The Penny Dreadfuls MEGAPACK™ (101 page)

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.

CHAPTER XV.

THE OLD ADMIRAL AND HIS SERVANT.—THE COMMUNICATION FROM THE LANDLORD OF TH
E NELSON’S ARMS.

While those matters of most grave and serious import were going on at the Hall, while each day, and almost each hour in each day, was producing more and more conclusive evidence upon a matter which at first had seemed too monstrous to be at all credited, it may well be supposed what a wonderful sensation was produced among the gossip-mongers of the neighbourhood by the exaggerated reports that had reached them.

The servants, who had left the Hall on no other account, as they declared, but sheer fright at the awful visits of the vampire, spread the news far and wide, so that in the adjoining villages and market-towns the vampire of Bannerworth Hall became quite a staple article of conversation.

Such a positive godsend for the lovers of the marvellous had not appeared in the country side within the memory of that sapient individual—the oldest inhabitant.

And, moreover, there was one thing which staggered some people of better education and maturer judgments, and that was, that the more they took pains to inquire into the matter, in order, if possible, to put an end to what they considered a gross lie from the commencement, the more evidence they found to stagger their own senses upon the subject.

Everywhere then, in every house, public as well as private, something was being continually said of the vampire. Nursery maids began to think a vampire vastly superior to “old scratch and old bogie” as a means of terrifying their infant charges into quietness, if not to sleep, until they themselves became too much afraid upon the subject to mention it.

But nowhere was gossiping carried on upon the subject with more systematic fervour than at an inn called the Nelson’s Arms, which was in the high street of the nearest market town to the Hall.

There, it seemed as if the lovers of the horrible made a point of holding their head quarters, and so thirsty did the numerous discussions make the guests, that the landlord was heard to declare that he, from his heart, really considered a vampire as very nearly equal to a contested election.

It was towards evening of the same day that Marchdale and Henry made their visit to Sir Francis Varney, that a postchaise drew up to the inn we have mentioned. In the vehicle were two persons of exceedingly dissimilar appearance and general aspect.

One of these people was a man who seemed fast verging upon seventy years of age, although, from his still ruddy and embrowned complexion and stentorian voice, it was quite evident he intended yet to keep time at arm’s-length for many years to come.

He was attired in ample and expensive clothing, but every article had a naval animus about it, it we may be allowed such an expression with regard to clothing. On his buttons was an anchor, and the general assortment and colour of the clothing as nearly assimilated as possible to the undress naval uniform of an officer of high rank some fifty or sixty years ago.

His companion was a younger man, and about his appearance there was no secret at all. He was a genuine sailor, and he wore the shore costume of one. He was hearty-looking, and well dressed, and evidently well fed.

As the chaise drove up to the door of the inn, this man made an observation to the other to the following effect—

“A-hoy!”

“Well, you lubber, what now?” cried the other.

“They call this the Nelson’s Arms; and you know, shiver me, that for the best half of his life he had but one.”

“Damn you!” was the only rejoinder he got for this observation; but, with that, he seemed very well satisfied.

“Heave to!” he then shouted to the postilion, who was about to drive the chaise into the yard. “Heave to, you lubberly son of a gun! we don’t want to go into dock.”

“Ah!” said the old man, “let’s get out, Jack. This is the port; and, do you hear, and be cursed to you, let’s have no swearing, damn you, nor bad language, you lazy swab.”

“Aye, aye,” cried Jack; “I’ve not been ashore now a matter o’ ten years, and not larnt a little shore-going politeness, admiral, I ain’t been your
walley de sham
without larning a little about land reckonings. Nobody would take me for a sailor now, I’m thinking, admiral.”

“Hold your noise!”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Jack, as he was called, bundled out of the chaise when the door was opened, with a movement so closely resembling what would have ensued had he been dragged out by the collar, that one was tempted almost to believe that such a feat must have been accomplished all at once by some invisible agency.

He then assisted the old gentleman to alight, and the landlord of the inn commenced the usual profusion of bows with which a passenger by a postchaise is usually welcomed in preference to one by a stage coach.

“Be quiet, will you!” shouted the admiral, for such indeed he was. “Be quiet.”

“Best accommodation, sir—good wine—well-aired beds—good attendance—fine air—”

“Belay there,” said Jack; and he gave the landlord what no doubt he considered a gentle admonition, but which consisted of such a dig in the ribs, that he made as many evolutions as the clown in a pantomime when he vociferates hot codlings.

“Now, Jack, where’s the sailing instructions?” said his master.

“Here, sir, in the locker,” said Jack, a he took from his pocket a letter, which he handed to the admiral.

“Won’t you step in, sir?” said the landlord, who had begun now to recover a little from the dig in the ribs.

“What’s the use of coming into port and paying harbour dues, and all that sort of thing, till we know if it’s the right, you lubber, eh?”

“No; oh, dear me, sir, of course—God bless me, what can the old gentleman mean?”

The admiral opened the letter, and read:—

“If you stop at the Nelson’s Aims at Uxotter, you will hear of me, and I can be sent for, when I will tell you more.

“Yours, very obediently and humbly,

“JOSIAH CRINKLES.”

“Who the deuce is he?”

“This is Uxotter, sir,” said the landlord; “and here you are, sir, at the Nelson’s Arms. Good beds—good wine—good—”

“Silence!”

“Yes, sir—oh, of course”

“Who the devil is Josiah Crinkles?”

“Ha! ha! ha! ha! Makes me laugh, sir. Who the devil indeed! They do say the devil and lawyers, sir, know something of each other—makes me smile.”

“I’ll make you smile on the other side of that damned great hatchway of a mouth of yours in a minute. Who is Crinkles?”

“Oh, Mr. Crinkles, sir, everybody knows, most respectable attorney, sir, indeed, highly respectable man, sir.”

“A lawyer?”

“Yes, sir, a lawyer.”

“Well, I’m damned!”

Jack gave a long whistle, and both master and man looked at each other aghast.

“Now, hang me!” cried the admiral, “if ever I was so taken in in all my life.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” said Jack.

“To come a hundred and seventy miles see a damned swab of a rascally lawyer.”

“Ay, ay, sir.”

“I’ll smash him—Jack!”

“Yer honour?”

“Get into the chaise again.”

“Well, but where’s Master Charles? Lawyers, in course, sir, is all blessed rogues; but, howsomdever, he may have for once in his life this here one of ’em have told us of the right channel, and if so be as he has, don’t be the Yankee to leave him among the pirates. I’m ashamed on you.”

“You infernal scoundrel; how dare you preach to me in such a way, you lubberly rascal?”

“Cos you desarves it.”

“Mutiny—mutiny—by Jove! Jack, I’ll have you put in irons—you’re a scoundrel, and no seaman.”

“No seaman!—no seaman!”

“Not a bit of one.”

“Very good. It’s time, then, as I was off the purser’s books. Good bye to you; I only hopes as you may get a better seaman to stick to you and be your
walley de sham
nor Jack Pringle, that’s all the harm I wish you. You didn’t call me no seaman in the Bay of Corfu, when the bullets were scuttling our nobs.”

“Jack, you rascal, give us your fin. Come here, you damned villain. You’ll leave me, will you?”

“Not if I know it.”

“Come in, then”

“Don’t tell me I’m no seaman. Call me a wagabone if you like, but don’t hurt my feelings. There I’m as tender as a baby, I am.—Don’t do it.”

“Confound you, who is doing it?”

“The devil.”

“Who is?”

“Don’t, then.”

Thus wrangling, they entered the inn, to the great amusement of several bystanders, who had collected to hear the altercation between them.

“Would you like a private room, sir?” said the landlord.

“What’s that to you?” said Jack.

“Hold your noise, will you?” cried his master. “Yes, I should like a private room, and some grog.”

“Strong as the devil!” put in Jack.

“Yes, sir-yes, sir. Good wines—good beds—good—”

“You said all that before, you know,” remarked Jack, as he bestowed upon the landlord another terrific dig in the ribs.

“Hilloa!” cried the admiral, “you can send for that infernal lawyer, Mister Landlord.”

“Mr. Crinkles, sir?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Who may I have the honour to say, sir, wants to see him?”

“Admiral Bell.”

“Certainly, admiral, certainly. You’ll find him a very conversible, nice, gentlemanly little man, sir.”

“And tell him as Jack Pringle is here, too,” cried the seaman.

“Oh, yes, yes—of course,” said the landlord, who was in such a state of confusion from the digs in the ribs he had received and the noise his guests had already made in his house, that, had he been suddenly put upon his oath, he would scarcely have liked to say which was the master and which was the man.

“The idea now, Jack,” said the admiral, “of coming all this way to see a lawyer.”

“Ay, ay, sir.”

“If he’d said he was a lawyer, we would have known what to do. But it’s a take in, Jack.”

“So I think. Howsomdever, we’ll serve him out when we catch him, you know.”

“Good—so we will.”

“And, then, again, he may know something about Master Charles, sir, you know. Lord love him, don’t you remember when he came aboard to see you once at Portsmouth?”

“Ah! I do, indeed.”

“And how he said he hated the French, and quite a baby, too. What perseverance and sense. ‘Uncle,’ says he to you, ‘when I’m a big man, I’ll go in a ship, and fight all the French in a heap,’ says he. ‘And beat ’em, my boy, too,’ says you; cos you thought he’d forgot that; and then he says, ‘what’s the use of saying that, stupid?—don’t we always beat ’em?’”

The admiral laughed and rubbed his hands, as he cried aloud—

“I remember, Jack—I remember him. I was stupid to make such a remark.”

“I know you was—a damned old fool I thought you.”

“Come, come. Hilloa, there!”

“Well, then, what do you call me no seaman for?”

“Why, Jack, you bear malice like a marine.”

“There you go again. Goodbye. Do you remember when we were yard arm to yard arm with those two Yankee frigates, and took ’em both! You didn’t call me a marine then, when the scuppers were running with blood. Was I a seaman then?”

“You were, Jack—you were; and you saved my life.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“I say I didn’t—it was a marlin-spike.”

“But I say you did, you rascally scoundrel.—I say you did, and I won’t be contradicted in my own ship.”

“Call this your ship?”

“No, damn it—I—”

“Mr. Crinkles,” said the landlord, flinging the door wide open, and so at once putting an end to the discussion which always apparently had a tendency to wax exceedingly warm.

“The shark, by God!” said Jack.

A little, neatly dressed man made his appearance, and advanced rather timidly into the room. Perhaps he had heard from the landlord that the parties who had sent for him were of rather a violent sort.

“So you are Crinkles, are you?” cried the admiral. “Sit down, though you are a lawyer.”

“Thank you, sir. I am an attorney, certainly, and my name as certainly is Crinkles.”

“Look at that.”

The admiral placed the letter in the little lawyer’s hands, who said—

“Am I to read it?”

“Yes, to be sure.”

“Aloud?”

“Read it to the devil, if you like, in a pig’s whisper, or a West India hurricane.”

“Oh, very good, sir. I—I am willing to be agreeable, so I’ll read it aloud, if it’s all the same to you.”

He then opened the letter, and read as follows:—

“To Admiral Bell.

“Admiral—

“Being, from various circumstances, aware that you take a warm and a praiseworthy interest in your nephew, Charles Holland, I venture to write to you concerning a matter in which your immediate and active co-operation with others may rescue him from a condition which will prove, if allowed to continue, very much to his detriment, and ultimate unhappiness.

“You are, then, hereby informed, that he, Charles Holland, has, much earlier than he ought to have done, returned to England, and that the object of his return is to contract a marriage into a family in every way objectionable, and with a girl who is highly objectionable.

“You, admiral, are his nearest and almost his only relative in the world; you are the guardian of his property, and, therefore, it becomes a duty on your part to interfere to save him from the ruinous consequences of a marriage, which is sure to bring ruin and distress upon himself and all who take an interest in his welfare.

“The family he wishes to marry into is named Bannerworth, and the young lady’s name is Flora Bannerworth. When, however, I inform you that a vampire is in that family, and that if he marries into it, he marries a vampire, and will have vampires for children, I trust I have said enough to warn you upon the subject, and to induce you to lose no time in repairing to the spot.

“If you stop at the Nelson’s Arms at Uxotter, you will hear of me. I can be sent for, when I will tell you more.