The Penny Dreadfuls MEGAPACK™ (157 page)

He then made to himself much the same remark that Sir Francis Varney had made to Marchdale, with respect to the brightening up of the sky, in consequence of its being near the time for the moon to rise from the horizon, and he saw more clearly around him, although he could not find any good place to hide the handkerchiefs in.

“I must and will,” he said, “hide them securely; for it would, indeed, be remarkably unpleasant, after coming here and winning my wages, to have the proofs that I had done so taken away by some chance visitor to the place.”

He at length saw a tolerably large stone, which stood, in a slant position, up against one of the walls. Its size attracted him. He thought, if his strength was sufficient to move it, that it would be a good thing to do so, and to place the handkerchiefs beneath it; for, at all events, it was so heavy that it could not be kicked aside, and no one, without some sort of motive to do so, beyond the mere love of labour, would set about moving it from its position.

“I may go further and fare worse,” he said to himself; “so here shall all the handkerchiefs lie, to afford a proof that I have been here.”

He packed them into a small compass, and then stooped to roll aside the heavy stone, when, at the moment, before he could apply his strength to that purpose, he heard some one, in his immediate neighbourhood, say—“Hist!”

This was so sudden, and so utterly unexpected, that he not only ceased his exertions to move the stone, but he nearly fell down in his surprise.

“Hist—hist!” said the voice again.

“What—what,” gasped Tom Eccles—“what are you?”

“Hush—hush—hush!”

The perspiration broke out upon his brow, and he leaned against the wall for support, as he managed to say, faintly—

“Well, hush—what then?”

“Hist!”

“Well, I hear you. Where are you?”

“Here at hand. Who are you?”

“Tom Eccles. Who are you?”

“A friend. Have you seen anything?”

“No; I wish I could. I should like to see you if I could.”

“I’m coming.”

There was a slow and cautious footstep, and Marchdale advanced to where Tom Eccles was standing.

“Come, now,” said the latter, when he saw the dusky-looking form stalking towards him; “till I know you better, I’ll be obliged to you to keep off. I am well armed. Keep your distance, be you friend or foe.”

“Armed!” exclaimed Marchdale, and he at once paused.—“Yes, I am.”

“But I am a friend. I have no sort of objection frankly to telly you my errand. I am a friend of the Bannerworth family, and have kept watch here now for two nights, in the hopes of meeting with Varney, the vampire.”

“The deuce you have: and pray what may your name be?”

“Marchdale.”

“If you be Mr. Marchdale, I know you by sight: for I have seen you with Mr. Henry Bannerworth several times. Come out from among the shadows, and let us have a look at you; but, till you do, don’t come within arm’s length of me. I am not naturally suspicious; but we cannot be too careful.”

“Oh! certainly—certainly. The silver edge of the moon is now just peeping up from the east, and you will be able to see me well, if you step from the shadow of the wall by which you now are.”

This was a reasonable enough proposition, and Tom Eccles at once acceded to it, by stepping out boldly into the partial moonlight, which now began to fall upon the open meadows, tinting the grass with a silvery refulgence, and rendering even minute objects visible. The moment he saw Marchdale he knew him, and, advancing frankly to him, he said—

“I know you, sir, well.”

“And what brings you here?”

“A wager for one thing, and a wish to see the vampire for another.”

“Indeed!”

“Yes; I must own I have such a wish, along with a still stronger one, to capture him, if possible; and, as there are now two of us, why may we not do it?”

“As for capturing him,” said Marchdale, “I should prefer shooting him.”

“You would?”

“I would, indeed. I have seen him once shot down, and he is now, I have no doubt, as well as ever. What were you doing with that huge stone I saw you bending over?”

“I have some handkerchiefs to hide here, as a proof that I have tonight really been to this place.”

“Oh, I will show you a better spot, where there is a crevice in which you can place them with perfect safety. Will you walk with me into the ruins?”

“Willingly.”

“It’s odd enough,” remarked Marchdale, after he had shown Tom Eccles where to hide the handkerchiefs, “that you and I should both be here upon so similar an errand.”

“I’m very glad of it. It robs the place of its gloom, and makes it ten times more endurable than it otherwise would be. What do you propose to do if you see the vampire?”

“I shall try a pistol bullet on him. You say you are armed?”

“Yes.”

“With pistols?”

“One. Here it is.”

“A huge weapon; loaded well, of course?”

“Oh, yes, I can depend upon it; but I did not intend to use it, unless assailed.”

“’Tis well. What is that?”

“What—what?”

“Don’t you see anything there? Come farther back. Look—look. At the corner of that wall there I am certain there is the flutter of a human garment.”

“There is—there is.”

“Hush! Keep close. It must be the vampire.”

“Give me my pistol. What are you doing with it?”

“Only ramming down the charge more firmly for you. Take it. If that be Varney the vampire, I shall challenge him to surrender the moment he appears; and if he does not, I will fire upon him, and do you do so likewise.”

“Well, I—I don’t know.”

“You have scruples?”

“I certainly have.”

“Well, well—don’t you fire, then, but leave it to me. There; look—look. Now have you any doubt? There he goes; in his cloak. It is—it is—”

“Varney, by Heavens!” cried Tom Eccles.

“Surrender!” shouted Marchdale.

At the instant Sir Francis Varney sprang forward, and made off at a rapid pace across the meadows.

“Fire after him—fire!” cried Marchdale, “or he will escape. My pistol has missed fire. He will be off.”

On the impulse of the moment, and thus urged by the voice and the gesture of his companion, Tom Eccles took aim as well as he could, and fired after the retreating form of Sir Francis Varney. His conscience smote him as he heard the report and saw the flash of the large pistol amid the half sort of darkness that was still around.

The effect of the shot was then to him painfully apparent. He saw Varney stop instantly; then make a vain attempt to stagger forward a little, and finally fall heavily to the earth, with all the appearance of one killed upon the spot.

“You have hit him,” said Marchdale—“you have hit him. Bravo!”

“I have—hit him.”

“Yes, a capital shot, by Jove!”

“I am very sorry.”

“Sorry! sorry for ridding the world of such a being! What was in your pistol?”

“A couple of slugs.”

“Well, they have made a lodgment in him, that’s quite clear. Let’s go up and finish him at once.”

“He seems finished.”

“I beg your pardon there. When the moonbeams fall upon him he’ll get up and walk away as if nothing was the matter.”

“Will he?” cried Tom, with animation—“will he?”

“Certainly he will.”

“Thank God for that. Now, hark you, Mr. Marchdale: I should not have fired if you had not at the moment urged me to do so. Now, I shall stay and see if the effect which you talk of will ensue; and although it may convince me that he is a vampire, and that there are such things, he may go off, scot free, for me.”

“Go off?”

“Yes; I don’t want to have even a vampire’s blood upon my hands.”

“You are exceedingly delicate.”

“Perhaps I am; it’s my way, though. I have shot him—not you, mind; so, in a manner of speaking, he belongs to me. Now, mark, me: I won’t have him touched any more tonight, unless you think there’s a chance of making a prisoner of him without violence.”

“There he lies; you can go and make a prisoner of him at once, dead as he is; and if you take him out of the moonlight—”

“I understand; he won’t recover.”

“Certainly not.”

“But, as I want him to recover, that don’t suit me.”

“Well, I cannot but honour your scruples, although I do not actually share in them; but I promise you that, since such is your wish, I will take no steps against the vampire; but let us come up to him and see if he be really dead, or only badly wounded.”

Tom Eccles hang back a little from this proposal; but, upon being urged again by Marchdale, and told that he need not go closer than he chose, he consented, and the two of them approached the prostrate form of Sir Francis Varney, which lay upon its face in the faint moonlight, which each moment was gathering strength and power.

“He lies upon his face,” said Marchdale. “Will you go and turn him over?”

“Who—I? God forbid I should touch him.”

“Well—well, I will. Come on.”

They halted within a couple of yards of the body. Tom Eccles would not go a step farther; so Marchdale advanced alone, and pretended to be, with great repugnance, examining for the wound.

“He is quite dead,” he said; “but I cannot see the hurt.”

“I think he turned his head as I fired.”

“Did he? Let us see.”

Marchdale lifted up the head, and disclosed such a mass of clotted-looking blood, that Tom Eccles at once took to his heels, nor stopped until he was nearly as far off as the ruins. Marchdale followed him more slowly, and when he came up to him, he said—

“The slugs have taken effect on his face.”

“I know it—I know it. Don’t tell me.”

“He looks horrible.”

“And I am a murderer.”

“Psha! You look upon this matter too seriously. Think of who and what he was, and then you will soon acquit yourself of being open to any such charge.”

“I am bewildered, Mr. Marchdale, and cannot now know whether he be a vampire or not. If he be not, I have murdered, most unjustifiably, a fellow-creature.”

“Well, but if he be?”

“Why, even then I do not know but that I ought to consider myself as guilty. He is one of God’s creatures if he were ten times a vampire.”

“Well, you really do take a serious view of the affair.”

“Not more serious than it deserves.”

“And what do you mean to do?”

“I shall remain here to await the result of what you tell me will ensue, if he be a real vampire. Even now the moonbeams are full upon him, and each moment increasing in intensity. Think you he will recover?”

“I do indeed.”

“Then here will I wait.”

“Since that is you resolve, I will keep you company. We shall easily find some old stone in the ruins which will serve us for a seat, and there at leisure we can keep our eyes upon the dead body, and be able to observe if it make the least movement.”

This plan was adopted, and they sat down just within the ruins, but in such a place that they had a full view of the dead body, as it appeared to be, of Sir Francis Varney, upon which the sweet moonbeams shone full and clear.

Tom Eccles related how he was incited to come upon his expedition, but he might have spared himself that trouble, as Marchdale had been in a retired corner of the inn parlour before he came to his appointment with Varney, and heard the business for the most part proposed.

Half-an-hour, certainly not more, might have elapsed; when suddenly Tom Eccles uttered an exclamation, partly of surprise and partly of terror—

“He moves; he moves!” he cried. “Look at the vampire’s body.”

Marchdale affected to look with an all-absorbing interest, and there was Sir Francis Varney, raising slowly one arm with the hand outstretched towards the moon, as if invoking that luminary to shed more of its beams upon him. Then the body moved slowly, like some one writhing in pain, and yet unable to move from the spot on which it lay. From the head to the foot, the whole frame seemed to be convulsed, and now and then as the ghastly object seemed to be gathering more strength, the limbs were thrown out with a rapid and a frightful looking violence.

It was truly to one, who might look upon it as a reality and no juggle, a frightful sight to see, and although Marchdale, of course, tolerably well preserved his equanimity, only now and then, for appearance sake, affecting to be wonderfully shocked, poor Tom Eccles was in such a state of horror and fright that he could not, if he would, have flown from the spot, so fascinated was he by the horrible spectacle.

This was a state of things which continued for many minutes, and then the body showed evident symptoms of so much returning animation, that it was about to rise from his gory bed and mingle once again with the living.

“Behold!” said Marchdale—“behold!”

“Heaven have mercy upon us!”

“It is as I said; the beams of the moon have revived the vampire. You perceive now that there can be no doubt.”

“Yes, yes, I see him; I see him.”

Sir Francis Varney now, as if with a great struggle, rose to his feet, and looked up at the bright moon for some moments with such an air and manner that it would not have required any very great amount of imagination to conceive that he was returning to it some sort of thanksgiving for the good that it had done to him.

He then seemed for some moments in a state of considerable indecision as to which way he should proceed. He turned round several times. Then he advanced a step or two towards the house, but apparently his resolution changed again, and casting his eyes upon the ruins, he at once made towards them.

This was too much for the philosophy as well as for the courage of Tom Eccles. It was all very well to look on at some distance, and observe the wonderful and inexplicable proceedings of the vampire; but when he showed symptoms of making a nearer acquaintance, it was not to be borne.

“Why, he’s coming here,” said Tom.—“He seems so indeed,” remarked Marchdale.

“Do you mean to stay?”

“I think I shall.”

“You do, do you?”

“Yes, I should much like to question him, and as we are two to one I think we really can have nothing to fear.”

“Do you? I’m altogether of a different opinion. A man who has more lives than a cat don’t much mind at what odds he fights. You may stay if you like.”