The Penny Dreadfuls MEGAPACK™ (105 page)

“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 vampires.”

“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 vampire 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.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE ADMIRAL’S ADVICE.—THE CHALLENGE TO THE VAMPIRE.—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 devil 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 vampire?”

“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 newcomers, 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 damned 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 vampire, 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 damn 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, damn 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 damned 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, damned 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! damn 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.”