Authors: George W. M. Reynolds,James Malcolm Rymer
"Then
it must be done with something like danger."
"As
you please."
"You
say so, and your words bear a clear enough signification; but from your tone I
can guess how much you are dissatisfied with the aspect of affairs."
"Dissatisfied!"
"Yes;
I say, dissatisfied. Be frank, and own that which it is in vain to conceal from
me. I know you too well; arch hypocrite as you are, and fully capable of easily
deceiving many, you cannot deceive me."
"I
really cannot understand you."
"Then
I will take care that you shall."
"How?"
"Listen.
I will not have the life of Charles Holland taken."
"Who
wishes to take it?"
"You."
"There,
indeed, you wrong me. Unless you yourself thought that such an act was
imperatively called for by the state of affairs, do you think that I would
needlessly bring down upon my head the odium as well as the danger of such a
deed? No, no. Let him live, if you are willing; he may live a thousand years
for all I care."
"'Tis
well. I am, mark me, not only willing, but I am determined that he shall live
so far as we are concerned. I can respect the courage that, even when he
considered that his life was at stake, enabled him to say no to a proposal
which was cowardly and dishonourable, although it went far to the defeat of my
own plans and has involved me in much trouble."
"Hush!
hush!"
"What
is it?"
"I
fancy I hear a footstep."
"Indeed;
that were a novelty in such a place as this."
"And
yet not more than I expected. Have you forgotten what I told you when I reached
here to-night after the appointed hour?"
"Truly;
I had for the moment. Do you think then that the footstep which now meets our
ears, is that of the adventurer who boasted that he could keep watch for the
vampyre?"
"In
faith do I. What is to be done with such a meddling fool?"
"He
ought certainly to be taught not to be so fond of interfering with other
people's affairs."
"Certainly."
"Perchance
the lesson will not be wholly thrown away upon others. It may be worth while to
take some trouble with this poor valiant fellow, and let him spread his news so
as to stop any one else from being equally venturous and troublesome."
"A
good thought."
"Shall
it be done?"
"Yes;
if you will arrange that which shall accomplish such a result."
"Be
it so. The moon rises soon."
"It
does."
"Ah,
already I fancy I see a brightening of the air as if the mellow radiance of the
queen of night were already quietly diffusing itself throughout the realms of
space. Come further within the ruins."
They
both walked further among the crumbling walls and fragments of columns with
which the place abounded. As they did so they paused now and then to listen,
and more than once they both heard plainly the sound of certain footsteps
immediately outside the once handsome and spacious building.
Varney,
the vampyre, who had been holding this conversation with no other than
Marchdale, smiled as he, in a whispered voice, told the latter what to do in
order to frighten away from the place the foolhardy man who thought that, by
himself, he should be able to accomplish anything against the vampyre.
It
was, indeed, a hair-brained expedition, for whether Sir Francis Varney was
really so awful and preternatural a being as so many concurrent circumstances
would seem to proclaim, or not, he was not a likely being to allow himself to
be conquered by anyone individual, let his powers or his courage be what they
might.
What
induced this man to become so ventursome we shall now proceed to relate, as
well as what kind of reception he got in the old ruins, which, since the
mysterious disappearance of Sir Francis Varney within their recesses, had
possessed so increased a share of interest and attracted so much popular
attention and speculation.
THE GUESTS AT THE INN, AND THE STORY OF THE DEAD UNCLE.
As
had been truly stated by Mr. Marchdale, who now stands out in his true colours
to the reader as the confidant and abettor of Sir Francis Varney, there had
assembled on that evening a curious and a gossipping party at the inn where
such dreadful and such riotous proceedings had taken place, which, in their
proper place, we have already duly and at length recorded.
It
was not very likely that, on that evening, or for many and many an evening to
come, the conversation in the parlour of the inn would be upon any other
subject than that of the vampyre.
Indeed,
the strange, mysterious, and horrible circumstances which had occurred, bade
fair to be gossipping stock in trade for many a year.
Never
before had a subject presenting so many curious features arisen. Never, within
the memory of that personage who is supposed to know everything, had there
occurred any circumstance in the county, or set of circumstances, which
afforded such abundant scope for conjecture and speculation.
Everybody
might have his individual opinion, and be just as likely to be right as his
neighbours; and the beauty of the affair was, that such was the interest of the
subject itself, that there was sure to be a kind of reflected interest with
every surmise that at all bore upon it.
On
this particular night, when Marchdale was prowling about, gathering what news
he could, in order that he might carry it to the vampyre, a more than usually
strong muster of the gossips of the town took place.
Indeed,
all of any note in the talking way were there, with the exception of one, and
he was in the county gaol, being one of the prisoners apprehended by the
military when they made the successful attack upon the lumber-room of the inn,
after the dreadful desecration of the dead which had taken place.
The
landlord of the inn was likely to make a good thing of it, for talking makes
people thirsty; and he began to consider that a vampyre about once a-year would
be no bad thing for the Blue Lion.
"It's
shocking," said one of the guests; "it's shocking to think of. Only
last night, I am quite sure I had such a fright that it added at least ten
years to my age."
"A
fright!" said several.
"I
believe I speak English—I said a fright."
"Well,
but had it anything to do with the vampyre?"
"Everything."
"Oh!
do tell us; do tell us all about it. How was it? Did he come to you? Go on.
Well, well."
The
first speaker became immediately a very important personage in the room; and,
when he saw that, he became at once a very important personage in his own eyes
likewise; and, before he would speak another word, he filled a fresh pipe, and
ordered another mug of ale.
"It's
no use trying to hurry him," said one.
"No,"
he said, "it isn't. I'll tell you in good time what a dreadful
circumstance has made me sixty-three to-day, when I was only fifty-three
yesterday."
"Was
it very dreadful?"
"Rather.
You wouldn't have survived it at all."
"Indeed!"
"No.
Now listen. I went to bed at a quarter after eleven, as usual. I didn't notice
anything particular in the room."
"Did
you peep under the bed?"
"No,
I didn't. Well, as I was a-saying, to bed I went, and I didn't fasten the door;
because, being a very sound sleeper, in case there was a fire, I shouldn't hear
a word of it if I did."
"No,"
said another. "I recollect once—"
"Be
so good as allow me to finish what I know, before you begin to recollect
anything, if you please. As I was saying, I didn't lock the door, but I went to
bed. Somehow or another, I did not feel at all comfortable, and I tossed about,
first on one side, and then on the other; but it was all in vain; I only got,
every moment, more and more fidgetty."
"And
did you think of the vampyre?" said one of the listeners.
"I
thought of nothing else till I heard my clock, which is on the landing of the
stairs above my bed-room, begin to strike twelve."
"Ah!
I like to hear a clock sound in the night," said one; "it puts one in
mind of the rest of the world, and lets one know one isn't all alone."
"Very
good. The striking of the clock I should not at all have objected to; but it
was what followed that did the business."
"What,
what?"
"Fair
and softly; fair and softly. Just hand me a light, Mr. Sprigs, if you please.
I'll tell you all, gentlemen, in a moment or two."
With
the most provoking deliberation, the speaker re-lit his pipe, which had gone
out while he was talking, and then, after a few whiffs, to assure himself that
its contents had thoroughly ignited, he resumed,—
"No
sooner had the last sound of it died away, than I heard something on the
stairs."
"Yes,
yes."
"It
was as if some man had given his foot a hard blow against one of the stairs;
and he would have needed to have had a heavy boot on to do it. I started up in
bed and listened, as you may well suppose, not in the most tranquil state of
mind, and then I heard an odd, gnawing sort of noise, and then another dab upon
one of the stairs."
"How
dreadful!"
"It
was. What to do I knew not, or what to think, except that the vampyre had, by
some means, got in at the attic window, and was coming down stairs to my room.
That seemed the most likely. Then there was another groan, and then another
heavy step; and, as they were evidently coming towards my door, I felt
accordingly, and got out of bed, not knowing hardly whether I was on my head or
my heels, to try and lock my door."
"Ah,
to be sure."
"Yes;
that was all very well, if I could have done it; but a man in such a state of
mind as I was in is not a very sharp hand at doing anything. I shook from head
to foot. The room was very dark, and I couldn't, for a moment or two, collect
my senses sufficient really to know which way the door lay."
"What
a situation!"
"It
was. Dab, dab, dab, came these horrid footsteps, and there was I groping about
the room in an agony. I heard them coming nearer and nearer to my door. Another
moment, and they must have reached it, when my hand struck against the
lock."
"What
an escape!"
"No,
it was not."
"No?"
"No,
indeed. The key was on the outside, and you may well guess I was not over and
above disposed to open the door to get at it."
"No,
no."
"I
felt regularly bewildered, I can tell you; it seemed to me as if the very devil
himself was coming down stairs hopping all the way upon one leg."
"How
terrific!"
"I
felt my senses almost leaving me; but I did what I could to hold the door shut
just as I heard the strange step come from the last stair on to the landing.
Then there was a horrid sound, and some one began trying the lock of my
door."
"What
a moment!"
"Yes,
I can tell you it was a moment. Such a moment as I don't wish to go through
again. I held the door as close as I could, and did not speak. I tried to cry
out help and murder, but I could not; my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth,
and my strength was fast failing me."
"Horrid,
horrid!"
"Take
a drop of ale."
"Thank
you. Well, I don't think this went on above two or three minutes, and all the
while some one tried might and main to push open the door. My strength left me
all at once; I had only time to stagger back a step or two, and then, as the
door opened, I fainted away."
"Well,
well!"
"Ah,
you wouldn't have said well, if you had been there, I can tell you."
"No;
but what become of you. What happened next? How did it end? What was it?"
"Why,
what exactly happened next after I fainted I cannot tell you; but the first
thing I saw when I recovered was a candle."
"Yes,
yes."
"And
then a crowd of people."
"Ah,
ah!"
"And
then Dr. Web."
"Gracious!"
"And.
Mrs. Bulk, my housekeeper. I was in my own bed, and when I opened my eyes I
heard Dr. Webb say,—
"'He
will be better soon. Can no one form any idea of what it is all about. Some
sudden fright surely could alone have produced such an effect.'"
"'The
Lord have mercy upon me!' said I.
"Upon
this everybody who had been called in got round the bed, and wanted to know
what had happened; but I said not a word of it; but turning to Mrs. Bulk, I
asked her how it was she found out I had fainted.
"'Why,
sir,' says she, 'I was coming up to bed as softly as I could, because I knew
you had gone to rest some time before. The clock was striking twelve, and as I
went past it some of my clothes, I suppose, caught the large weight, but it was
knocked off, and down the stairs it rolled, going with such a lump from one to
the other, and I couldn't catch it because it rolled so fast, that I made sure
you would be awakened; so I came down to tell you what it was, and it was some
time before I could get your room door open, and when I did I found you out of
bed and insensible.'"
There
was a general look of disappointment when this explanation was given, and one
said,—
"Then
it was not the vampire?"
"Certainly
not."
"And,
after all, only a clock weight."
"That's
about it."
"Why
didn't you tell us that at first?"
"Because
that would have spoilt the story."
There
was a general murmur of discontent, and, after a few moments one man said, with
some vivacity,—
"Well,
although our friend's vampyre has turned out, after all, to be nothing but a
confounded clock-weight, there's no disputing the fact about Sir Francis Varney
being a vampyre, and not a clock-weight."
"Very
true—very true."
"And
what's to be done to rid the town of such a man?"
"Oh,
don't call him a man."
"Well,
a monster."
"Ah,
that's more like. I tell you what, sir, if you had got a light, when you first
heard the noise in your room, and gone out to see what it was, you would have
spared yourself much fright."
"Ah,
no doubt; it's always easy afterwards to say, if you had done this, and if you
had done the other, so and so would have been the effect; but there is
something about the hour of midnight that makes men tremble."
"Well,"
said one, who had not yet spoken, "I don't see why twelve at night should
be a whit more disagreeable than twelve at day."
"Don't
you?"
"Not
I."
"Now,
for instance, many a party of pleasure goes to that old ruin where Sir Francis
Varney so unaccountably disappeared in broad daylight. But is there any one
here who would go to it alone, and at midnight?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
"I
would."
"What!
and after what has happened as regards the vampyre in connection with it?"
"Yes,
I would."
"I'll
bet you twenty shilling you won't."
"And
I—and I," cried several.
"Well,
gentlemen," said the man, who certainly shewed no signs of fear, "I
will go, and not only will I go and take all your bets, but, if I do meet the
vampyre, then I'll do my best to take him prisoner."
"And
when will you go?"
"To-night,"
he cried, and he sprang to his feet; "hark ye all, I don't believe one
word about vampyres. I'll go at once; it's getting late, and let any one of
you, in order that you may be convinced I have been to the place, give me any
article, which I will hide among the ruins; and tell you where to find it
to-morrow in broad daylight."
"Well,"
said one, "that's fair, Tom Eccles. Here's a handkerchief of mine; I
should know it again among a hundred others."
"Agreed;
I'll leave it in the ruins."
The
wagers were fairly agreed upon; several handkerchiefs were handed to Tom
Eccles; and at eleven o'clock he fairly started, through the murky darkness of
the night, to the old ruin where Sir Francis Varney and Marchdale were holding
their most unholy conference.
It is
one thing to talk and to accept wagers in the snug parlour of an inn, and
another to go alone across a tract of country wrapped in the profound stillness
of night to an ancient ruin which, in addition to the natural gloom which might
well be supposed to surround it, has superadded associations which are anything
but of a pleasant character.