with you. It has not become a thing of fact. I have
only sincerely to hope that I am wrong."

"You
are, you may depend, entirely wrong. I cannot be deceived in Charles. From you
such words produce no effect but one of regret that you should so much err in
your estimate of any one. From any one but yourself they would have produced in
me a feeling of anger I might have found it difficult to smother."

"It
has often been my misfortune through life," said Mr. Marchdale, sadly,
"to give the greatest offence where I feel the truest friendship, because
it is in such quarters that I am always tempted to speak too freely."

"Nay,
no offence," said Henry. "I am distracted, and scarcely know what I
say. Marchdale, I know you are my sincere friend—but, as I tell you, I am
nearly mad."

"My
dear Henry, be calmer. Consider upon what is to be said concerning this
interview at home."

"Ay;
that is a consideration."

"I
should not think it advisable to mention the disagreeable fact, that in your
neighbour you think you have found out the nocturnal disturber of your
family."

"No—no."

"I
would say nothing of it. It is not at all probable that, after what you have
said to him this Sir Francis Varney, or whatever his real name may be will
obtrude himself upon you."

"If
he should he die."

"He
will, perhaps, consider that such a step would be dangerous to him."

"It
would be fatal, so help me. However, and then would I take especial care that
no power of resuscitation should ever enable that man again to walk the
earth."

"They
say that only way of destroying a vampyre is to fix him to the earth with a
stake, so that he cannot move, and then, of course, decomposition will take its
course, as in ordinary cases."

"Fire
would consume him, and be a quicker process," said Henry. "But these
are fearful reflections, and, for the present, we will not pursue them. Now to
play the hypocrite, and endeavour to look composed and serene to my mother, and
to Flora while my heart is breaking."

The
two friends had by this time reached the hall, and leaving his friend
Marchdale, Henry Bannerworth, with feelings of the most unenviable description,
slowly made his way to the apartment occupied by his mother and sister.