Authors: George W. M. Reynolds,James Malcolm Rymer
"Fool!"
said the baron, "you must needs, then, try conclusions with me, and, not
content with the safety of insignificance, you must be absurd enough to think
it possible you could extort from me whatever sums your fancy dictated, or with
any effect threaten me, if I complied not with your desires."
"Have
mercy upon me. I meant not to take your life; and, therefore, why should you
take mine?"
"You
would have taken it, and, therefore, you shall die. Know, too, as this is your
last moment, that, vampyre as you are, and as I, of all men, best know you to
be, I will take especial care that you shall be placed in some position after
death where the revivifying moonbeams may not touch you, so that this shall
truly be your end, and you shall rot away, leaving no trace behind of your
existence, sufficient to contain the vital principle."
"No—no!
you cannot—will not. You will have mercy."
"Ask
the famished tiger for mercy, when you intrude upon his den."
As he
spoke the baron ground his teeth together with rage, and, in an instant, buried
the poniard in the throat of his victim. The blade went through to the yellow
sand beneath, and the murderer still knelt upon the man's chest, while he who
had thus received so fatal a blow tossed his arms about with agony, and tried
in vain to shriek.
The
nature of the wound, however, prevented him from uttering anything but a low
gurgling sound, for he was nearly choked with his own blood, and soon his eyes
became fixed and of a glassy appearance; he stretched out his two arms, and dug
his fingers deep into the sand.
The
baron drew forth the poniard, and a gush of blood immediately followed it, and
then one deep groan testified to the fact, that the spirit, if there be a
spirit, had left its mortal habitation, and winged its flight to other realms,
if there be other realms for it to wing its flight to.
"He
is dead," said the baron, and, at the same moment, a roll of the advancing
tide swept over the body, drenching the living, as well as the dead, with the
brine of the ocean.
The
baron stooped and rinsed the dagger in the advancing tide from the clotted
blood which had clung to it, and then, wiping it carefully, he returned it to
its sheath, which was hidden within the folds of his dress; and, rising from
his kneeling posture upon the body, he stood by its side, with folded arms,
gazing upon it, for some minutes, in silence, heedless of the still advancing
water, which was already considerably above his feet.
Then
he spoke in his ordinary accents, and evidently caring nothing for the fact
that he had done such a deed.
"I
must dispose of this carcase," he said, "which now seems so lifeless,
for the moon is up, and if its beams fall upon it, I know, from former
experience, what will happen; it will rise again, and walk the earth, seeking
for vengeance upon me, and the thirst for that vengeance will become such a
part of its very nature, that it will surely accomplish something, if not all
that it desires."
After
a few moments' consideration, he stooped, and, with more strength than one
would have thought it possible a man reduced almost, as he was, to a skeleton
could have exerted, he lifted the body, and carried it rapidly up the beach
towards the cliffs. He threw it down upon the stone steps that led to the small
door of the excavation in the cliff, and it fell upon them with a sickening
sound, as if some of the bones were surely broken by the fall.
The
object, then, of the baron seemed to be to get this door open, if he possibly
could; but that was an object easier to be desired than carried into effect,
for, although he exerted his utmost power, he did not succeed in moving it an
inch, and he began evidently to think that it would be impossible to do so.
But
yet he did not give up the attempt at once, but looking about upon the beach,
until he found a large heavy stone, he raised it in his arms, and, approaching
the door, he flung it against it with such tremendous force, that it flew open
instantly, disclosing within a dark and narrow passage.
Apparently
rejoiced that he had accomplished this much, he stopped cautiously within the
entrance, and then, taking from a concealed pocket that was in the velvet cloak
which he wore a little box, he produced from it some wax-lights and some
chemical matches, which, by the slightest effort, he succeeded in igniting, and
then, with one of the lights in his hand to guide him on his way, he went on
exploring the passage, and treading with extreme caution as he went, for fear
of falling into any of the ice-wells which were reported to be in that place.
After
proceeding about twenty yards, and finding that there was no danger, he became
less cautious; but, in consequence of such less caution, he very nearly
sacrificed his life, for he came upon an ice-well which seemed a considerable
depth, and into which he had nearly plunged headlong.
He
started back with some degree of horror; but that soon left him, and then,
after a moment's thought, he sought for some little nook in the wall, in which
he might place the candle, and soon finding one that answered the purpose well,
he there left it, having all the appearance of a little shrine, while he
proceeded again to the mouth of that singular and cavernous-looking place. He
had, evidently, quite made up his mind what to do, for, without a moment's
hesitation, he lifted the body again, and carried it within the entrance,
walking boldly and firmly, now that he knew there was no danger between him and
the light, which shed a gleam through the darkness of the place of a very faint
and flickering character.
He
reached it rapidly, and when he got to the side of the well, he, without a
moment's hesitation, flung it headlong down, and, listening attentively, he
heard it fall with a slight plash, as if there was some water at the bottom of
the pit.
It
was an annoyance, however, for him to find that the distance was not so deep as
he had anticipated, and when he took the light from the niche where he had
placed it, and looked earnestly down, he could see the livid, ghastly-looking
face of the dead man, for the body had accidentally fallen upon its back, which
was a circumstance he had not counted upon, and one which increased the chances
greatly of its being seen, should any one be exploring, from curiosity, that
not very inviting place.
This
was annoyance, but how could it be prevented, unless, indeed, he chose to
descend, and make an alteration in the disposition of the corpse? But this was
evidently what he did not choose to do; so, after muttering to himself a few
words expressive of his intention to leave it where it was, he replaced the
candle, after extinguishing it, in the box from whence he had taken it, and
carefully walked out of the dismal place.
The
moonbeams were shining very brightly and beautifully upon the face of the
cliffs, when he emerged from the subterranean passage, so that he could see the
door, the steps, and every object quite distinctly; and, to his gratification,
he found that he had not destroyed any fastening that was to the door, but that
when it was slammed shut, it struck so hard and fast, that the strength of one
man could not possibly move it, even the smallest fraction of an inch.
"I
shall be shown all this to-morrow," he said; "and if I take this
house I must have an alteration made in this door, so that it may open with a
lock, instead of by main violence, as at present; but if, in the morning, when
I view Anderbury House, I can avoid an entrance into this region, I will do so,
and at my leisure, if I become the possessor of the estate, I can explore every
nook and cranny of it."
He
then folded his cloak about him, after pulling the door as closely as he could.
He walked slowly and thoughtfully back to the inn. It was quite evident that
the idea of the murder he had committed did not annoy him in the least, and
that in his speculations upon the subject he congratulated himself much upon
having so far succeeded in getting rid of certainly a most troublesome
acquaintance.
"'Tis
well, indeed," he said, "that just at this juncture he should throw
himself in my way, and enable me so easy to feel certain that I shall never
more be troubled with him. Truly, I ran some risk, and when my pistol missed
fire, it seemed as if my evil star was in its ascendant, and that I was doomed
myself to become the victim of him whom I have laid in so cold a grave. But I
have been victorious, and I am willing to accept the circumstance as an omen of
the past—that my fortunes are on the change. I think I shall be successful now,
and with the ample means which I now possess, surely, in this country, where
gold is loved so well, I shall be able to overcome all difficulties, and to
unite myself to some one, who—but no matter, her fate is an after
consideration."
THE MARRIAGE IN THE BANNERWORTH FAMILY ARRANGED.
After
the adventure of the doctor with regard to the picture about which such an air
of mystery and interest has been thrown, the Bannerworth family began to give
up all hopes of ever finding a clue to those circumstances concerning which
they would certainly have liked to have known the truth, but of which it was
not likely they would ever hear anything more.
Dr.
Chillingworth now had no reserve, and when he had recovered sufficiently to
feel that he could converse without an effort, he took an opportunity, while
the whole of the family were present, to speak of what had been his hopes and
his expectations.
"You
are all aware," he said, "now, of the story of Marmaduke Bannerworth,
and what an excessively troublesome person he was, with all deference, to you,
Henry; first of all, as to spending all his money at the gaming-table, and
leaving his family destitute; and then, when he did get a lump of money which
might have done some good to those he left behind him—hiding it somewhere where
it could not be found at all, and so leaving you all in great difficulty and
distress, when you might have been independent."
"That's
true enough, doctor," said Henry; "but you know the old proverb,—that
ill-gotten wealth never thrives; so that I don't regret not finding this money,
for I am sure we should have been none the happier with it, and perhaps not so
happy."
"Oh,
bother the old proverb; thirty or forty thousand pounds is no trifle to be
talked lightly of, or the loss of which to be quietly put up with, on account
of a musty proverb. It's a large sum, and I should like to have placed it in
your hands."
"But
as you cannot, doctor, there can be no good possibly done by regretting
it."
"No,
certainly; I don't mean that; utter regret is always a very foolish thing; but
it's questionable whether something might not be done in the matter, after all,
for you, as it appears, by all the evidence we can collect, that it must have
been Varney, after all, who jumped down upon me from the garden-wall in so
sudden a manner: and, if the picture be valuable to him, it must be valuable to
us."
"But
how are we to get it, and if we could, I do not see that it would be of much
good to anybody, for, after all, it is but a painting."
"There
you go again," said the doctor, "depreciating what you know nothing
about; now, listen to me, Master Henry, and I will tell you. That picture
evidently had some sort of lining at the back, over the original canvas; and do
you think I would have taken such pains to bring it away with me if that lining
had not made me suspect that between it and the original picture the money, in
bank notes, was deposited?"
"Had
you any special reason for supposing such was the case?"
"Yes;
most unquestionably I had; for when I got the picture fairly down, I found
various inequalities in the surface of the back, which led me to believe that
rolls of notes were deposited, and that the great mistake we had all along made
was in looking behind the picture, instead of at the picture itself. I meant immediately
to have cut it to pieces when I reached here with it; but now it has got into
the hands of somebody else, who knows, I suspect, as much I do."
"It
is rather provoking."
"Rather
provoking! is that the way to talk of the loss of Heaven knows how many
thousands of pounds! I am quite aggravated myself at the idea of the thing, and
it puts me in a perfect fever to think of it, I can assure you."
"But
what can we do?"
"Oh!
I propose an immediate crusade against Varney, the vampyre, for who but he
could have made such an attack upon me, and force me to deliver up such a
valuable treasure?"
"Never
heed it, doctor," said Flora; "let it go; we have never had or
enjoyed that money, so it cannot matter, and it is not to be considered as the
loss of an actual possession, because we never did actually possess it."
"Yes,"
chimed in the admiral; "bother the money! what do we care about it; and,
besides, Charley Holland is going to be very busy."
"Busy!"
said the doctor, "how do you mean?"
"Why,
isn't he going to be married directly to Flora, here, and am not I going to
settle the whole of my property upon him on condition that he takes the name of
Bell instead of Holland? for, you see, his mother was my sister, and of course
her name was Bell. As for his father Holland, it can't matter to him now what
Charley is called; and if he don't take the name of Bell I shall be the last in
the family, for I am not likely to marry, and have any little Bells about
me."
"No,"
said the doctor; "I should say not; and that's the reason why you want to
ring the changes upon Charles Holland's name. Do you see the joke,
admiral?"
"I
can't say I do—where is it? It's all very well to talk of jokes, but if I was
like Charles, going to be married, I shouldn't be in any joking humour, I can tell
you, but quite the reverse; and as for you and your picture, if you want it,
doctor, just run after Varney yourself for it; or, stay—I have a better idea
than that—get your wife to go and ask him for it, and if she makes half such a
clamour about his ears that she did about ours, he will give it her in a
minute, to get rid of her."
"My
wife!—you don't mean to say she has been here?"
"Yes,
but she has though. And now, doctor, I can tell you I have seen a good deal of
service in all parts of the world, and, of course, picked up a little
experience; and, if I were you, some of these days, when Mrs. Chillingworth
ain't very well, I'd give her a composing draught that would make her quiet
enough."
"Ah!
that's not my style of practice, admiral; but I am sorry to hear that Mrs.
Chillingworth has annoyed you so much."
"Pho,
pho, man!—pho, pho! do you think she could annoy me? Why, I have encountered
storms and squalls in all latitudes, and it isn't a woman's tongue now that can
do anything of an annoying character, I can tell you; far from it—very far from
it; so don't distress yourself upon that head. But come, doctor, we are going
to have the wedding the day after to-morrow."
"No,
no," said Flora; "the week after next, you mean,"
"Is
it the week after next? I'll be hanged if I didn't think it was the day after
to-morrow; but of course you know best, as you have settled it all among you. I
have nothing to do with it."
"Of
course, I shall, with great pleasure," returned the doctor, "be
present on the interesting occasion; but do you intend taking possession of
Bannerworth Hall again?"
"No,
certainly not," said Henry; "we propose going to the Dearbrook
estate, and there remaining for a time to see how we all like it. We may,
perchance, enjoy it very much, for I have heard it spoken of as an attractive
little property enough, and one that any one might fancy, after being resident
a short time upon it."
"Well,"
said the admiral; "that is, I believe, settled among us, but I am sure we
sha'n't like it, on account of the want of the sea. Why, I tell you, I have not
seen a ship myself for this eighteen months; there's a state of things, you
see, that won't do to last, because one would get dry-mouldy: it's a shocking
thing to see nothing but land, land, wherever you go."
From
the preceding conversation may be gathered what were the designs of the
Bannerworth family, and what progress had been made in carrying them out. From
the moment they had discovered the title-deeds of the Dearbrook property, they
had ceased to care about the large sum of money which Marmaduke Bannerworth had
been supposed to have hidden in some portion of Bannerworth Hall.
They
had already passed through quite enough of the busy turmoils of existence to be
grateful for anything that promised ease and competence, and that serenity of
mind which is the dearest possession which any one can compass.
Consequently
was it, that, with one accord, they got rid of all yearning after the large sum
which the doctor was so anxious to procure for them, and looked forward to a
life of great happiness and contentment. On the whole, too, when they came to
talk the matter over quietly among themselves, they were not sorry that Varney
had taken himself off in the way he had, for really it was a great release;
and, as he had couched his farewell in words which signified it was a final
one, they were inclined to think that he must have left England, and that it
was not likely they should ever again encounter him, under any circumstances
whatever.
It
was to be considered quite as a whim of the old admiral's, the changing of
Charles Holland's name to Bell; but, as Charles himself said when the subject
was broached to him,—"I am so well content to be called whatever those to
whom I feel affection think proper, that I give up my name of Holland without a
pang, willingly adopting in its stead one that has always been hallowed in my
remembrance with the best and kindest recollections."
And
thus this affair was settled, much to the satisfaction of Flora, who was quite
as well content to be called Mrs. Bell as to be called Mrs. Holland, since the
object of her attachment remained the same. The wedding was really fixed for
the week after that which followed the conversation we have recorded; but the
admiral was not at all disposed to allow Flora and his nephew Charles to get
through such an important period of their lives without some greater
demonstration and show than could be made from the little cottage where they
dwelt; and consequently he wished that they should leave that and proceed at
once to a larger mansion, which he had his eye upon a few miles off, and which
was to be had furnished for a time, at the pleasure of any one.
"And
we won't shut ourselves up," said the admiral; "but we will find out
all the Christian-like people in the neighbourhood, and invite them to the
wedding, and we will have a jolly good breakfast together, and lots of music,
and a famous lunch; and, after that, a dinner, and then a dance, and all that
sort of thing; so that there shall be no want of fun."
As may
be well supposed, both Charles and Flora shrunk from so public an affair; but,
as the old man had evidently set his heart upon it, they did not like to say
they positively would not; so, after a vain attempt to dissuade him from
removing at all from the cottage until they removed for good, they gave up the
point to him, and he had it all his own way.
He
took the house, for one month, which had so taken his fancy, and certainly a
pretty enough place it was, although they found out afterwards, that why it was
he was so charmed with it consisted in the fact that it bore the name of a
vessel which he had once commanded; but this they did not know until a long
time afterwards, when it slipped out by mere accident.
They
stipulated with the admiral that there should not be more than twenty guests at
the breakfast which was to succeed the marriage ceremony; and to that he
acceded; but Henry whispered to Charles Holland,—
"I
know this public wedding to be distasteful to you, and most particularly do I
know it is distasteful to Flora; so, if you do not mind playing a trick upon
the old man, I can very easily put you in the way of cheating him
entirely."
"Indeed;
I should like to hear, and, what is more, I should like to practise, if you
think it will not so entirely offend him as to make him implacable."
"Not
at all, not at all; he will laugh himself, when he comes to know it, as much as
any of us; the present difficulty will be to procure Flora's connivance; but
that we must do the best way we can by persuasion."
What
this scheme was will ultimately appear; but, certain it is, that the old
admiral had no suspicion of what was going on, and proceeded to make all his
arrangements accordingly.
From
his first arrival in the market town—in the neighbourhood of which was Bannerworth
Hall—it will be recollected that he had taken a great fancy to the lawyer, in
whose name a forged letter had been sent him, informing him of the fact that
his nephew, Charles Holland, intended marrying into a family of vampyres.
It
was this letter, as the reader is aware, which brought the old admiral and Jack
Pringle into the neighbourhood of the Hall; and, although it was a manoeuvre to
get rid of Charles Holland, which failed most signally, there can be no doubt
but that such a letter was the production of Sir Francis Varney, and that he
wrote it for the express purpose of getting rid of Charles from the Hall, who
had begun materially to interfere with his plans and projects there.
After
some conversation with himself, the admiral thought that this lawyer would be
just the man to recommend the proper sort of people to be invited to the
wedding of Charles and Flora; so he wrote to him, inviting himself to dinner,
and received back a very gracious reply from the lawyer, who declared that the
honour of entertaining a gentleman whom he so much respected as Admiral Bell,
was greater than he had a right to expect by a great deal, and that he should
feel most grateful for his company, and await his coming with the greatest
impatience.