THE INTERRUPTED BREAKFAST AT SIR FRANCIS VARNEY’S.
Notwithstanding all Mr. Chillingworth could say to the contrary, the
admiral really meant to breakfast with Sir Francis Varney.
The worthy doctor could not for some time believe but that the admiral
must be joking, when he talked in such a strain; but he was very soon
convinced to the contrary, by the latter actually walking out and once
more asking him, Mr. Chillingworth, if he meant to go with him, or not.
This was conclusive, so the doctor said,—
“Well, admiral, this appears to me rather a mad sort of freak; but, as
I have begun the adventure with you, I will conclude it with you.”
“That’s right,” said the admiral; “I’m not deceived in you, doctor;
so come along. Hang these vampyres, I don’t know how to tackle them,
myself. I think, after all, Sir Francis Varney is more in your line
than he is in mine.”
“How do you mean?”
“Why, couldn’t you persuade him he’s ill, and wants some physic? That
would soon settle him, you know.”
“Settle him!” said Mr. Chillingworth; “I beg to say, that if I did give
him any physic, the dose would be much to his advantage; but, however,
my opinion is, that this invitation to breakfast is, after all, a mere
piece of irony; and that, when we get to Walmesley Lodge, we shall not
see anything of him; on the contrary, we shall probably find it’s a
hoax.”
“I certainly shouldn’t like that, but still it’s worth the trying. The
fellow has really behaved himself in such an extraordinary manner,
that, if I can make terms with him I will; and there’s one thing, you
know, doctor, that I think we may say we have discovered.”
“And what may that be? Is it, not to make too sure of a vampyre, even
when you have him by the leg?”
“No, that ain’t it, though that’s a very good thing in its way; but
it is just this, that Sir Francis Varney, whoever he is and whatever
he is, is after Bannerworth Hall, and not the Bannerworth family. If
you recollect, Mr. Chillingworth, in our conversation, I have always
insisted upon that fact.”
“You have; and it seems to me to be completely verified by the
proceedings of the night. There, then, admiral, is the great
mystery—what can he want at Bannerworth Hall that makes him take such a
world of trouble, and run so many fearful risks in trying to get at it?”
“That is, indeed, the mystery; and if he really means this invitation
to breakfast, I shall ask him plumply, and tell him, at the same time,
that possibly his very best way to secure his object will be to be
candid, vampyre as he is.”
“But really, admiral, you do not still cling to that foolish
superstition of believing that Sir Francis Varney is in reality a
vampyre?”
“I don’t know, and I can’t say; if anybody was to give me a description
of a strange sort of fish that I had never seen, I wouldn’t take upon
myself to say there wasn’t such a thing; nor would you, doctor, if you
had really seen the many odd ones that I have encountered at various
times.”
“Well, well, admiral, I’m certainly not belonging to that school
of philosophy which declares the impossible to be what it don’t
understand; there may be vampyres, and there may be apparitions, for
all I know to the contrary; I only doubt these things, because I think,
if they were true, that, as a phenomena of nature, they would have been
by this time established by repeated instances without the possibility
of doubt or cavil.”
“Well, there’s something in that; but how far have we got to go now?”
“No further than to yon enclosure where you see those park-like looking
gates, and that cedar-tree stretching its dark-green foliage so far
into the road; that is Walmesley Lodge, whither you have been invited.”
“And you, my learned friend, recollect that you were invited too; so
that you are no intruder upon the hospitality of Varney the vampyre.”
“I say, admiral,” said Mr. Chillingworth, when they reached the gates,
“you know it is not quite the thing to call a man a vampyre at his own
breakfast-table, so just oblige me by promising not to make any such
remark to Sir Francis.”
“A likely thing!” said the admiral; “he knows I know what he is, and he
knows I’m a plain man and a blunt speaker; however, I’ll be civil to
him, and more than that I can’t promise. I must wring out of him, if I
can, what has become of Charles Holland, and what the deuce he really
wants himself.”
“Well, well; come to no collision with him, while we’re his guests.”
“Not if I can help it.”
The doctor rang at the gate bell of Walmesley Lodge, and was in a few
moments answered by a woman, who demanded their business.
“Is Sir Francis Varney here?” said the doctor.
“Oh, ah! yes,” she replied; “you see his house was burnt down, for
something or other—I’m sure I don’t know what—by some people—I’m sure I
don’t know who; so, as the lodge was to let, we have took him in till
he can suit himself.”
“Ah! that’s it, is it?” said the admiral—“tell him that Admiral Bell
and Dr. Chillingworth are here.”
“Very well,” said the woman; “you may walk in.”
“Thank ye; you’re vastly obliging, ma’am. Is there anything going on in
the breakfast line?”
“Well, yes; I am getting him some breakfast, but he didn’t say as he
expected company.”
The woman opened the garden gate, and they walked up a trimly laid out
garden to the lodge, which was a cottage-like structure in external
appearance, although within it boasted of all the comforts of a
tolerably extensive house.
She left them in a small room, leading from the hall, and was absent
about five minutes; then she returned, and, merely saying that Sir
Francis Varney presented his compliments, and desired them to walk up
stairs, she preceded them up a handsome flight which led to the first
floor of the lodge.
Up to this moment, Mr. Chillingworth had expected some excuse, for,
notwithstanding all he had heard and seen of Sir Francis Varney, he
could not believe that any amount of impudence would suffice to enable
him to receive people as his guests, with whom he must feel that he was
at such positive war.
It was a singular circumstance; and, perhaps, the only thing that
matched the cool impertinence of the invitation, was the acceptance of
it under the circumstances by the admiral.
Sir Francis Varney might have intended it as a jest; but if he did so,
in the first instance, it was evident he would not allow himself to be
beaten with his own weapons.
The room into which they were shown was a longish narrow one; a very
wide door gave them admission to it, at the end, nearest the staircase,
and at its other extremity there was a similar door opening into some
other apartments of the house.
Sir Francis Varney sat with his back towards this second door, and
a table, with some chairs and other articles of furniture, were so
arranged before him, that while they seemed but to be carelessly placed
in the position they occupied, they really formed a pretty good barrier
between him and his visitors.
The admiral, however, was too intent upon getting a sight of Varney, to
notice any preparation of this sort, and he advanced quickly into the
room.
And there, indeed, was the much dreaded, troublesome, persevering, and
singular looking being who had caused such a world of annoyance to the
family of the Bannerworths, as well as disturbing the peace of the
whole district, which had the misfortune to have him as an inhabitant.
If anything, he looked thinner, taller, and paler than usual, and there
seemed to be a slight nervousness of manner about him, as he slowly
inclined his head towards the admiral, which was not quite intelligible.
“Well,” said Admiral Bell, “you invited me to breakfast, and my learned
friend; here we are.”
“No two human beings,” said Varney, “could be more welcome to my
hospitality than yourself and Dr. Chillingworth. I pray you to be
seated. What a pleasant thing it is, after the toils and struggles of
this life, occasionally to sit down in the sweet companionship of such
dear friends.”
He made a hideous face as he spoke, and the admiral looked as if he
were half inclined to quarrel at that early stage of the proceedings.
“Dear friends!” he said; “well, well—it’s no use squabbling about a
word or two; but I tell you what it is, Mr. Varney, or Sir Francis
Varney, or whatever your d—d name is——”
“Hold, my dear sir,” said Varney—“after breakfast, if you please—after
breakfast.”
He rang a hand-bell as he spoke, and the woman who had charge of the
house brought in a tray tolerably covered with the materials for a
substantial morning’s meal. She placed it upon the table, and certainly
the various articles that smoked upon it did great credit to her
culinary powers.
“Deborah,” said Sir Varney, in a mild sort of tone, “keep on
continually bringing things to eat until this old brutal sea ruffian
has satiated his disgusting appetite.”
The admiral opened his eyes an enormous width, and, looking at Sir
Francis Varney, he placed his two fists upon the table, and drew a long
breath.
“Did you address those observations to me,” he said, at length, “you
blood-sucking vagabond?”
“Eh?” said Sir Francis Varney, looking over the admiral’s head, as if
he saw something interesting on the wall beyond.
“My dear admiral,” said Mr. Chillingworth, “come away.”
“I’ll see you d—d first!” said the admiral. “Now, Mr. Vampyre, no
shuffling; did you address those observations to me?”
“Deborah,” said Sir Francis Varney, in silvery tones, “you can remove
this tray and bring on the next.”
“Not if I know it,” said the admiral “I came to breakfast, and I’ll
have it; after breakfast I’ll pull your nose—ay, if you were fifty
vampyres, I’d do it.”
“Dr. Chillingworth,” said Varney, without paying the least attention
to what the admiral said, “you don’t eat, my dear sir; you must be
fatigued with your night’s exertions. A man of your age, you know,
cannot be supposed to roll and tumble about like a fool in a pantomime
with impunity. Only think what a calamity it would be if you were laid
up. Your patients would all get well, you know.”
“Sir Francis Varney,” said Mr. Chillingworth, “we’re your guests; we
come here at your invitation to partake of a meal. You have wantonly
attacked both of us. I need not say that by so doing you cast a far
greater slur upon your own taste and judgment than you can upon us.”
“Admirably spoken,” said Sir Francis Varney, giving his hands a clap
together that made the admiral jump again. “Now, old Bell, I’ll fight
you, if you think yourself aggrieved, while the doctor sees fair play.”
“Old who?” shouted the admiral.
“Bell, Bell—is not your name Bell?—a family cognomen, I presume, on
account of the infernal clack, clack, without any sense in it, that is
the characteristic of your race.”
“You’ll fight me?” said the admiral, jumping up.
“Yes; if you challenge me.”
“By Jove I do; of course.”
“Then I accept it; and the challenged party, you know well, or ought to
know, can make his own terms in the encounter.”
“Make what terms you please; I care not what they are. Only say you
will fight, and that’s sufficient.”
“It is well,” said Sir Francis Varney, in a solemn tone.
“Nay, nay,” interrupted Mr. Chillingworth; “this is boyish folly.”
“Hold your row,” said the admiral, “and let’s hear what he’s got to
say.”
“In this mansion,” said Sir Francis Varney—“for a mansion it is,
although under the unpretending name of a lodge—in this mansion there
is a large apartment which was originally fitted up by a scientific
proprietor of the place, for the purpose of microscopic and other
experiments, which required a darkness total and complete, such a
darkness as seems as if it could be felt—palpable, thick, and obscure
as the darkness of the tomb, and I know what that is.”
“The devil you do!” said this admiral “It’s damp, too, ain’t it?”
“The room?”
“No; the grave.”
“Oh! uncommonly, after autumnal rains. But to resume—this room is
large, lofty, and perfectly empty.”
“Well?”
“I propose that we procure two scythes.”
“Two what?”
“Scythes, with their long handles, and their convenient holding places.”
“Well, I’ll be hanged! What next do you propose?”
“You may be hanged. The next is, that with these scythes we be both of
us placed in the darkened room, and the door closed, and doubly locked
upon us for one hour, and that then and there we do our best each to
cut the other in two. If you succeed in dismembering me, you will have
won the day; but I hope, from my superior agility”—here Sir Francis
jumped upon his chair, and sat upon the back of it—“to get the better
of you. How do you like the plan I have proposed? Does it meet your
wishes?”
“Curse your impudence!” said the admiral, placing his elbows upon the
table and resting his chin in astonishment upon his two hands.
“Nay,” interrupted Sir Francis, “you challenged me; and, besides,
you’ll have an equal chance, you know that. If you succeed in striking
me first, down I go; whereas it I succeed in striking you first, down
you go.”
As he spoke, Sir Francis Varney stretched out his foot, and closed
a small bracket, which held out the flap of the table on which the
admiral was leaning, and, accordingly, down the admiral went, tea-tray
and all.
Mr. Chillingworth ran to help him up, and, when they both recovered
their feet, they found they were alone.