Authors: George W. M. Reynolds,James Malcolm Rymer
With
this they all turned away, and Flora shut the door and locked it upon them, and
Varney was safe.
"You
have saved me," said Varney.
"Hush!"
said Flora. "Speak not; there maybe some one listening."
Sir
Francis Varney stood in the attitude of one listening most anxiously to catch
some sounds; the moon fell across his face, and gave it a ghastly hue, that,
added to his natural paleness and wounds, gave him an almost unearthly aspect.
The
sounds grew more and more distant; the shouts and noise of men traversing the
apartments subsided, and gradually the place became restored to its original
silence. The mob, after having searched every other part of the house, and not
finding the object of their search, they concluded that he was not there, but
must have made his escape before.
This
most desperate peril of Sir Francis Varney seemed to have more effect upon him
than anything that had occurred during his most strange and most eventful
career.
When
he was assured that the riotous mob that had been so intent upon his
destruction was gone, and that he might emerge from his place of concealment,
he did so with an appearance of such utter exhaustion that the Bannerworth
family could not but look upon him as a being who was near his end.
At
any time his countenance, as we long have had occasion to remark, was a strange
and unearthly looking one; but when we come to superadd to the strangeness of
his ordinary appearance the traces of deep mental emotion, we may well say that
Varney's appearance was positively of the most alarming character.
When
he was seated in the ordinary sitting apartment of the Bannerworths, he drew a
long sighing breath, and placing his hand upon his heart, he said, in a faint
tone of voice,—
"It
beats now laboriously, but it will soon cease its pulsations for ever."
These
words sounded absolutely prophetic, there was about them such a solemn aspect,
and he looked at the same time that he uttered them so much like one whose
mortal race was run, and who was now a candidate for the grave.
"Do
not speak so despairingly," said Charles Holland; "remember, that if
your life has been one of errors hitherto, how short a space of time may
suffice to redeem some of them at least, and the communication to me which you
have not yet completed may to some extent have such an effect."
"No,
no. It may contribute to an act of justice, but it can do no good to me. And
yet do not suppose that because such is my impression that I mean to hesitate
in finishing to you that communication."
"I
rejoice to hear you say so, and if you would, now that you must be aware of
what good feelings towards you we are all animated with, remove the bar of
secrecy from the communication, I should esteem it a great favour."
Varney
appeared to be considering for a few moments, and then he said,—
"Well,
well. Let the secrecy no longer exist. Have it removed at once. I will no
longer seek to maintain it. Tell all, Charles Holland—tell all."
Thus
empowered by the mysterious being, Charles Holland related briefly what Varney
had already told him, and then concluded by saying,—
"That
is all that I have myself as yet been made aware of, and I now call upon Sir
Francis Varney to finish his narration."
"I
am weak," said Varney, "and scarcely equal to the task; but yet I
will not shrink from the promise that I have made. You have been the preservers
of my life, and more particularly to you, Flora Bannerworth, am I indebted for
an existence, which otherwise must have been sacrificed upon the altar of
superstition."
"But
you will recollect, Master Varney," said the admiral, who had sat looking
on for some time in silent wonder, "you must recollect, Master Varney,
that the people are, after all, not so much to blame for their superstition,
because, whether you are a vampyre or not, and I don't pretend to come to a
positive opinion now, you took good care to persuade them you were."
"I
did," said Varney, with a shudder; "but why did I?"
"Well,
you know best."
"It
was, then, because I did believe, and do believe, that there is something more
than natural about my strangely protracted existence; but we will waive that
point, and, before my failing strength, for it appears to me to be failing,
completely prevents me from doing so, let me relate to you the continued
particulars of the circumstances that made me what I am."
Flora
Bannerworth, although she had heard before from the lips of Charles Holland the
to her dreadful fact, that her father, in addition to having laid violent hands
upon his own life, was a murderer, now that that fearful circumstance was
related more publicly, felt a greater pang than she had done when it was
whispered to her in the accents of pure affection, and softened down by a
gentleness of tone, which Charles Holland's natural delicacy would not allow
him to use even to her whom he loved so well in the presence of others.
She
let her beautiful face be hidden by her hands, and she wept as she listened to
the sad detail.
Varney
looked inquiringly in the countenance of Charles Holland, because, having given
him leave to make Flora acquainted with the circumstance, he was rather
surprised at the amount of emotion which it produced in her.
Charles
Holland answered the appealing look by saying,—
"Flora
is already aware of the facts, but it naturally affects her much to hear them
now repeated in the presence of others, and those too, towards whom she cannot
feel—"
What
Charles Holland was going to say was abruptly stopped short by the admiral, who
interposed, exclaiming,—
"Why,
what do you mean, you son of a sea cook? The presence of who do you mean? Do
you mean to say that I don't feel for Miss Flora, bless her heart! quite as
much as a white-faced looking swab like you? Why, I shall begin to think you
are only fit for a marine."
"Nay,
uncle, now do not put yourself out of temper. You must be well aware that I
could not mean anything disrespectful to you. You should not suppose such a
state of things possible; and although, perhaps, I did not express myself so felicitously
as I might, yet what I intended to say, was—"
"Oh,
bother what you intended to say. You go on, Mr. Vampyre, with your story. I
want to know what became of it all; just you get on as quick as you can, and
let us know what you did after the man was murdered."
"When
the dreadful deed was committed," said Varney, "and our victim lay
weltering in his blood, and had breathed his last, we stood like men who for
the first time were awakened to the frightful consequences of what they had
done.
"I
saw by the dim light that hovered round us a great change come over the
countenance of Marmaduke Bannerworth, and he shook in every limb.
"This
soon passed away, however, and the powerful and urgent necessity which arose of
avoiding the consequences of the deed that we had done, restored us to
ourselves. We stooped and took from the body the ill-gotten gains of the
gambler. They amounted to an immense sum, and I said to Marmaduke Bannerworth,—
"'Take
you the whole of this money and proceed to your own home with it, where you
will be least suspected. Hide it in some place of great secrecy, and to-morrow
I will call upon you, when we will divide it, and will consider of some means
of safely exchanging the notes for gold.'
"He
agreed to this, and placed the money in his pocket, after which it became
necessary that we should dispose of the body, which, if we did not quickly
remove, must in a few hours be discovered, and so, perchance, accompanied by
other criminating circumstances, become a frightful evidence against us, and
entail upon us all those consequences of the deed which we were so truly
anxious to escape from.
"It
is ever the worst part of the murderer's task, that after he has struck the
blow that has deprived his victim of existence, it becomes his frightful duty
to secrete the corpse, which, with its dead eyes, ever seems to be glaring upon
him such a world of reproach.
"That
it is which should make people pause ere they dipped their hands in the blood
of others, and that it is which becomes the first retribution that the murderer
has to endure for the deep crime that he has committed.
"We
tore two stakes from a hedge, and with their assistance we contrived to dig a
very superficial hole, such a hole as was only sufficient, by placing a thin
coating of earth over it, to conceal the body of the murdered man.
"And
then came the loathsome task of dragging him into it—a task full of horror, and
from which we shrunk aghast; but it had to be done, and, therefore, we stooped,
and grasping the clothes as best we might, we dragged the body into the chasm
we had prepared for its reception. Glad were we then to be enabled to throw the
earth upon it and to stamp upon it with such vehemence as might well be
supposed to actuate men deeply anxious to put out of sight some dangerous and
loathsome object.
"When
we had completed this, and likewise gathered handsfull of dust from the road,
and dry leaves, and such other matter, to sprinkle upon the grave, so as to
give the earth an appearance of not having been disturbed, we looked at each
other and breathed from our toil.
"Then,
and not till then, was it that we remembered that among other things which the
gambler had won of Marmaduke were the deeds belonging to the Dearbrook
property."
"The
Dearbrook property!" exclaimed Henry Bannerworth; "I know that there
was a small estate going by that name, which belonged to our family, but I
always understood that long ago my father had parted with it."
"Yes;
it was mortgaged for a small sum—a sum not a fourth part of its value—and it
had been redeemed by Marmaduke Bannerworth, not for the purpose of keeping it,
but in order that he might sell it outright, and so partially remedy his
exhausted finances."
"I
was not aware of that," returned Henry.
"Doubtless
you were not, for of late—I mean for the twelve months or so preceding your
father's death—you know he was much estranged from all the family, so that you
none of you knew much of what he was doing, except that he was carrying on a
very wild and reckless career, such as was sure to end in dishonour and
poverty; but I tell you he had the title deeds of the Dearbrook property, and
that they were only got from him, along with everything else of value that he
possessed, at the gaming-table, by the man who paid such a fearful penalty for
his success.
"It
was not until after the body was completely buried, and we had completed all
our precautions for more effectually hiding it from observation, that we
recollected the fact of those important papers being in his possession. It was
Marmaduke Bannerworth who first remembered it, and he exclaimed,—
"'By
Heaven, we have buried the title deeds of the property, and we shall have again
to exhume the corpse for the purpose of procuring them.'
"Now
those deeds were nothing to me, and repugnant as I had felt from the first to
having anything whatever to do with the dead body, it was not likely that I
would again drag it from the earth for such an object.
"'Marmaduke
Bannerworth,' I said, 'you can do what you please, and take the consequences of
what you do, but I will not again, if I can help it, look upon the face of that
corpse. It is too fearful a sight to contemplate again. You have a large sum of
money, and what need you care now for the title deeds of a property
comparatively insignificant?'
"'Well,
well,' he said, 'I will not, at the present time, disturb the remains; I will
wait to see if anything should arise from the fact of the murder; if it should
turn out that no suspicion of any kind is excited, but that all is still and
quiet, I can then take measures to exhume the corpse, and recover those papers,
which certainly are important.'
"By
this time the morning was creeping on apace, and we thought it prudent to leave
the spot. We stood at the end of the lane for a few moments conversing, and
those moments were the last in which I ever saw Marmaduke Bannerworth."
"Answer
me a question," said Henry.
"I
will; ask me what you please, I will answer it."
"Was
it you that called at Bannerworth Hall, after my father's melancholy death, and
inquired for him?"
"I
did; and when I heard of the deed that he had done, I at once left, in order to
hold counsel with myself as to what I should do to obtain at least a portion of
the property, one-half of which, it was understood, was to have been mine. I
heard what had been the last words used by Marmaduke Bannerworth on the
occasion of his death, and they were amply sufficient to let me know what had
been done with the money—at all events, so far as regards the bestowal of it in
some secret place; and from that moment the idea of, by some means or another,
getting the exclusive possession of it, never forsook my mind.
"I
thought over the matter by day and, by night; and with the exception of having
a knowledge of the actual hiding-place of the money, I could see, in the clearest
possible manner, how the whole affair had been transacted. There can be no
doubt but that Marmaduke Bannerworth had reached home safely with the large sum
of which he had become possessed, and that he had hidden it securely, which was
but an ordinary measure of precaution, when we come to consider how the
property had been obtained.