Authors: George W. M. Reynolds,James Malcolm Rymer
"Had
I been free," said Charles, "and had the use of my limbs, I should,
long ere this, have worked my way to life and liberty."
"'Tis
well. Goodnight."
Varney
walked from the place, and just closed the door behind him. With a slow and
stately step he left the ruins, and Charles Holland found himself once more
alone, but in a much more enviable condition than for many weeks he could have
called his.
FLORA BANNERWORTH'S APPARENT INCONSISTENCY.—THE ADMIRAL'S
CIRCUMSTANCES AND ADVICE.—MR. CHILLINGWORTH'S MYSTERIOUS ABSENCE.
For a
brief space let us return to Flora Bannerworth, who had suffered so much on
account of her affections, as well as on account of the mysterious attack that
had been made upon her by the reputed vampyre.
After
leaving Bannerworth Hall for a short time, she seemed to recover her spirits;
but this was a state of things which did not last, and only showed how
fallacious it was to expect that, after the grievous things that had happened,
she would rapidly recover her equanimity.
It is
said, by learned physiologists, that two bodily pains cannot endure at the same
space of time in the system; and, whether it be so or not, is a question
concerning which it would be foreign to the nature of our work, to enter into
anything like an elaborate disquisition.
Certainly,
however, so far as Flora Bannerworth was concerned, she seemed inclined to show
that, mentally, the observation was a true one, for that, now she became
released from a continued dread of the visits of the vampyre, her mind would,
with more painful interest than ever, recur to the melancholy condition,
probably, of Charles Holland, if he were alive, and to soul-harrowing
reflections concerning him, if he were dead.
She
could not, and she did not, believe, for one moment, that his desertion of her
had been of a voluntary character. She knew, or fancied she knew, him by far
too well for that; and she more than once expressed her opinion, to the effect
that she was perfectly convinced his disappearance was a part and parcel of all
that train of circumstances which had so recently occurred, and produced such a
world of unhappiness to her, as well as to the whole of the Bannerworth family.
"If
he had never loved me," she said to her brother Henry, "he would have
been alive and well; but he has fallen a victim to the truth of a passion, and
to the constancy of an affection which, to my dying day, I will believe
in."
Now
that Mr. Marchdale had left the place there was no one to dispute this
proposition with Flora, for all, as well as she, were fully inclined to think
well of Charles Holland.
It
was on the very morning which preceded that evening when Sir Francis Varney
called upon Charles Holland in the manner we have related, with the gratifying
news that, upon certain conditions, he might be released, that Flora
Bannerworth, when the admiral came to see them, spoke to him of Charles
Holland, saying,—
"Now,
sir, that I am away from Bannerworth Hall, I do not, and cannot feel satisfied;
for the thought that Charles may eventually come back, and seek us there, still
haunts me. Fancy him, sir, doing so, and seeing the place completely
deserted."
"Well,
there's something in that," said the admiral; "but, however, he's
hardly such a goose, if it were so to happen, to give up the chase—he'd find us
out somehow."
"You
think he would, sir? or, do you not think that despair would seize upon him,
and that, fancying we had all left the spot for ever, he might likewise do so;
so that we should lose him more effectually than we have done at present?"
"No;
hardly," said the admiral; "he couldn't be such a goose as that. Why,
when I was of his age, if I had secured the affections of a young girl like
you, I'd have gone over all the world, but I'd have found out where she was;
and what I mean to say is, if he's half such a goose as you think him, he
deserves to lose you."
"Did
you not tell me something, sir, of Mr. Chillingworth talking of taking
possession of the Hall for a brief space of time?"
"Why,
yes, I did; and I expect he is there now; in fact, I'm sure he's there, for he
said he would be."
"No,
he ain't," said Jack Pringle, at that moment entering the room;
"you're wrong again, as you always are, somehow or other."
"What,
you vagabond, are you here, you mutinous rascal?"—"Ay, ay, sir; go
on; don't mind me. I wonder what you'd do, sir, if you hadn't somebody like me
to go on talking about."
"Why,
you infernal rascal, I wonder what you'd do if you had not an indulgent commander,
who puts up even with real mutiny, and says nothing about it. But where have
you been? Did you go as I directed you, and take some provisions to Bannerworth
Hall?"
"Yes,
I did; but I brought them back again; there's nobody there, and don't seem likely
to be, except a dead body."
"A
dead body! Whose body can that be!"—"Tom somebody; for I'm d——d if it
ain't a great he cat."
"You
scoundrel, how dare you alarm me in such a way? But do you mean to tell me that
you did not see Dr. Chillingworth at the Hall?"—"How could I see him,
if he wasn't there?"
"But
he was there; he said he would be there."—"Then he's gone again, for
there's nobody there that I know of in the shape of a doctor. I went through
every part of the ship—I mean the house—and the deuce a soul could I find; so
as it was rather lonely and uncomfortable, I came away again. 'Who knows,'
thought I, 'but some blessed vampyre or another may come across me.'"
"This
won't do," said the old admiral, buttoning up his coat to the chin;
"Bannerworth Hall must not be deserted in this way. It is quite clear that
Sir Francis Varney and his associates have some particular object in view in
getting possession of the place. Here, you Jack."—"Ay, ay, sir."
"Just
go back again, and stay at the Hall till somebody comes to you. Even such a
stupid hound as you will be something to scare away unwelcome visitors. Go back
to the Hall, I say. What are you staring at?"—"Back to Bannerworth
Hall!" said Jack. "What! just where I've come from; all that way off,
and nothing to eat, and, what's worse, nothing to drink. I'll see you d——d
first."
The
admiral caught up a table-fork, and made a rush at Jack; but Henry Bannerworth
interfered.
"No,
no," he said, "admiral; no, no—not that. You must recollect that you
yourself have given this, no doubt, faithful fellow of your's liberty to do and
say a great many things which don't look like good service; but I have no
doubt, from what I have seen of his disposition, that he would risk his life
rather than, that you should come to any harm."
"Ay,
ay," said Jack; "he quite forgets when the bullets were scuttling our
nobs off Cape Ushant, when that big Frenchman had hold of him by the
skirf
of his neck, and began pummelling his
head, and the lee scuppers were running with blood, and a bit of Joe Wiggins's
brains had come slap in my eye, while some of Jack Marling's guts was hanging
round my neck like a nosegay, all in consequence of grape-shot—then he didn't
say as I was a swab, when I came up, and bored a hole in the Frenchman's back
with a pike. Ay, it's all very well now, when there's peace, and no danger, to
call Jack Pringle a lubberly rascal, and mutinous. I'm blessed if it ain't
enough to make an old pair of shoes faint away."
"Why,
you infernal scoundrel," said the admiral, "nothing of the sort ever
happened, and you know it. Jack, you're no seaman."—"Werry
good," said Jack; "then, if I ain't no seaman, you are what
shore-going people calls a jolly fat old humbug."
"Jack,
hold your tongue," said Henry Bannerworth; "you carry these things
too far. You know very well that your master esteems you, and you should not
presume too much upon that fact."—"My master!" said Jack;
"don't call him my master. I never had a master, and don't intend. He's my
admiral, if you like; but an English sailor don't like a master."
"I
tell you what it is, Jack," said the admiral; "you've got your good
qualities, I admit."—"Ay, ay, sir—that's enough; you may as well
leave off well while you can."
"But
I'll just tell you what you resemble more than anything else."—"Chew
me up! what may that be, sir?"
"A
French marine."—"A what! A French marine! Good-bye. I wouldn't say
another word to you, if you was to pay me a dollar a piece. Of all the blessed
insults rolled into one, this here's the worstest. You might have called me a
marine, or you might have called me a Frenchman, but to make out that I'm both
a marine and a Frenchman, d—me, if it isn't enough to make human nature stand
on an end! Now, I've done with you."
"And
a good job, too," said the admiral. "I wish I'd thought of it before.
You're worse than a third day's ague, or a hot and a cold fever in the
tropics."—"Very good," said Jack; "I only hope Providence
will have mercy upon you, and keep an eye upon you when I'm gone, otherwise, I
wonder what will become of you? It wasn't so when young Belinda, who you took
off the island of Antiggy, in the Ingies, jumped overboard, and I went after
her in a heavy swell. Howsomdever, never mind, you shook hands with me then;
and while a bushel of the briny was weeping out of the corner of each of your
blinkers, you says, says you,—"
"Hold!"
cried the admiral, "hold! I know what I said, Jack. It's cut a fathom deep
in my memory. Give us your fist, Jack, and—and—"—"Hold
yourself," said Jack; "I know what you're going to say, and I won't
hear you say it—so there's an end of it. Lor bless you! I knows you. I ain't a
going to leave you. Don't be afraid; I only works you up, and works you down
again, just to see if there's any of that old spirit in you when we was aboard
the Victory. Don't you recollect, admiral?"
"Yes—yes;
enough, Jack."—"Why, let me see—that was a matter of forty years ago,
nearly, when I was a youngster."
"There—there,
Jack—that'll do. You bring the events of other years fresh upon my memory.
Peace—peace. I have not forgotten; but still, to hear what you know of them, if
recited, would give the old man a pang."—"A pang," said Jack;
"I suppose that's some dictionary word for a punch in the eye. That would
be mutiny with a vengeance; so I'm off."
"Go,
go."—"I'm a going; and just to please you, I'll go to the Hall, so
you sha'n't say that you told me to do anything that I didn't."
Away
went Jack, whistling an air, that might have been popular when he and the
admiral were young, and Henry Bannerworth could not but remark that an
appearance of great sadness came over the old man, when Jack was gone.
"I
fear, sir," he said, "that heedless sailor has touched upon some
episode in your existence, the wounds of which are still fresh enough to give
you pain."—"It is so," said the old admiral; "just look at
me, now. Do I look like the hero of a romantic love story?"
"Not
exactly, I admit."—"Well, notwithstanding that, Jack Pringle has
touched a chord that vibrates in my heart yet," replied the admiral.
"Have
you any objection to tell me of it?"—"None, whatever; and perhaps, by
the time I have done, the doctor may have found his way back again, or Jack may
bring us some news of him. So here goes for a short, but a true yarn."
THE ADMIRAL'S STORY OF THE BEAUTIFUL BELINDA.
Just
at this moment Flora Bannerworth stole into the room from whence she had
departed a short time since; but when she saw that old Admiral Bell was looking
so exceedingly serious, and apparently about to address Henry upon some very
important subject, she would have retired, but he turned towards her, and
said,—
"My
story, my dear, I've no objection to your hearing, and, like all women folks, a
love story never comes amiss to you; so you may as well stay and hear
it."—"A love story," said Flora; "you tell a love story,
sir?"
"Yes,
my dear, and not only tell it, but be the hero of it, likewise; ain't you
astonished?"—"I am, indeed."
"Well,
you'll be more astonished then before I've done; so just listen. As Jack
Pringle says, it was the matter of about somewhere forty years ago, that I was
in command of the Victory frigate, which was placed upon the West Indian
station, during a war then raging, for the protection of our ports and harbours
in that vicinity. We'd not a strong force in that quarter, therefore, I had to
cut about from place to place, and do the best I could. After a time, though, I
rather think that we frightened off the enemy, during which time I chiefly
anchored off the island of Antigua, and was hospitably received at the house of
a planter, of the name of Marchant, who, in fact, made his house my home, and
introduced me to all the
elite
of the society of the island. Ah! Miss
Flora, you've no idea, to look at me now, what I was then; I held a captain's
commission, and was nearly the youngest man in the service, with such a rank. I
was as slender, ay, as a dancing master. These withered and bleached locks were
black as the raven's plume. Ay, ay, but no matter: the planter had a
daughter."
"And
you loved her?" said Flora—"Loved her," said the old man, and
the flush of youthful animation come to his countenance; "loved her, do
you say! I adored her; I worshipped her; she was to me—but what a d——d old
fool, I am; we'll skip that if you please."
"Nay,
nay," said Flora; "that is what I want to hear."—"I haven't
the least doubt of that, in the world; but that's just what you won't hear;
none of your nonsense, Miss Flora; the old man may be a fool, but he isn't
quite an idiot."
"He's
neither," said Flora; "true feelings can never disgrace any
one."—"Perhaps not; but, however, to make a long story short, somehow
or other, one day, Belinda was sitting alone, and I rudely pounced upon her; I
rather think then I must have said something that I oughtn't to have said, for
it took her so aback; I was forced, somehow or other, to hold her up, and then
I—I—yes; I'm sure I kissed her; and so, I told her I loved her; and then, what
do you think she said?"
"Why,"
said Flora, "that she reciprocated the passion."—"D—n my
rags," said Jack, who at the moment came into the room, "I suppose
that's the name of some shell or other."
"You
here, you villain!" said the admiral; "I thought you were
gone."—"So I was," said Jack, "but I came back for my hat,
you see."
Away
he went again, and the admiral resumed his story.
"Well,
Miss Flora," he said, "you haven't made a good guess, as she didn't
say anything at all, she only clung to me like some wild bird to its mother's
breast, and cried as if her heart would break."—"Indeed!"
"Yes;
I didn't know the cause of her emotion, but at last I got it out of
her."—"What was it?"
"Oh,
a mere trifle; she was already married to somebody else, that's all; some d——d
fellow, who had gone trading about the islands, a fellow she didn't care a
straw about, that was old enough to be her father."
"And
you left her?"—"No, I didn't. Guess again. I was a mad-headed
youngster. I only felt—I didn't think. I persuaded her to come away with me. I
took her aboard my ship, and set sail with her. A few weeks flew like hours;
but one day we were hailed by a vessel, and when we neared her, she manned a
boat and brought a letter on board, addressed to Belinda. It was from her
father, written in his last moments. It began with a curse and ended with a
blessing. There was a postscript in another hand, to say the old man died of
grief. She read it by my side on the quarter-deck. It dropped from her grasp,
and she plunged into the sea. Jack Pringle went after her; but I never saw her
again."
"Gracious
Heavens! what a tragedy!"—"Yes, tolerable," said the old man.
He
arose and took his hat and placed it on his head. He gave the crown of it a
blow that sent it nearly over his eyes. He thrust his hands deep into his
breeches pockets, clenched his teeth, and muttered something inaudible as he
strode from the apartment.
"Who
would have thought, Henry," said Flora, "that such a man as Admiral
Bell had been the hero of such an adventure?"—"Ay, who indeed; but it
shows that we never can judge from appearances, Flora; and that those who seem
to us the most heart-whole may have experienced the wildest vicissitudes of
passion."
"And
we must remember, likewise, that this was forty years ago, Henry, which makes a
material difference in the state of the case as regards Admiral Bell."
"It
does indeed—more than half a lifetime; and yet how evident it was that his old
feelings clung to him. I can well imagine the many hours of bitter regret which
the memory of this his lost love must have given him."
"True—true.
I can feel something for him; for have I not lost one who loved me—a worse
loss, too, than that which Admiral Bell relates; for am I not a prey to all the
horrors of uncertainty? Whereas he knew the worst, and that, at all events,
death had claimed its victim, leaving nothing to conjecture in the shape of
suffering, so that the mind had nothing to do but to recover slowly, but
surely, as it would from the shock which it had received."
"That
is worse than you, Flora; but rather would I have you cherish hope of soon
beholding Charles Holland, probably alive and well, than fancy any great
disaster has come over him."
"I
will endeavour to do so," replied Flora.
"I
long to hear what has become of Dr. Chillingworth. His disappearance is most
singular; for I fully suspected that he had some particular object in view in
getting possession for a short time of Bannerworth Hall; but now, from Jack
Pringle's account, he appears not to be in it, and, in fact, to have
disappeared completely from the sight of all who knew him."
"Yes,"
said Flora; "but he may have done that, brother, still in furtherance of
his object."
"It
may be so, and I will hope that it is so. Keep yourself close, sister, and see
no one, while I proceed to his house to inquire if they have heard anything of
him. I will return soon, be assured; and, in the meantime, should you see my
brother, tell him I shall be at home in an hour or so, and not to leave the
cottage; for it is more than likely that the admiral has gone to Bannerworth
Hall, so that you may not see anything of him for some time."