THE CONFERENCE BETWEEN THE UNCLE AND NEPHEW, AND THE ALARM.
Meanwhile Charles Holland had taken his uncle by the arm, and led him
into a private room.
“Dear uncle,” he said, “be seated, and I will explain everything
without reserve.”
“Seated!—nonsense! I’ll walk about,” said the admiral. “D—n me! I’ve
no patience to be seated, and very seldom had or have. Go on now, you
young scamp.”
“Well—well; you abuse me, but I am quite sure, had you been in my
situation, you would have acted precisely as I have done.”
“No, I shouldn’t.”
“Well, but, uncle——”
“Don’t think to come over me by calling me uncle. Hark you,
Charles—from this moment I won’t be your uncle any more.”
“Very well, sir.”
“It ain’t very well. And how dare you, you buccaneer, call me sir, eh?
I say, how dare you?”
“I will call you anything you like.”
“But I won’t be called anything I like. You might as well call me at
once Morgan, the Pirate, for he was called anything he liked. Hilloa,
sir! how dare you laugh, eh? I’ll teach you to laugh at me. I wish I
had you on board ship—that’s all, you young rascal. I’d soon teach you
to laugh at your superior officer, I would.”
“Oh, uncle, I did not laugh at you.”
“What did you laugh at, then?”
“At the joke.”
“Joke. D—n me, there was no joke at all!”
“Oh, very good.”
“And it ain’t very good.”
Charles knew very well that, this sort of humour, in which was the
old admiral, would soon pass away, and then that he would listen to
him comfortably enough; so he would not allow the least exhibition of
petulance or mere impatience to escape himself, but contented himself
by waiting until the ebullition of feeling fairly worked itself out.
“Well, well,” at length said the old man, “you have dragged me here,
into a very small and a very dull room, under pretence of having
something to tell me, and I have heard nothing yet.”
“Then I will now tell you,” said Charles. “I fell in love——”
“Bah!”
“With Flora Bannerworth, abroad; she is not only the most beautiful of
created beings——”
“Bah!”
“But her mind is of the highest order of intelligence, honour, candour,
and all amiable feelings——”
“Bah!”
“Really, uncle, if you say ‘Bah!’ to everything, I cannot go on.”
“And what the deuce difference, sir, does it make to you, whether I say
‘Bah!’ or not?”
“Well, I love her. She came to England, and, as I could not exist, but
was getting ill, and should, no doubt, have died if I had not done so,
I came to England.”
“But d——e, I want to know about the mermaid.”
“The vampyre, you mean, sir?”
“Well, well, the vampyre.”
“Then, uncle, all I can tell you is, that it is supposed a vampyre came
one night and inflicted a wound upon Flora’s neck with his teeth, and
that he is still endeavouring to renew his horrible existence from the
young, pure blood that flows through her veins.”
“The devil he is!”
“Yes. I am bewildered, I must confess, by the mass of circumstances
that have combined to give the affair a horrible truthfulness. Poor
Flora is much injured in health and spirits; and when I came home, she,
at once, implored me to give her up, and think of her no more, for she
could not think of allowing me to unite my fate with hers, under such
circumstances.”
“She did?”
“Such were her words, uncle. She implored me—she used that word,
‘implore’—to fly from her, to leave her to her fate, to endeavour to
find happiness with some one else.”
“Well?”
“But I saw her heart was breaking.”
“What o’ that?”
“Much of that, uncle. I told her that when I deserted her in the hour
of misfortune that I hoped Heaven would desert me. I told her that if
her happiness was wrecked, to cling yet to me, and that with what power
and what strength God had given me, I would stand between her and all
ill.”
“And what then?”
“She—she fell upon my breast and wept and blessed me. Could I desert
her—could I say to her, ‘My dear girl, when you were full of health
and beauty, I loved you, but now that sadness is at your heart I leave
you?’ Could I tell her that, uncle, and yet call myself a man?”
“No!” roared the old admiral, in a voice that made the room echo again;
“and I tell you what, if you had done so, d—n you, you puppy, I’d have
braced you, and—and married the girl myself. I would, d——e, but I
would.”
“Dear uncle!”
“Don’t dear me, sir. Talk of deserting a girl when the signal of
distress, in the shape of a tear, is in her eye!”
“But I——”
“You are a wretch—a confounded lubberly boy—a swab—a d—d bad grampus.”
“You mistake, uncle.”
“No, I don’t. God bless you, Charles, you shall have her—if a whole
ship’s crew of vampyres said no, you shall have her. Let me see
her—just let me see her.”
The admiral gave his lips a vigorous wipe with his sleeve, and Charles
said hastily,—
“My dear uncle, you will recollect that Miss Bannerworth is quite a
young lady.”
“I suppose she is.”
“Well, then, for God’s sake, don’t attempt to kiss her.”
“Not kiss her! d——e, they like it. Not kiss her, because she’s a young
lady! D——e, do you think I’d kiss a corporal of marines?”
“No, uncle; but you know young ladies are very delicate.”
“And ain’t I delicate—shiver my timbers, ain’t I delicate? Where is
she? that’s what I want to know.”
“Then you approve of what I have done?”
“You are a young scamp, but you have got some of the old admiral’s
family blood in you, so don’t take any credit for acting like an honest
man—you couldn’t help it.”
“But if I had not so acted,” said Charles, with a smile, “what would
have become of the family blood, then?”
“What’s that to you? I would have disowned you, because that very thing
would have convinced me you were an impostor, and did not belong to the
family at all.”
“Well, that would have been one way of getting over the difficulty.”
“No difficulty at all. The man who deserts the good ship that carries
him through the waves, or the girl that trusts her heart to him, ought
to be chopped up into meat for wild monkeys.”
“Well, I think so too.”
“Of course you do.”
“Why, of course?”
“Because it’s so d——d reasonable that, being a nephew of mine, you
can’t possibly help it.”
“Bravo, uncle! I had no idea you were so argumentative.”
“Hadn’t you, spooney; you’d be an ornament to the gun-room, you would;
but where’s the ‘young lady’ who is so infernal delicate—where is she,
I say?”
“I will fetch her, uncle.”
“Ah, do; I’ll be bound, now, she’s one of the right build—a good
figure-head, and don’t make too much stern-way.”
“Well, well, whatever you do, now don’t pay her any compliments, for
your efforts in that line are of such a very doubtful order, that I
shall dread to hear you.”
“You be off, and mind your own business; I haven’t been at sea forty
years without picking up some out-and-out delicate compliments to say
to a young lady.”
“But do you really imagine, now, that the deck of a man-of-war is a
nice place to pick up courtly compliments in?”
“Of course I do. There you hear the best of language, d——e! You don’t
know what you are talking about, you fellows that have stuck on shore
all your lives; it’s we seamen who learn life.”
“Well, well—hark!”
“What’s that?”
“A cry—did you not hear a cry?”
“A signal of distress, by G—d!”
In their efforts to leave the room, the uncle and nephew for about a
minute actually blocked up the door-way, but the superior bulk of the
admiral prevailed, and after nearly squeezing poor Charles flat, he got
out first.
But this did not avail him, for he knew not where to go. Now, the
second scream which Flora had uttered when the vampyre had clasped her
waist came upon their ears, and, as they were outside the room, it
acted well as a guide in which direction to come.
Charles fancied correctly enough at once that it proceeded from the
room which was called “Flora’s own room,” and thitherward accordingly
he dashed at tremendous speed.
Henry, however, happened to be nearer at hand, and, moreover, he did
not hesitate a moment, because he knew that Flora was in her own room;
so he reached it first, and Charles saw him rush in a few moments
before he could reach the room.
The difference of time, however, was very slight, and Henry had only
just raised Flora from the floor as Charles appeared.
“God of Heaven!” cried the latter, “what has happened?”
“I know not,” said Henry; “as God is my judge, I know not. Flora,
Flora, speak to us! Flora! Flora!”
“She has fainted!” cried Charles. “Some water may restore her. Oh,
Henry, Henry, is not this horrible?”
“Courage! courage!” said Henry, although his voice betrayed what a
terrible state of anxiety he was himself in; “you will find water in
that decanter, Charles. Here is my mother, too! Another visit! God help
us!”
Mrs. Bannerworth sat down on the edge of the sofa which was in the
room, and could only wring her hands and weep.
“Avast!” cried the admiral, making his appearance. “Where’s the enemy,
lads?”
“Uncle,” said Charles, “uncle, uncle, the vampyre has been here
again—the dreadful vampyre!”
“D—n me, and he’s gone, too, and carried half the window with him. Look
there!”
It was literally true; the window, which was a long latticed one, was
smashed through.
“Help! oh, help!” said Flora, as the water that was dashed in her face
began to recover her.
“You are safe!” cried Henry, “you are safe!”
“Flora,” said Charles; “you know my voice, dear Flora? Look up, and you
will see there are none here but those who love you.”
Flora opened her eyes timidly as the said,—
“Has it gone?”
“Yes, yes, dear,” said Charles. “Look around you; here are none but
true friends.”
“And tried friends, my dear,” said Admiral Bell, “excepting me; and
whenever you like to try me, afloat or ashore, d—n me, shew me Old
Nick himself, and I won’t shrink—yard arm and yard arm—grapnel to
grapnel—pitch pots and grenades!”
“This is my uncle, Flora,” said Charles.
“I thank you, sir,” said Flora, faintly.
“All right!” whispered the admiral to Charles; “what a figure-head, to
be sure! Poll at Swansea would have made just about four of her, but
she wasn’t so delicate, d—n me!”
“I should think not.”
“You are right for once in a way, Charley.”
“What was it that alarmed you?” said Charles, tenderly, as he now took
one of Flora’s hands in his.
“Varney—Varney, the vampyre.”
“Varney!” exclaimed Henry; “Varney here!”
“Yes, he came in at that door; and when I screamed, I suppose—for I
hardly was conscious—he darted out through the window.”
“This,” said Henry, “is beyond all human patience. By Heaven! I cannot
and will not endure it.”
“It shall be my quarrel,” said Charles; “I shall go at once and defy
him. He shall meet me.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” said Flora, as she clung convulsively to Charles.
“No, no; there is a better way.”
“What way?”
“The place has become full of terrors. Let us leave it. Let him, as he
wishes, have it.”
“Let _him_ have it?”
“Yes, yes. God knows, if it purchase an immunity from these visits, we
may well be overjoyed. Remember that we have ample reason to believe
him more than human. Why should you allow yourselves to risk a personal
encounter with such a man, who might be glad to kill you that he might
have an opportunity of replenishing his own hideous existence from your
best heart’s blood?”
The young men looked aghast.
“Besides,” added Flora, “you cannot tell what dreadful powers of
mischief he may have, against which human courage might be of no avail.”
“There is truth and reason,” said Mr. Marchdale, stepping forward, “in
what Flora says.”
“Only let me come across him, that’s all,” said Admiral Bell, “and I’ll
soon find out what he is. I suppose he’s some long slab of a lubber
after all, ain’t he, with no strength.”
“His strength is immense,” said Marchdale. “I tried to seize him, and
I fell beneath his arm as if I had been struck by the hammer of a
Cyclops.”
“A what?” cried the admiral.
“A Cyclops.”
“D—n me, I served aboard the Cyclops eleven years, and never saw a very
big hammer aboard of her.”
“What on earth is to be done?” said Henry.
“Oh,” chimed in the admiral, “there’s always a bother about what’s to
be done on earth. Now, at sea, I could soon tell you what was to be
done.”
“We must hold a solemn consultation over this matter,” said Henry. “You
are safe now, Flora.”
“Oh, be ruled by me. Give up the Hall.”
“You tremble.”
“I do tremble, brother, for what may yet ensue. I implore you to give
up the Hall. It is but a terror to us now—give it up. Have no more to
do with it. Let us make terms with Sir Francis Varney. Remember, we
dare not kill him.”
“He ought to be smothered,” said the admiral.
“It is true,” remarked Henry, “we dare not, even holding all the
terrible suspicions we do, take his life.”
“By foul means certainly not,” said Charles, “were he ten times a
vampyre. I cannot, however, believe that he is so invulnerable as he is
represented.”
“No one represents him here,” said Marchdale. “I speak, sir, because I
saw you glance at me. I only know that, having made two unsuccessful
attempts to seize him, he eluded me, once by leaving in my grasp a
piece of his coat, and the next time he struck me down, and I feel yet
the effects of the terrific blow.”
“You hear?” said Flora.
“Yes, I hear,” said Charles.
“For some reason,” added Marchdale, in a tone of emotion, “what I say
seems to fall always badly upon Mr. Holland’s ear. I know not why; but
if it will give him any satisfaction, I will leave Bannerworth Hall
to-night.”
“No, no, no,” said Henry; “for the love of Heaven, do not let us
quarrel.”
“Hear, hear,” cried the admiral. “We can never fight the enemy well if
the ship’s crew are on bad terms. Come now, you Charles, this appears
to be an honest, gentlemanly fellow—give him your hand.”
“If Mr. Charles Holland,” said Marchdale, “knows aught to my prejudice
in any way, however slight, I here beg of him to declare it at once,
and openly.”
“I cannot assert that I do,” said Charles.
“Then what the deuce do you make yourself so disagreeable for, eh?”
cried the admiral.
“One cannot help one’s impression and feelings,” said Charles; “but I
am willing to take Mr. Marchdale’s hand.”
“And I yours, young sir,” said Marchdale, “in all sincerity of spirit,
and with good will towards you.”
They shook hands; but it required no conjuror to perceive that it was
not done willingly or cordially. It was a handshaking of that character
which seemed to imply on each side, “I don’t like you, but I don’t know
positively any harm of you.”
“There now,” said the admiral, “that’s better.”
“Now, let us hold counsel about this Varney,” said Henry. “Come to
the parlour all of you, and we will endeavour to come to some decided
arrangement.”
“Do not weep, mother,” said Flora. “All may yet be well. We will leave
this place.”
“We will consider that question, Flora,” said Henry; “and believe me
your wishes will go a long way with all of us, as you may well suppose
they always would.”
They left Mrs. Bannerworth with Flora, and proceeded to the small oaken
parlour, in which were the elaborate and beautiful carvings which have
been before mentioned.
Henry’s countenance, perhaps, wore the most determined expression of
all. He appeared now as if he had thoroughly made up his mind to do
something which should have a decided tendency to put a stop to the
terrible scenes which were now day by day taking place beneath that
roof.
Charles Holland looked serious and thoughtful, as if he were revolving
some course of action in his mind concerning which he was not quite
clear.
Mr. Marchdale was more sad and depressed, to all appearance, than any
of them.
As for the admiral, he was evidently in a state of amazement, and knew
not what to think. He was anxious to do something, and yet what that
was to be he had not the most remote idea, any more than as if he was
not at all cognisant of any of those circumstances, every one of which
was so completely out of the line of his former life and experience.
George had gone to call on Mr. Chillingworth, so he was not present at
the first part of this serious council of war.