THE ADMIRAL’S ADVICE.—THE CHALLENGE TO THE VAMPYRE.—THE NEW SERVANT
AT THE HALL.
The violent ringing of the bell continued uninterruptedly until at
length George volunteered to answer it. The fact was, that now there
was no servant at all in the place for, after the one who had recently
demanded of Henry her dismissal had left, the other was terrified to
remain alone, and had precipitately gone from the house, without even
going through the ceremony of announcing her intention to do so. To be
sure, she sent a boy for her money afterwards, which may be considered
a great act of condescension.
Suspecting, then, this state of things, George himself hastened to
the gate, and, being not over well pleased at the continuous and
unnecessary ringing which was kept up at it, he opened it quickly, and
cried, with more impatience, by a vast amount, than was usual with him.
“Who is so impatient that he cannot wait a seasonable time for the door
to be opened?”
“And who the d—l are you?” cried one who was immediately outside.
“Who do you want?” cried George.
“Shiver my timbers!” cried Admiral Bell, for it was no other than that
personage. “What’s that to you?”
“Ay, ay,” added Jack, “answer that if you can, you shore-going-looking
swab.”
“Two madmen, I suppose,” ejaculated George, and he would have closed
the gate upon them; but Jack introduced between it and the post the end
of a thick stick, saying,—
“Avast there! None of that; we have had trouble enough to get in. If
you are the family lawyer, or the chaplain, perhaps you’ll tell us
where Mister Charley is.”
“Once more I demand of you who you want?” said George, who was now
perhaps a little amused at the conduct of the impatient visitors.
“We want the admiral’s _nevey_,” said Jack.
“But how do I know who is the admiral’s _nevey_, as you call him.”
“Why, Charles Holland, to be sure. Have you got him aboard or not?”
“Mr. Charles Holland is certainly here; and, if you had said at once,
and explicitly, that you wished to see him, I could have given you a
direct answer.”
“He is here?” cried the admiral.
“Most certainly.”
“Come along, then; yet, stop a bit. I say, young fellow, just before we
go any further, tell us if he has maimed the vampyre?”
“The what?”
“The _wamphigher_,” said Jack, by way of being, as he considered, a
little more explanatory than the admiral.
“I do not know what you mean,” said George; “if you wish to see Mr.
Charles Holland walk in and see him. He is in this house; but, for
myself, as you are strangers to me, I decline answering any questions,
let their import be what they may.”
“Hilloa! who are they?” suddenly cried Jack, as he pointed to two
figures some distance off in the meadows, who appeared to be angrily
conversing.
George glanced in the direction towards which Jack pointed, and there
he saw Sir Francis Varney and Mr. Marchdale standing within a few paces
of each other, and apparently engaged in some angry discussion.
[Illustration: Sir Varney struggles with Marchdale, observed by George,
Jack, and the admiral.]
His first impulse was to go immediately towards them; but, before he
could execute even that suggestion of his mind, he saw Varney strike
Marchdale, and the latter fell to the ground.
“Allow me to pass,” cried George, as he endeavoured to get by the
rather unwieldy form of the admiral. But, before he could accomplish
this, for the gate was narrow, he saw Varney, with great swiftness,
make off, and Marchdale, rising to his feet, came towards the Hall.
When Marchdale got near enough to the garden-gate to see George, he
motioned to him to remain where he was, and then, quickening his pace,
he soon came up to the spot.
“Marchdale,” cried George, “you have had an encounter with Sir Francis
Varney.”
“I have,” said Marchdale, in an excited manner. “I threatened to follow
him, but he struck me to the earth as easily as I could a child. His
strength is superhuman.”
“I saw you fall.”
“I believe, but that he was observed, he would have murdered me.”
“Indeed!”
“What, do you mean to say that lankey, horse-marine looking fellow is
as bad as that!” said the admiral.
Marchdale now turned his attention to the two new comers, upon whom he
looked with some surprise, and then, turning to George, he said,—
“Is this gentleman a visitor?”
“To Mr. Holland, I believe he is,” said George; “but I have not the
pleasure of knowing his name.”
“Oh, you may know my name as soon as you like,” cried the admiral. “The
enemies of old England know it, and I don’t care if all the world knows
it. I’m old Admiral Bell, something of a hulk now, but still able to
head a quarter-deck if there was any need to do so.”
“Ay, ay,” cried Jack, and taking from his pocket a boatswain’s whistle,
he blew a blast so long, and loud, and shrill, that George was fain to
cover his ears with his hands to shut out the brain-piercing, and, to
him unusual sound.
“And are you, then, a relative,” said Marchdale, “of Mr. Holland’s,
sir, may I ask?”
“I’m his uncle, and be d—d to him, if you must know, and some one has
told me that the young scamp thinks of marrying a mermaid, or a ghost,
or a vampyre, or some such thing, so, for the sake of the memory of his
poor mother, I’ve come to say no to the bargain, and d—n me, who cares.”
“Come in, sir,” said George, “I will conduct you to Mr. Holland. I
presume this is your servant?”
“Why, not exactly. That’s Jack Pringle, he was my boatswain, you see,
and now he’s a kind o’ something betwixt and between. Not exactly a
servant.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” said Jack. “Have it all your own way, though we is paid
off.”
“Hold your tongue, you audacious scoundrel, will you.”
“Oh, I forgot, you don’t like anything said about paying off, cos it
puts you in mind of——”
“Now, d—n you, I’ll have you strung up to the yard-arm, you dog, if you
don’t belay there.”
“I’m done. All’s right.”
By this time the party, including the admiral, Jack, George
Bannerworth, and Marchdale, had got more than half-way across the
garden, and were observed by Charles Holland and Henry, who had come to
the steps of the hall to see what was going on. The moment Charles saw
the admiral a change of colour came over his face, and he exclaimed,—
“By all that’s surprising, there is my uncle!”
“Your uncle!” said Henry.
“Yes, as good a hearted a man as ever drew breath, and yet, withal, as
full of prejudices, and as ignorant of life, as a child.”
Without waiting for any reply from Henry, Charles Holland rushed
forward, and seizing his uncle by the hand, he cried, in tones of
genuine affection,—
“Uncle, dear uncle, how came you to find me out?”
“Charley, my boy,” cried the old man, “bless you; I mean, confound
your d—d impudence; you rascal, I’m glad to see you; no, I ain’t, you
young mutineer. What do you mean by it, you ugly, ill-looking, d—d fine
fellow—my dear boy. Oh, you infernal scoundrel.”
All this was accompanied by a shaking of the hand, which was enough to
dislocate anybody’s shoulder, and which Charles was compelled to bear
as well as he could.
It quite prevented him from speaking, however, for a few moments, for
it nearly shook the breath out of him. When, then, he could get in a
word, he said,—
“Uncle, I dare say you are surprised.”
“Surprised! D—n me, I am surprised.”
“Well, I shall be able to explain all to your satisfaction, I am sure.
Allow me now to introduce you to my friends.”
Turning then to Henry, Charles said,—
“This is Mr. Henry Bannerworth, uncle; and this Mr. George Bannerworth,
both good friends of mine; and this is Mr. Marchdale, a friend of
theirs, uncle.”
“Oh, indeed!”
“And here you see Admiral Bell, my most worthy, but rather eccentric
uncle.”
“Confound your impudence.”
“What brought him here I cannot tell; but he is a brave officer, and a
gentleman.”
“None of your nonsense,” said the admiral.
“And here you sees Jack Pringle,” said that individual, introducing
himself, since no one appeared inclined to do that office for him, “a
tar for all weathers. One as hates the French, and is never so happy as
when he’s alongside o’ some o’ those lubberly craft blazing away.”
“That’s uncommonly true,” remarked the admiral.
“Will you walk in, sir?” said Henry, courteously. “Any friend of
Charles Holland’s is most welcome here. You will have much to excuse us
for, because we are deficient in servants at present, in consequence
of some occurrences in our family, which your nephew has our full
permission to explain to you in full.”
“Oh, very good, I tell you what it is, all of you, what I’ve seen of
you, d—e, I like, so here goes. Come along, Jack.”
The admiral walked into the house, and as he went, Charles Holland said
to him,—
“How came you to know I was here, uncle?”
“Some fellow wrote me a despatch.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes, saying as you was a going to marry some odd sort of fish as it
wasn’t at all the thing to introduce into the family.”
“Was—was a vampyre mentioned?”
“That’s the very thing.”
“Hush, uncle—hush.”
“What for?”
“Do not, I implore, hint at such a thing before these kind friends of
mine. I will take an opportunity within the next hour of explaining
all to you, and you shall form your own kind and generous judgement
upon circumstances in which my honour and my happiness are so nearly
concerned.”
“Gammon,” said the admiral.
“What, uncle?”
“Oh, I know you want to palaver me into saying it’s all right. I
suppose if my judgment and generosity don’t like it, I shall be an old
fool, and a cursed goose?”
“Now, uncle.”
“Now, _nevey_.”
“Well, well—no more at present. We will talk over this at leisure. You
promise me to say nothing about it until you have heard my explanation,
uncle?”
“Very good. Make it as soon as you can, and as short as you can, that’s
all I ask of you.”
“I will, I will.”
Charles was to the full as anxious as his uncle could be to enter upon
the subject, some remote information of which, he felt convinced, had
brought the old man down to the Hall. Who it could have been that so
far intermeddled with his affairs as to write to him, he could not
possibly conceive.
A very few words will suffice to explain the precise position in which
Charles Holland was. A considerable sum of money had been left to him,
but it was saddled with the condition that he should not come into
possession of it until he was one year beyond the age which is usually
denominated that of discretion, namely, twenty-one. His uncle, the
admiral, was the trustee of his fortune, and he, with rare discretion,
had got the active and zealous assistance of a professional gentleman
of great honour and eminence to conduct the business for him.
This gentleman had advised that for the two years between the ages of
twenty and twenty-two, Charles Holland should travel, inasmuch as in
English society he would find himself in an awkward position, being for
one whole year of age, and yet waiting for his property.
Under such circumstances, reasoned the lawyer, a young man, unless he
is possessed of very rare discretion indeed, is almost sure to get
fearfully involved with money-lenders. Being of age, his notes, and
bills, and bonds would all be good, and he would be in a ten times
worse situation than a wealthy minor.
All this was duly explained to Charles, who, rather eagerly than
otherwise, caught at the idea of a two years wander on the continent,
where he could visit so many places, which to a well read young man
like himself, and one of a lively imagination, were full of the most
delightful associations.
But the acquaintance with Flora Bannerworth effected a great revolution
in his feelings. The dearest, sweetest spot on earth became that which
she inhabited. When the Bannerworths left him abroad, he knew not what
to do with himself. Everything, and every pursuit in which he had
before taken a delight, became most distasteful to him. He was, in
fact, in a short time, completely “used up,” and then he determined
upon returning to England, and finding out the dear object of his
attachment at once. This resolution was no sooner taken, than his
health and spirits returned to him, and with what rapidity he could,
he now made his way to his native shores.
The two years were so nearly expired, that he made up his mind he would
not communicate either with his uncle, the admiral, or the professional
gentleman upon whose judgment he set so high and so just a value.
And at the Hall he considered he was in perfect security from any
interruption, and so he would have been, but for that letter which was
written to Admiral Bell, and signed Josiah Crinkles, but which Josiah
Crinkles so emphatically denied all knowledge of. Who wrote it, remains
at present one of those mysteries which time, in the progress of our
narrative, will clear up.
The opportune, or rather the painful juncture at which Charles Holland
had arrived at Bannerworth Hall, we are well cognisant of. Where he
expected to find smiles he found tears, and the family with whom he had
fondly hoped he should pass a time of uninterrupted happiness, he found
plunged in the gloom incidental to an occurrence of the most painful
character.
Our readers will perceive, too, that coming as he did with an utter
disbelief in the vampyre, Charles had been compelled, in some measure,
to yield to the overwhelming weight of evidence which had been brought
to bear upon the subject, and although he could not exactly be said
to believe in the existence and the appearance of the vampyre at
Bannerworth Hall, he was upon the subject in a most painful state of
doubt and indecision.
Charles now took an opportunity to speak to Henry privately, and inform
him exactly how he stood with his uncle, adding—
“Now, my dear friend, if you forbid me, I will not tell my uncle of
this sad affair, but I must own I would rather do so fully and freely,
and trust to his own judgment upon it.”
“I implore you to do so,” said Henry. “Conceal nothing. Let him know
the precise situation and circumstances of the family by all means.
There is nothing so mischievous as secrecy; I have the greatest dislike
to it. I beg you tell him all.”
“I will; and with it, Henry, I will tell him that my heart is
irrevocably Flora’s.”
“Your generous clinging to one whom your heart saw and loved, under
very different auspices,” said Henry, “believe me, Charles, sinks deep
into my heart. She has related to me something of a meeting she had
with you.”
“Oh, Henry, she may tell you what I said; but there are no words which
can express the depth of my tenderness. ’Tis only time which can prove
how much I love her.”
“Go to your uncle,” said Henry, in a voice of emotion. “God bless you,
Charles. It is true you would have been fully justified in leaving my
sister; but the nobler and the more generous path you have chosen has
endeared you to us all.”
“Where is Flora now?” said Charles.
“She is in her own room. I have persuaded her, by some occupation,
to withdraw her mind from a too close and consequently painful
contemplation of the distressing circumstances in which she feels
herself placed.”
“You are right. What occupation best pleases her?”
“The pages of romance once had a charm for her gentle spirit.”
“Then come with me, and, from among the few articles I brought with
me here, I can find some papers which may help her to pass some merry
hours.”
Charles took Henry to his room, and, unstrapping a small valise, he
took from it some manuscript papers, one of which he handed to Henry,
saying—
“Give that to her; it contains an account of a wild adventure, and
shows that human nature may suffer much more—and that wrongfully
too—than came ever under our present mysterious affliction.”
“I will,” said Henry; “and, coming from you, I am sure it will have a
more than ordinary value in her eyes.”
“I will now,” said Charles, “seek my uncle. I will tell him how I love
her; and at the end of my narration, if he should not object, I would
fain introduce her to him, that he might himself see that, let what
beauty may have met his gaze, her peer he never yet met with, and may
in vain hope to do so.”
“You are partial, Charles.”
“Not so. ’Tis true I look upon her with a lover’s eyes, but I look
still with those of truthful observation.”
“Well, I will speak to her about seeing your uncle, and let you know.
No doubt, he will not be at all averse to an interview with any one who
stands high in your esteem.”
The young men now separated—Henry, to seek his beautiful sister; and
Charles, to communicate to his uncle the strange particulars connected
with Varney, the Vampyre.