THE CONSULTATION.—THE DETERMINATION TO LEAVE THE HALL.
This was certainly the most seriously reasonable meeting which had been
held at Bannerworth Hall on the subject of the much dreaded vampyre.
The absolute necessity for doing something of a decisive character was
abundantly apparent, and when Henry promised Flora that her earnest
wish to leave the house should not be forgotten as an element in the
discussion which was about to ensue, it was with a rapidly growing
feeling on his own part, to the effect that that house, associated even
as it was with many endearing recollections, was no home for him.
Hence he was the more inclined to propose a departure from the Hall
if it could possibly be arranged satisfactorily in a pecuniary point
of view. The pecuniary point of view, however, in which Henry was
compelled to look at the subject, was an important and a troublesome
one.
We have already hinted at the very peculiar state of the finances of
the family; and, in fact, although the income derivable from various
sources ought to have been amply sufficient to provide Henry, and
those who were dependent upon him, with a respectable livelihood, yet
it was nearly all swallowed up by the payment of regular instalments
upon family debts incurred by his father. And the creditors took great
credit to themselves that they allowed of such an arrangement, instead
of sweeping off all before them, and leaving the family to starve.
The question, therefore, or, at all events, one of the questions, now
was, how far would a departure from the Hall of him, Henry, and the
other branches of the family, act upon that arrangement?
During a very few minutes’ consideration, Henry, with the frank
and candid disposition which was so strong a characteristic of his
character, made up his mind to explain all this fully to Charles
Holland and his uncle.
When once he formed such a determination he was not likely to be slow
in carrying it into effect, and no sooner, then, were the whole of them
seated in the small oaken parlour than he made an explicit statement of
his circumstances.
“But,” said Mr. Marchdale, when he had done, “I cannot see what right
your creditors have to complain of where you live, so long as you
perform your contract to them.”
“True; but they always expected me, I knew, to remain at the Hall, and
if they chose, why, of course, at any time, they could sell off the
whole property for what it would fetch, and pay themselves as far as
the proceeds would go. At all events, I am quite certain there could be
nothing at all left for me.”
“I cannot imagine,” added Mr. Marchdale, “that any men could be so
unreasonable.”
“It is scarcely to be borne,” remarked Charles Holland, with more
impatience than he usually displayed, “that a whole family are to be
put to the necessity of leaving their home for no other reason than the
being pestered by such a neighbour as Sir Francis Varney. It makes one
impatient and angry to reflect upon such a state of things.”
“And yet they are lamentably true,” said Henry. “What can we do?”
“Surely there must be some sort of remedy.”
“There is but one that I can imagine, and that is one we all alike
revolt from. We might kill him.”
“That is out of the question.”
“Of course my impression is that he bears the same name really as
myself, and that he is my ancestor, from whom was painted the portrait
on the panel.”
“Have circumstances really so far pressed upon you,” said Charles
Holland, “as at length to convince you that this man is really the
horrible creature we surmise he may be?”
“Dare we longer doubt it?” cried Henry, in a tone of excitement. “He is
the vampyre.”
“I’ll be hanged if I believe it,” said Admiral Bell! “Stuff and
nonsense! Vampyre, indeed! Bother the vampyre.”
“Sir,” said Henry, “you have not had brought before you, painfully,
as we have, all the circumstances upon which we, in a manner, feel
compelled to found this horrible belief. At first incredulity was a
natural thing. We had no idea that ever we could be brought to believe
in such a thing.”
“That is the case,” added Marchdale. “But, step by step, we have
been driven from utter disbelief in this phenomenon to a trembling
conviction that it must be true.”
“Unless we admit that, simultaneously, the senses of a number of
persons have been deceived.”
“That is scarcely possible.”
“Then do you mean really to say there are such fish?” said the admiral.
“We think so.”
“Well, I’m d—d! I have heard all sorts of yarns about what fellows have
seen in one ocean and another; but this does beat them all to nothing.”
“It is monstrous,” exclaimed Charles.
There was a pause of some few moments’ duration, and then Mr. Marchdale
said, in a low voice,—
“Perhaps I ought not to propose any course of action until you, Henry,
have yourself done so; but even at the risk of being presumptuous, I
will say that I am firmly of opinion you ought to leave the Hall.”
“I am inclined to think so, too,” said Henry.
“But the creditors?” interposed Charles.
“I think they might be consulted on the matter beforehand,” added
Marchdale, “when no doubt they would acquiesce in an arrangement which
could do them no harm.”
“Certainly, no harm,” said Henry, “for I cannot take the estate with
me, as they well know.”
“Precisely. If you do not like to sell it, you can let it.”
“To whom?”
“Why, under the existing circumstances, it is not likely you would get
any tenant for it than the one who has offered himself.”
“Sir Francis Varney?”
“Yes. It seems to be a great object with him to live here, and it
appears to me, that notwithstanding all that has occurred, it is most
decidedly the best policy to let him.”
Nobody could really deny the reasonableness of this advice, although it
seemed strange, and was repugnant to the feelings of them all, as they
heard it. There was a pause of some seconds’ duration, and then Henry
said,—
“It does, indeed, seem singular, to surrender one’s house to such a
being.”
“Especially,” said Charles, “after what has occurred.”
“True.”
“Well,” said Mr. Marchdale, “if any better plan of proceeding, taking
the whole case into consideration, can be devised, I shall be most
happy.”
“Will you consent to put off all proceedings for three days?” said
Charles Holland, suddenly.
“Have you any plan, my dear sir?” said Mr. Marchdale.
“I have, but it is one which I would rather say nothing about for the
present.”
“I have no objection,” said Henry, “I do not know that three days can
make any difference in the state of affairs. Let it be so, if you wish,
Charles.”
“Then I am satisfied,” said Charles. “I cannot but feel that, situated
as I am regarding Flora, this is almost more my affair than even yours,
Henry.”
“I cannot see that,” said Henry. “Why should you take upon yourself
more of the responsibility of these affairs than I, Charles? You induce
in my mind a suspicion that you have some desperate project in your
imagination, which by such a proposition you would seek to reconcile me
to.”
Charles was silent, and Henry then added,—
“Now, Charles, I am quite convinced that what I have hinted at is the
fact. You have conceived some scheme which you fancy would be much
opposed by us?”
“I will not deny that I have,” said Charles. “It is one, however, which
you must allow me for the present to keep locked in my own breast.”
“Why will you not trust us?”
“For two reasons.”
“Indeed!”
“The one is, that I have not yet thoroughly determined upon the course
I project; and the other is, that it is one in which I am not justified
in involving any one else.”
“Charles, Charles,” said Henry, despondingly; “only consider for a
moment into what new misery you may plunge poor Flora, who is, Heaven
knows, already sufficiently afflicted, by attempting an enterprise
which even we, who are your friends, may unwittingly cross you in the
performance of.”
“This is one in which I fear no such result. It cannot so happen. Do
not urge me.”
“Can’t you say at once what you think of doing?” said the old admiral.
“What do you mean by turning your sails in all sorts of directions so
oddly? You sneak, why don’t you be what do you call it—explicit?”
“I cannot, uncle.”
“What, are you tongue-tied?”
“All here know well,” said Charles, “that if I do not unfold my mind
fully, it is not that I fear to trust any one present, but from some
other most special reason.”
“Charles, I forbear to urge you further,” said Henry, “and only implore
you to be careful.”
At this moment the room door opened, and George Bannerworth,
accompanied by Mr. Chillingworth, came in.
“Do not let me intrude,” said the surgeon; “I fear, as I see you
seated, gentlemen, that my presence must be a rudeness and a
disturbance to some family consultation among yourselves?”
“Not at all, Mr. Chillingworth,” said Henry. “Pray be seated; we are
very glad indeed to see you. Admiral Bell, this is a friend on whom we
can rely—Mr. Chillingworth.”
“And one of the right sort, I can see,” said the admiral, as he shook
Mr. Chillingworth by the hand.
“Sir, you do me much honour,” said the doctor.
“None at all, none at all; I suppose you know all about this infernal
odd vampyre business?”
“I believe I do, sir.”
“And what do you think of it?”
“I think time will develop the circumstances sufficiently to convince
us all that such things cannot be.”
“D—n me, you are the most sensible fellow, then, that I have yet met
with since I have been in this neighbourhood; for everybody else is so
convinced about the vampyre, that they are ready to swear by him.”
“It would take much more to convince me. I was coming over here when I
met Mr. George Bannerworth coming to my house.”
“Yes,” said George, “and Mr. Chillingworth has something to tell us of
a nature confirmatory of our own suspicions.”
“It is strange,” said Henry; “but any piece of news, come it from what
quarter it may, seems to be confirmatory, in some degree or another, of
that dreadful belief in vampyres.”
“Why,” said the doctor, “when Mr. George says that my news is of such a
character, I think he goes a little too far. What I have to tell you, I
do not conceive has anything whatever to do with the fact, or one fact
of there being vampyres.”
“Let us hear it,” said Henry.
“It is simply this, that I was sent for by Sir Francis Varney myself.”
“You sent for?”
“Yes; he sent for me by a special messenger to come to him, and when I
went, which, under the circumstances, you may well guess, I did with
all the celerity possible, I found it was to consult me about a flesh
wound in his arm, which was showing some angry symptoms.”
“Indeed.”
“Yes, it was so. When I was introduced to him I found him lying on a
couch, and looking pale and unwell. In the most respectful manner, he
asked me to be seated, and when I had taken a chair, he added,—”
“‘Mr. Chillingworth, I have sent for you in consequence of a slight
accident which has happened to my arm. I was incautiously loading some
fire-arms, and discharged a pistol so close to me that the bullet
inflicted a wound on my arm.’”
“‘If you will allow me,’ said I, ‘to see the wound, I will give you my
opinion.’”
“He then showed me a jagged wound, which had evidently been caused by
the passage of a bullet, which, had it gone a little deeper, must have
inflicted serious injury. As it was, the wound was but trifling.”
“He had evidently been attempting to dress it himself, but finding some
considerable inflammation, he very likely got a little alarmed.”
“You dressed the wound?”
“I did.”
“And what do you think of Sir Francis Varney, now that you have had so
capital an opportunity,” said Henry, “of a close examination of him?”
“Why, there is certainly something odd about him which I cannot well
define, but, take him altogether, he can be a very gentlemanly man
indeed.”
“So he can.”
“His manners are easy and polished; he has evidently mixed in good
society, and I never, in all my life, heard such a sweet, soft, winning
voice.”
“That is strictly him. You noticed, I presume, his great likeness to
the portrait on the panel?”
“I did. At some moments, and viewing his face in some particular
lights, it showed much more strongly than at others. My impression was
that he could, when he liked, look much more like the portrait on the
panel than when he allowed his face to assume its ordinary appearance.”
“Probably such an impression would be produced upon your mind,” said
Charles, “by some accidental expression of the countenance which even
he was not aware of, and which often occurs in families.”
“It may be so.”
“Of course you did not hint, sir, at what has passed here with regard
to him?” said Henry.
“I did not. Being, you see, called in professionally, I had no right to
take advantage of that circumstance to make any remarks to him about
his private affairs.”
“Certainly not.”
“It was all one to me whether he was a vampyre or not, professionally,
and however deeply I might feel, personally, interested in the matter,
I said nothing to him about it, because, you see, if I had, he would
have had a fair opportunity of saying at once, ‘Pray, sir, what is that
to you?’ and I should have been at a loss what to reply.”
“Can we doubt,” said Henry, “but that this very wound has been
inflicted upon Sir Francis Varney, by the pistol-bullet which was
discharged at him by Flora?”
“Everything leads to such an assumption certainly,” said Charles
Holland.
“And yet you cannot even deduce from that the absolute fact of Sir
Francis Varney being a vampyre?”
“I do not think, Mr. Chillingworth,” said Marchdale, “anything would
convince you but a visit from him, and an actual attempt to fasten upon
some of your own veins.”
“That would not convince me,” said Chillingworth.
“Then you will not be convinced?”
“I certainly will not. I mean to hold out to the last. I said at the
first, and I say so still, that I never will give way to this most
outrageous superstition.”
“I wish I could think with you,” said Marchdale, with a shudder; “but
there may be something in the very atmosphere of this house which
has been rendered hideous by the awful visits that have been made to
it, which forbids me to disbelieve in those things which others more
happily situated can hold at arm’s length, and utterly repudiate.”
“There may be,” said Henry; “but as to that, I think, after the very
strongly expressed wish of Flora, I will decide upon leaving the house.”
“Will you sell it or let it?”
“The latter I should much prefer,” was the reply.
“But who will take it now, except Sir Francis Varney? Why not at once
let him have it? I am well aware that this does sound odd advice, but
remember, we are all the creatures of circumstances, and that, in some
cases where we least like it, we must swim with the stream.”
“That you will not decide upon, however, at present,” said Charles
Holland, as he rose.
“Certainly not; a few days can make no difference.”
“None for the worse, certainly, and possibly much for the better.”
“Be it so; we will wait.”
“Uncle,” said Charles, “will you spare me half an hour of your company?”
“An hour, my boy, if you want it,” said the admiral, rising from his
chair.
“Then this consultation is over,” said Henry, “and we quite understand
that to leave the Hall is a matter determined on, and that in a few
days a decision shall be come to as to whether Varney the Vampyre shall
be its tenant or not.”