THE CONSULTATION.—THE DUEL AND ITS RESULTS.
Independent of this interview which Flora had had with the much dreaded
Sir Francis Varney, the circumstances in which she and all who were
dear to her, happened at that moment to be placed, certainly required
an amount of consideration, which could not be too soon bestowed.
By a combination of disagreeables, everything that could possibly occur
to disturb the peace of the family seemed to have taken place at once;
like Macbeth’s, their troubles had truly come in battalions, and now
that the serenity of their domestic position was destroyed, minor evils
and annoyances which that very serenity had enabled them to hold at
arm’s-length became gigantic, and added much to their distress.
The small income, which, when all was happiness, health and peace, was
made to constitute a comfortable household, was now totally inadequate
to do so—the power to economise and to make the most of a little, had
flown along with that contentedness of spirit which the harmony of
circumstances alone could produce.
It was not to be supposed that poor Mrs. Bannerworth could now, as she
had formerly done, when her mind was free from anxiety, attend to those
domestic matters which make up the comforts of a family—distracted at
the situation of her daughter, and bewildered by the rapid succession
of troublesome events which so short a period of time had given birth
to, she fell into an inert state of mind as different as anything could
possibly be, from her former active existence.
It has likewise been seen how the very domestics fled from Bannerworth
Hall in dismay, rather than remain beneath the same roof with a family
believed to be subject to the visitations of so awful a being as a
vampyre.
Among the class who occupy positions of servitude, certainly there
might have been found some, who, with feelings and understandings above
such considerations, would have clung sympathetically to that family
in distress, which they had known under a happier aspect; but it had
not been the good fortune of the Bannerworths to have such as these
about them; hence selfishness had its way, and they were deserted. It
was not likely, then, that strangers would willingly accept service in
a family so situated, without some powerful impulse in the shape of a
higher pecuniary consideration, as was completely out of the power of
the Bannerworths to offer.
Thus was it, then, that most cruelly, at the very time that they had
most need of assistance and of sympathy, this unfortunate family
almost became isolated from their kind; and, apart from every other
consideration, it would have been almost impossible for them to
continue inhabitants of the Hall, with anything like comfort, or
advantage.
And then, although the disappearance of Charles Holland no longer
awakened those feelings of indignation at his supposed perfidy which
were first produced by that event; still, view it in which way they
might, it was a severe blow of fate, and after it, they one and all
found themselves still less able to contend against the sea of troubles
that surrounded them.
The reader, too, will not have failed to remark that there was about
the whole of the family that pride of independence which induced them
to shrink from living upon extraneous aid; and hence, although they
felt and felt truly, that when Admiral Bell, in his frank manner,
offered them pecuniary assistance, that it was no idle compliment, yet
with a sensitiveness such as they might well be expected to feel, they
held back, and asked each other what prospect there was of emerging
from such a state of things, and if it were justifiable to commence a
life of dependence, the end of which was not evident or tangible.
Notwithstanding, too, the noble confidence of Flora in her lover, and
notwithstanding that confidence had been echoed by her brothers, there
would at times obtrude into the minds of the latter, a feeling of the
possibility, that after all they might be mistaken; and Charles Holland
might, from some sudden impulse, fancying his future happiness was all
at stake, have withdrawn himself from the Hall, and really written the
letters attributed to him.
We say this only obtruded itself occasionally, for all their real
feelings and aspirations were the other way, although Mr. Marchdale,
they could perceive, had his doubts, and they could not but confess
that he was more likely to view the matter calmly and dispassionately
than they.
In fact, the very hesitation with which he spoke upon the subject,
convinced them of his doubts, for they attributed that hesitation to
a fear of giving them pain, or of wounding the prejudices of Admiral
Bell, with whom he had already had words so nearly approaching to a
quarrel.
Henry’s visit to Mr. Chillingworth was not likely to be productive of
any results beyond those of a conjectural character. All that that
gentleman could do was to express a willingness to be directed by them
in any way, rather than suggest any course of conduct himself upon
circumstances which he could not be expected to judge of as they who
were on the spot, and had witnessed their actual occurrence.
And now we will suppose that the reader is enabled with us to look
into one of the principal rooms of Bannerworth Hall. It is evening,
and some candles are shedding a sickly light on the ample proportions
of the once handsome apartment. At solemn consultation the whole of
the family are assembled. As well as the admiral, Mr. Chillingworth,
and Marchdale, Jack Pringle, too, walked in, by the sufferance of his
master, as if he considered he had a perfect right to do so.
The occasion of the meeting had been a communication which Flora had
made concerning her most singular and deeply interesting interview with
the vampyre. The details of this interview had produced a deep effect
upon the whole of the family.
Flora was there, and she looked better, calmer, and more collected than
she had done for some days past.
No doubt the interview she had had with Varney in the summer-house in
the garden had dispelled a host of imaginary terrors with which she had
surrounded him, although it had confirmed her fully that he and he only
was the dreadful being who had caused her so much misery.
That interview had tended to show her that about him there was yet
something human, and that there was not a danger of her being hunted
down from place to place by so horrible an existence.
Such a feeling as this was, of course, a source of deep consolation;
and with a firmer voice, and more of her old spirit of cheerfulness
about her than she had lately exhibited, she again detailed the
particulars of the interview to all who had assembled, concluding by
saying,—
“And this has given me hope of happier days. If it be a delusion, it
is a happy one; and now that but a frightful veil of mystery still
hangs over the fate of Charles Holland, how gladly would I bid adieu to
this place, and all that has made it terrible. I could almost pity Sir
Francis Varney, rather than condemn him.”
“That may be true,” said Henry, “to a certain extent, sister; but we
never can forget the amount of misery he has brought upon us. It is no
slight thing to be forced from our old and much-loved home, even if
such proceeding does succeed in freeing us from his persecutions.”
“But, my young friend,” said Marchdale, “you must recollect, that
through life it is continually the lot of humanity to be endeavouring
to fly from great evils to those which do not present themselves to
the mind in so bad an aspect. It is something, surely, to alleviate
affliction, if we cannot entirely remove it.”
“That is true,” said Mr. Chillingworth, “to a considerable extent, but
then it takes too much for granted to please me.”
“How so, sir?”
“Why, certainly, to remove from Bannerworth Hall is a much less evil
than to remain at Bannerworth Hall, and be haunted by a vampyre; but
then that proposition takes for granted that vampyre business, which
I will never grant. I repeat, again and again, it is contrary to all
experience, to philosophy, and to all the laws of ordinary nature.”
“Facts are stubborn things,” said Marchdale.
“Apparently,” remarked Mr. Chillingworth.
“Well, sir; and here we have the fact of a vampyre.”
“The presumed fact. One swallow don’t make a summer, Mr. Marchdale.”
“This is waste of time,” said Henry—“of course, the amount of evidence
that will suffice to bring conviction to one man’s mind will fail in
doing so to another. The question is, what are we to do?”
All eyes were turned upon Flora, as if this question was more
particularly addressed to her, and it behoved her, above all others, to
answer it. She did so; and in a firm, clear voice, she said,—
“I will discover the fate of Charles Holland, and then leave the Hall.”
“The fate of Charles Holland!” said Marchdale. “Why, really, unless
that young gentleman chooses to be communicative himself upon so
interesting a subject, we may be a long while discovering his fate. I
know that it is not a romantic view to take of the question, to suppose
simply that he wrote the three letters found upon his dressing-table,
and then decamped; but to my mind, it savours most wonderfully of
matter-of-fact. I now speak more freely than I have otherwise done, for
I am now upon the eve of my departure. I have no wish to remain here,
and breed dissension in any family, or to run a tilt against anybody’s
prejudices.” Here he looked at Admiral Bell. “I leave this house
to-night.”
“You’re a d—d lubberly thief,” said the admiral; “the sooner you leave
it the better. Why, you bad-looking son of a gun, what do you mean? I
thought we’d had enough of that.”
“I fully expected this abuse,” said Marchdale.
“Did you expect that?” said the admiral, as he snatched up an
inkstand, and threw at Marchdale, hitting him a hard knock on the
chin, and bespattering its contents on his breast. “Now I’ll give you
satisfaction, you lubber. D—me, if you ain’t a second Jones, and enough
to sink the ship. Shiver my timbers if I sha’n’t say something strong
presently.”
“I really,” said Henry, “must protest, Admiral Bell, against this
conduct.”
“Protest and be d—d.”
“Mr. Marchdale may be right, sir, or he may be wrong, it’s a matter of
opinion.”
“Oh, never mind,” said Marchdale; “I look upon this old nautical
ruffian as something between a fool and a madman. If he were a younger
man I should chastise him upon the spot; but as it is I live in hopes
yet of getting him into some comfortable lunatic asylum.”
“Me into an asylum!” shouted the admiral. “Jack, did you hear that?”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“Farewell all of you,” said Marchdale; “my best wishes be with this
family. I cannot remain under this roof to be so insulted.”
“A good riddance,” cried the admiral. “I’d rather sail round the world
with a shipload of vampyres than with such a humbugging son of a gun as
you are. D——e, you’re worse than a lawyer.”
“Nay, nay,” cried they, “Mr. Marchdale, stay.”
“Stay, stay,” cried George, and Mrs. Bannerworth, likewise, said stay;
but at the moment Flora stepped forward, and in a clear voice she said,—
“No, let him go, he doubts Charles Holland; let all go who doubt
Charles Holland. Mr. Marchdale, Heaven forgive you this injustice you
are doing. We may never meet again. Farewell, sir!”
These words were spoken in so decided a tone, that no one contradicted
them. Marchdale cast a strange kind of look round upon the family
circle, and in another instant he was gone.
“Huzza!” shouted Jack Pringle; “that’s one good job.”
Henry looked rather resentful, which the admiral could not but observe,
and so, less with the devil-may-care manner in which he usually spoke,
the old man addressed him.
“Hark ye, Mr. Henry Bannerworth, you ain’t best pleased with me, and in
that case I don’t know that I shall stay to trouble you any longer, as
for your friend who has just left you, sooner or later you’ll find him
out—I tell you there’s no good in that fellow. Do you think I’ve been
cruizing about for a matter of sixty years, and don’t know an honest
man when I see him. But never mind, I’m going on a voyage of discovery
for my nephew, and you can do as you like.”
“Heaven only knows, Admiral Bell,” said Henry, “who is right and who is
wrong. I do much regret that you have quarrelled with Mr. Marchdale;
but what is done can’t be undone.”
“Do not leave us,” said Flora; “let me beg of you, Admiral Bell, not to
leave us; for my sake remain here, for to you I can speak freely and
with confidence, of Charles, when probably I can do so to no one else.
You knew him well and have a confidence in him, which no one else can
aspire to. I pray you, therefore, to stay with us.”
“Only on one condition,” said the admiral.
“Name it—name it!
“You think of letting the Hall?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Let me have it, then, and let me pay a few years in advance. If you
don’t, I’m d—d if I stay another night in the place. You must give me
immediate possession, too, and stay here as my guests until you suit
yourselves elsewhere. Those are my terms and conditions. Say yes, and
all’s right; say no, and I’m off like a round shot from a carronade.
D—me, that’s the thing, Jack, isn’t it?”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
There was a silence of some few moments after this extraordinary offer
had been made, and then they spoke, saying,—
“Admiral Bell, your generous offer, and the feelings which dictated it,
are by far too transparent for us to affect not to understand them.
Your actions, Admiral——”
“Oh, bother my actions! what are they to you? Come, now, I consider
myself master of the house, d—n you! I invite you all to dinner, or
supper, or to whatever meal comes next. Mrs. Bannerworth, will you
oblige me, as I’m an old fool in family affairs, by buying what’s
wanted for me and my guests? There’s the money, ma’am. Come along,
Jack, we’ll take a look over our new house. What do you think of it?”
“Wants some sheathing, sir, here and there.”
“Very like; but, however, it will do well enough for us; we’re in port,
you know. Come along.”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
And off went the admiral and Jack, after leaving a twenty pound note in
Mrs. Bannerworth’s lap.