A GLANCE AT THE BANNERWORTH FAMILY.—THE PROBABLE CONSEQUENCES OF THE
MYSTERIOUS APPARITION’S APPEARANCE.
Having thus far, we hope, interested our readers in the fortunes of a
family which had become subject to so dreadful a visitation, we trust
that a few words concerning them, and the peculiar circumstances in
which they are now placed, will not prove altogether out of place, or
unacceptable. The Bannerworth family then were well known in the part
of the country where they resided. Perhaps, if we were to say they were
better known by name than they were liked, on account of that name, we
should be near the truth, for it had unfortunately happened that for a
very considerable time past the head of the family had been the very
worst specimen of it that could be procured. While the junior branches
were frequently amiable and most intelligent, and such in mind and
manner as were calculated to inspire goodwill in all who knew them, he
who held the family property, and who resided in the house now occupied
by Flora and her brothers, was a very so-so sort of character.
This state of things, by some strange fatality, had gone on for nearly
a hundred years, and the consequence was what might have been fairly
expected, namely—that, what with their vices and what with their
extravagancies, the successive heads of the Bannerworth family had
succeeded in so far diminishing the family property that, when it came
into the hands of Henry Bannerworth, it was of little value, on account
of the numerous encumbrances with which it was saddled.
The father of Henry had not been a very brilliant exception to the
general rule, as regarded the head of the family. If he were not quite
so bad as many of his ancestors, that gratifying circumstance was to
be accounted for by the supposition that he was not quite so bold, and
that the change in habits, manners, and laws, which had taken place in
a hundred years, made it not so easy for even a landed proprietor to
play the petty tyrant.
He had, to get rid of those animal spirits which had prompted many of
his predecessors to downright crimes, had recourse to the gaming table,
and, after raising whatever sums he could upon the property which
remained, he naturally, and as might have been fully expected, lost
them all.
He was found lying dead in the garden of the house one day, and by his
side was his pocket-book, on one leaf of which, it was the impression
of the family, he had endeavoured to write something previous to his
decease, for he held a pencil firmly in his grasp.
The probability was that he had felt himself getting ill, and, being
desirous of making some communication to his family which pressed
heavily upon his mind, he had attempted to do so, but was stopped by
the too rapid approach of the hand of death.
For some days previous to his decease, his conduct had been extremely
mysterious. He had announced an intention of leaving England for
ever—of selling the house and grounds for whatever they would fetch
over and above the sums for which they were mortgaged, and so clearing
himself of all encumbrances.
He had, but a few hours before he was found lying dead, made the
following singular speech to Henry,—
“Do not regret, Henry, that the old house which has been in our family
so long is about to be parted with. Be assured that, if it is but for
the first time in my life, I have good and substantial reasons now for
what I am about to do. We shall be able to go some other country, and
there live like princes of the land.”
Where the means were to come from to live like a prince, unless Mr.
Bannerworth had some of the German princes in his eye, no one knew
but himself, and his sudden death buried with him that most important
secret.
There were some words written on the leaf of his pocket-book, but
they were of by far too indistinct and ambiguous a nature to lead to
anything. They were these:—
“The money is ———”
And then there was a long scrawl of the pencil, which seemed to have
been occasioned by his sudden decease.
Of course nothing could be made of these words, except in the way of a
contradiction, as the family lawyer said, rather more facetiously than
a man of law usually speaks, for if he had written “The money is not,”
he would have been somewhere remarkably near the truth.
However, with all his vices he was regretted by his children, who chose
rather to remember him in his best aspect than to dwell upon his faults.
For the first time then, within the memory of man, the head of the
family of the Bannerworths was a gentleman, in every sense of the word.
Brave, generous, highly educated, and full of many excellent and noble
qualities—for such was Henry, whom we have introduced to our readers
under such distressing circumstances.
And now, people said, that the family property having been all
dissipated and lost, there would take place a change, and that the
Bannerworths would have to take to some course of honourable industry
for a livelihood, and that then they would be as much respected as they
had before been detested and disliked.
Indeed, the position which Henry held was now a most precarious one—for
one of the amazingly clever acts of his father had been to encumber
the property with overwhelming claims, so that when Henry administered
to the estate, it was doubted almost by his attorney if it were at all
desirable to do so.
An attachment, however, to the old house of his family, had induced the
young man to hold possession of it as long as he could, despite any
adverse circumstance which might eventually be connected with it.
Some weeks, however, only after the decease of his father, and when he
fairly held possession, a sudden and a most unexpected offer came to
him from a solicitor in London, of whom he knew nothing, to purchase
the house and grounds, for a client of his, who had instructed him so
to do, but whom he did not mention.
The offer made was a liberal one, and beyond the value of the place.
The lawyer who had conducted Henry’s affairs for him since his father’s
decease, advised him by all means to take it; but after a consultation
with his mother and sister, and George, they all resolved to hold by
their own house as long as they could, and, consequently, he refused
the offer.
He was then asked to let the place, and to name his own price for the
occupation of it; but that he would not do; so the negotiation went off
altogether, leaving only, in the minds of the family, much surprise
at the exceeding eagerness of some one, whom they knew not, to get
possession of the place on any terms.
There was another circumstance perhaps which materially aided in
producing a strong feeling on the minds of the Bannerworths, with
regard to remaining where they were.
That circumstance occurred thus: a relation of the family, who was now
dead, and with whom had died all his means, had been in the habit, for
the last half dozen years of his life, of sending a hundred pounds to
Henry, for the express purpose of enabling him and his brother George
and his sister Flora to take a little continental or home tour, in the
autumn of the year.
A more acceptable present, or for a more delightful purpose, to young
people, could not be found; and, with the quiet, prudent habits of all
three of them, they contrived to go far and to see much for the sum
which was thus handsomely placed at their disposal.
In one of those excursions, when among the mountains of Italy, an
adventure occurred which placed the life of Flora in imminent hazard.
They were riding along a narrow mountain path, and, her horse slipping,
she fell over the ledge of a precipice.
In an instant, a young man, a stranger to the whole party, who was
travelling in the vicinity, rushed to the spot, and by his knowledge
and exertions, they felt convinced her preservation was effected.
He told her to lie quiet; he encouraged her to hope for immediate
succour; and then, with much personal exertion, and at immense risk
to himself, he reached the ledge of rock on which she lay, and then
he supported her until the brothers had gone to a neighbouring house,
which, bye-the-bye, was two good English miles off, and got assistance.
[Illustration: Charles reaches to rescue Flora from the ledge.]
There came on, while they were gone, a terrific storm, and Flora felt
that but for him who was with her she must have been hurled from the
rock, and perished in an abyss below, which was almost too deep for
observation.
Suffice it to say that she was rescued; and he who had, by his
intrepidity, done so much towards saving her, was loaded with the most
sincere and heartfelt acknowledgements by the brothers as well as by
herself.
He frankly told them that his name was Holland; that he was travelling
for amusement and instruction, and was by profession an artist.
He travelled with them for some time; and it was not at all to be
wondered at, under the circumstances, that an attachment of the
tenderest nature should spring up between him and the beautiful girl,
who felt that she owed to him her life.
Mutual glances of affection were exchanged between them, and it was
arranged that when he returned to England, he should come at once as an
honoured guest to the house of the family of the Bannerworths.
All this was settled satisfactorily with the full knowledge and
acquiescence of the two brothers, who had taken a strange attachment
to the young Charles Holland, who was indeed in every way likely to
propitiate the good opinion of all who knew him.
Henry explained to him exactly how they were situated, and told him
that when he came he would find a welcome from all, except possibly his
father, whose wayward temper he could not answer for.
Young Holland stated that he was compelled to be away for a term of two
years, from certain family arrangements he had entered into, and that
then he would return and hope to meet Flora unchanged as he should be.
It happened that this was the last of the continental excursions of
the Bannerworths, for, before another year rolled round, the generous
relative who had supplied them with the means of making such delightful
trips was no more; and, likewise, the death of the father had occurred
in the manner we have related, so that there was no chance, as had been
anticipated and hoped for by Flora, of meeting Charles Holland on the
continent again, before his two years of absence from England should be
expired.
Such, however, being the state of things, Flora felt reluctant to give
up the house, where he would be sure to come to look for her, and her
happiness was too dear to Henry to induce him to make any sacrifice of
it to expediency.
Therefore was it that Bannerworth Hall, as it was sometimes called, was
retained, and fully intended to be retained at all events until after
Charles Holland had made his appearance, and his advice (for he was, by
the young people, considered as one of the family) taken, with regard
to what was advisable to be done.
With one exception this was the state of affairs at the hall, and that
exception relates to Mr. Marchdale.
He was a distant relation of Mrs. Bannerworth, and, in early life, had
been sincerely and tenderly attached to her. She, however, with the
want of steady reflection of a young girl, as she then was, had, as is
generally the case among several admirers, chosen the very worst; that
is, the man who treated her with the most indifference, and who paid
her the least attention, was of course, thought the most of, and she
gave her hand to him.
That man was Mr. Bannerworth. But future experience had made her
thoroughly awake to her former error; and, but for the love she bore
her children, who were certainly all that a mother’s heart could wish,
she would often have deeply regretted the infatuation which had induced
her to bestow her hand in the quarter she had done so.
About a month after the decease of Mr. Bannerworth, there came one to
the hall, who desired to see the widow. That one was Mr. Marchdale.
It might have been some slight tenderness towards him which had never
left her, or it might be the pleasure merely of seeing one whom she had
known intimately in early life, but, be that as it may, she certainly
gave him a kindly welcome; and he, after consenting to remain for some
time as a visitor at the hall, won the esteem of the whole family by
his frank demeanour and cultivated intellect.
He had travelled much and seen much, and he had turned to good account
all he had seen, so that not only was Mr. Marchdale a man of sterling
sound sense, but he was a most entertaining companion.
His intimate knowledge of many things concerning which they knew little
or nothing; his accurate modes of thought, and a quiet, gentlemanly
demeanour, such as is rarely to be met with, combined to make him
esteemed by the Bannerworths. He had a small independence of his own,
and being completely alone in the world, for he had neither wife nor
child, Marchdale owned that he felt a pleasure in residing with the
Bannerworths.
Of course he could not, in decent terms, so far offend them as to offer
to pay for his subsistence, but he took good care that they should
really be no losers by having him as an inmate, a matter which he could
easily arrange by little presents of one kind and another, all of which
he managed should be such as were not only ornamental, but actually
spared his kind entertainers some positive expense which otherwise they
must have gone to.
Whether or not this amiable piece of manœuvring was seen through by the
Bannerworths it is not our purpose to inquire. If it was seen through,
it could not lower him in their esteem, for it was probably just what
they themselves would have felt a pleasure in doing under similar
circumstances, and if they did not observe it, Mr. Marchdale would,
probably, be all the better pleased.
Such then may be considered by our readers as a brief outline of the
state of affairs among the Bannerworths—a state which was pregnant with
changes, and which changes were now likely to be rapid and conclusive.
How far the feelings of the family towards the ancient house of their
race would be altered by the appearance at it of so fearful a visitor
as a vampyre, we will not stop to inquire, inasmuch as such feelings
will develop themselves as we proceed.
That the visitation had produced a serious effect upon all the
household was sufficiently evident, as well among the educated as among
the ignorant. On the second morning, Henry received notice to quit
his service from the three servants he with difficulty had contrived
to keep at the hall. The reason why he received such notice he knew
well enough, and therefore he did not trouble himself to argue about a
superstition to which he felt now himself almost compelled to give way;
for how could he say there was no such thing as a vampyre, when he had,
with his own eyes, had the most abundant evidence of the terrible fact?
He calmly paid the servants, and allowed them to leave him at once
without at all entering into the matter, and, for the time being,
some men were procured, who, however, came evidently with fear and
trembling, and probably only took the place, on account of not being
able to procure any other. The comfort of the household was likely
to be completely put an end to, and reasons now for leaving the hall
appeared to be most rapidly accumulating.