DR. CHILLINGWORTH AT THE HALL.—THE ENCOUNTER OF MYSTERY.—THE
CONFLICT.—THE RESCUE, AND THE PICTURE.
There have been many events that have passed rapidly in this our
narrative; but more have yet to come before we can arrive at that
point which will clear up much that appears to be most mysterious and
unaccountable.
Doctor Chillingworth, but ill satisfied with the events that had yet
taken place, determined once more upon visiting the Hall, and there to
attempt a discovery of something respecting the mysterious apartment in
which so much has already taken place.
He communicated his design to no one; he resolved to prosecute the
inquiry alone. He determined to go there and await whatever might turn
up in the shape of events. He would not for once take any companion;
such adventures were often best prosecuted alone—they were most easily
brought to something like an explanatory position; one person can
often consider matters more coolly than more. At all events, there is
more secrecy than under any other circumstances.
Perhaps this often is of greater consequence than many others; and,
moreover, when there is more than one, something is usually overdone.
Where one adventurous individual will rather draw back in a pursuit,
more than one would induce them to urge each other on.
In fact, one in such a case could act the part of a spy—a secret
observer; and in that case can catch people at times when they could
not under any other circumstances be caught or observed at all.
“I will go,” he muttered; “and should I be compelled to run away again,
why, nobody knows anything about it and nobody will laugh at me.”
This was all very well; but Mr. Chillingworth was not the man to run
away without sufficient cause. But there was so much mystery in all
this that he felt much interested in the issue of the affair. But this
issue he could not command; at the same time he was determined to sit
and watch, and thus become certain that either something or nothing was
to take place.
Even the knowledge of that much—that some inexplicable action was
still going on—was far preferable to the uncertainty of not knowing
whether what had once been going on was still so or not, because, if
it had ceased, it was probable that nothing more would ever be known
concerning it, and the mystery would still be a mystery to the end of
time.
“It shall be fathomed if there be any possibility of its being
discovered,” muttered Chillingworth. “Who would have thought that
so quiet and orderly a spot as this, our quiet village, would have
suffered so much commotion and disturbance? Far from every cause of
noise and strife, it is quite as great a matter of mystery as the
vampyre business itself.
“I have been so mixed up in this business that I must go through with
it. By the way, of the mysteries, the greatest that I have met with is
the fact of the vampyre having anything to do with so quiet a family as
the Bannerworths.”
Mr. Chillingworth pondered over the thought; but yet he could make
nothing of it. It in no way tended to elucidate anything connected with
the affair, and it was much too strange and singular in all its parts
to be submitted to any process of thought, with any hope of coming to
anything like a conclusion upon the subject—that must remain until
some facts were ascertained, and to obtain them Mr. Chillingworth now
determined to try.
This was precisely what was most desirable in the present state of
affairs; while things remained in the present state of uncertainty,
there would be much more of mystery than could ever be brought to light.
One or two circumstances cleared up, the minor ones would follow in the
same train, and they would be explained by the others; and if ever that
happy state of things were to come about, why, then there would be a
perfect calm in the town.
As Mr. Chillingworth was going along, he thought he observed two men
sitting inside a hedge, close to a hay-rick, and thinking neither
of them had any business there, he determined to listen to their
conversation, and ascertain if it had any evil tendency, or whether it
concerned the late event.
Having approached near the gate, and they being on the other side, he
got over without any noise, and, unperceived by either of them, crept
close up to them.
“So you haven’t long come from sea?”
“No; I have just landed.”
“How is it you have thrown aside your seaman’s clothes and taken to
these?”
“Just to escape being found out.”
“Found out! what do you mean by that? Have you been up to anything?”
“Yes, I have, Jack. I have been up to something, worse luck to me; but
I’m not to be blamed either.”
“What is it all about?” inquired his companion. “I always thought you
were such a steady-going old file that there was no going out of the
even path with you.”
“Nor would there have been, but for one simple circumstance.”
“What was that?”
“I will tell you, Jack—I will tell you; you will never betray me, I am
sure.”
“Never, by heavens!”
“Well, then, listen—it was this. I had been some time aboard our
vessel. I had sailed before, but the captain never showed any signs of
being a bad man, and I was willing enough to sail with him again.
“He knew I was engaged to a young woman in this country, and that I was
willing to work hard to save money to make up a comfortable home for us
both, and that I would not sail again, but that I intended to remain
ashore, and make up my mind to a shore life.”
“Well, you would have a house then?”
“Exactly; and that’s what I wished to do. Well, I made a small venture
in the cargo, and thought, by so doing, that I should have a chance of
realizing a sum of money that would put us both in a comfortable line
of business.
“Well, we went on very smoothly until we were coming back. We had
disposed of the cargo, and I had received some money, and this seemed
to cause our captain to hate me, because I had been successful; but I
thought there was something else in it than that, but I could not tell
what it was that made him so intolerably cross and tyrannous.
“Well, I found out, at length, he knew my intended wife. He knew her
very well, and at the same time he made every effort he could to induce
me to commit some act of disobedience and insubordination; but I would
not, for it seemed to me he was trying all he could to prevent my doing
my duty with anything like comfort.
“However, I learned the cause of all this afterwards. It was told me by
one of the crew.
“‘Bill,’ said my mate, ‘look out for yourself.’
“‘What’s in the wind?’ said I.
“‘Only the captain has made a dead set at you, and you’ll be a lucky
man if you escape.’
“‘What’s it all about?’ said I. ‘I cannot understand what he means. I
have done nothing wrong. I don’t see why I should suddenly be treated
in this way.’
“‘It’s all about your girl, Bill.’
“‘Indeed!’ said I. ‘What can that have to do with the captain? he knows
nothing of her.’
“‘Oh, yes, he does,’ he said. ‘If it were not for you he would have the
girl himself.’
“‘I see now,’ said I.
“‘Ay, and so can a blind man if you open his eyes; but he wants to make
you do wrong—to goad you on to do something that will give him the
power of disgracing you, and, perhaps, of punishing you.’
“‘He won’t do that,’ said I.
“‘I am glad to hear you say so, Bill; for, to my mind, he has made
up his mind to go the whole length against you. I can’t make it out,
unless he wishes you were dead.’
“‘I dare say he does,’ said I; ‘but I will take care I will live to
exact a reckoning when he comes ashore.’
“‘That is the best; and when we are paid off, Bill, if you will take it
out of him, and pay him off, why, I don’t care if I lend you a hand.’
“‘We’ll say more about that, Dick,’ said I, ‘when we get ashore and
are paid off. If we are overheard now, it will be said that we are
conspiring, or committing mutiny, or something of that sort.’
“‘You are right, Bill,’ he said—‘you are right. We’ll say no more about
this now, but you may reckon upon me when we are no longer under his
orders.’
“‘Then there’s no danger, you know.’
“Well, we said nothing about this, but I thought of it, and I had
cause enough, too, to think of it; for each day the captain grew
more and more tyrannous and brutal. I knew not what to do, but kept
my resolution of doing my duty in spite of all he could do, though I
don’t mind admitting I had more than one mind to kill him and myself
afterwards.
“However, I contrived to hold out for another week or two, and then we
came into port, and were released from his tyranny. I got paid off, and
then I met my messmate, and we had some talk about the matter.
“‘The worst of it is,’ said I, ‘we shall have some difficulty to catch
him; and, if we can, I’ll be sworn we shall give him enough to last him
for at least a voyage or two.’
“‘He ought to have it smart,’ said my messmate; ‘and I know where he is
to be found.’
“‘Do you?—at what hour?’
“‘Late at night, when he may be met with as he comes from a house where
he spends his evenings.”
“‘That will be the best time in the world, when we shall have less
interference than at any other time in the day. But we’ll have a turn
to-night if you will be with me, as he will be able to make too good a
defence to one. It will be a fight, and not a chastisement.’
“‘It will. I will be with you; you know where to meet me. I shall be at
the old spot at the usual time, and then we will go.’
“We parted; and, in the evening, we both went together, and sought the
place where we should find him out, and set upon him to advantage.
“He was nearly two hours before he came; but when he did come, we
saluted him with a rap on the head, that made him hold his tongue; and
then we set to, and gave him such a tremendous drubbing, that we left
him insensible; but he was soon taken away by some watchmen, and we
heard that he was doing well; but he was dreadfully beaten; indeed, it
would take him some weeks before he could be about in his duties.
“He was fearfully enraged, and offered fifty pounds reward to any one
who could give him information as to who it was that assaulted him.
“I believe he had a pretty good notion of who it was; but he could not
swear to me; but still, seeing he was busying himself too much about
me, I at once walked away, and went on my way to another part of the
country.”
“To get married?”
“Ay, and to get into business.”
“Then, things are not quite so bad as I thought for at first.”
“No—no, not so bad but what they might have been worse a great deal;
only I cannot go to sea any more, that’s quite certain.”
“You needn’t regret that.”
“I don’t know.”
“Why not know? Are you not going to be married?—ain’t that much better?”
“I can’t say,” replied the sailor; “there’s no knowing how my bargain
may turn out; if she does well, why, then the cruising is over; but
nothing short of that will satisfy me; for if my wife is at all not
what I wish her to be, why, I shall be off to sea.”
“I don’t blame you, either; I would do so too, if it were possible;
but you see, we can’t do so well on land as you do at sea; we can
be followed about from pillar to post, and no bounds set to our
persecution.”
“That’s true enough,” said the other; “we can cut and run when we have
had enough of it. However, I must get to the village, as I shall sleep
there to-night, if I find my quarters comfortable enough.”
“Come on, then, at once,” said his companion; “it’s getting dark now;
and you have no time to lose.”
These two now got up, and walked away towards the village; and
Chillingworth arose also, and pursued his way towards the Hall, while
he remarked to himself,—
“Well—well, they have nothing to do with that affair at all events.
By-the-bye, I wonder what amount of females are deserted in the navy;
they certainly have an advantage over landsmen, in the respect of being
tied to tiresome partners; they can, at least, for a season, get a
release from their troubles, and be free at sea.”
However, Mr. Chillingworth got to the Hall, and unobserved, for he had
been especially careful not to be seen; he had watched on all sides,
and no signs of a solitary human being had he seen, that could in any
way make the slightest observation upon him.
Indeed, he had sheltered himself from observation at every point of
his road, especially so when near Bannerworth Hall, where there were
plenty of corners to enable him to do so; and when he arrived there, he
entered at the usual spot, and then sat down a few moments in the bower.
“I will not sit here,” he muttered. “I will go and have a watch at that
mysterious picture; there is the centre of attraction, be it what it
may.”
As he spoke, he arose and walked into the house, and entered the same
apartment which has been so often mentioned to the reader.
Here he took a chair, and sat down full before the picture, and began
to contemplate it.
“Well, for a good likeness, I cannot say I ever saw anything more
unprepossessing. I am sure such a countenance as that could never
have won a female heart. Surely, it is more calculated to terrify the
imagination, than to soothe the affections of the timid and shrinking
female.
“However, I will have an inspection of the picture, and see if I can
make anything of it.”
As he spoke, he put his hand upon the picture with the intention of
removing it, when it suddenly was thrust open, and a man stepped down.
The doctor was for a moment completely staggered, it was so utterly
unexpected, and he stepped back a pace or two in the first emotion of
his surprise; but this soon passed by, and he prepared to close with
his antagonist, which he did without speaking a word.
There was a fair struggle for more than two or three minutes, during
which the doctor struggled and fought most manfully; but it was evident
that Mr. Chillingworth had met with a man who was his superior in
point of strength, for he not only withstood the utmost force that
Chillingworth could bring against him, but maintained himself, and
turned his strength against the doctor.
[Illustration: The struggle between the stranger and the doctor for the
picture.]
Chillingworth panted with exertion, and found himself gradually losing
ground, and was upon the point of being thrown down at the mercy of
his adversary, who appeared to be inclined to take all advantages of
him, when an occurrence happened that altered the state of affairs
altogether.
While they were struggling, the doctor borne partially to the earth—but
yet struggling, suddenly his antagonist released his hold, and
staggered back a few paces.
“There, you swab—take that; I am yard-arm and yard-arm with you, you
piratical-looking craft—you lubberly, buccaneering son of a fish-fag.”
Before, however, Jack Pringle, for it was he who came so opportunely
to the rescue of Doctor Chillingworth, could find time to finish the
sentence, he found himself assailed by the very man who, but a minute
before, he had, as he thought, placed _hors de combat_.
A desperate fight ensued, and the stranger made the greatest efforts
to escape with the picture, but found he could not get off without
a desperate struggle. He was, at length, compelled to relinquish the
hope of carrying that off, for both Mr. Chillingworth and Jack Pringle
were engaged hand to hand; but the stranger struck Jack so heavy a
blow on the head, that made him reel a few yards, and then he escaped
through the window, leaving Jack and Mr. Chillingworth masters of the
field, but by no means unscathed by the conflict in which they had been
engaged.