THE GRAND CONSULTATION BROKEN UP BY MRS. CHILLINGWORTH, AND THE
DISAPPEARANCE OF VARNEY.
Remarkable was the change that had taken place in the circumstances of
the Bannerworth family. From a state of great despondency, and, indeed,
absolute poverty, they had suddenly risen to comfort and independence.
It seemed as if the clouds that had obscured their destiny, had now,
with one accord, dissipated, and that a brighter day was dawning. Not
only had the circumstances of mental terror which had surrounded them
given way in a great measure to the light of truth and reflection, but
those pecuniary distresses which had pressed upon them for a time, were
likewise passing away, and it seemed probable that they would be in a
prosperous condition.
The acquisition of the title deeds of the estate, which they thought
had passed away from the family for ever, became to them, in their
present circumstances, an immense acquisition, and brought to their
minds a feeling of great contentment.
Many persons in their situation would have been extremely satisfied at
having secured so strong an interest in the mind of the old admiral,
who was very wealthy, and who, from what he had already said and done,
no doubt fully intended to provide handsomely for the Bannerworth
family.
And not only had they this to look forward to, if they had chosen to
regard it as an advantage, but they knew that by the marriage of Flora
with Charles Holland she would have a fortune at her disposal, while he
(Charles) would be the last man in the world to demur at any reasonable
amount of it being lavished upon her mother and her brothers.
But all this did not suit the high and independent spirit of Henry
Bannerworth. He was one who would rather have eaten the crust that he
procured for himself by some meritorious exertion, than have feasted
on the most delicate viands placed before him from the resources of
another.
But now that he knew this small estate, the title deeds of which had
been so singularly obtained, had once really belonged to the family,
but had been risked and lost at the gaming-table, he had no earthly
scruple in calling such property again his own.
As to the large sum of money which Sir Francis Varney in his
confessions had declared to have found its way into the possession of
Marmaduke Bannerworth, Henry did not expect, and scarcely wished to
become possessed of wealth through so tainted a source.
“No,” he said to himself frequently; “no—I care not if that wealth be
never forthcoming, which was so badly got possession of. Let it sink
into the earth, if, indeed, it be buried there; or let it rot in some
unknown corner of the old mansion. I care not for it.”
In this view of the case he was not alone, for a family more unselfish,
or who cared so little for money, could scarcely have been found; but
Admiral Bell and Charles Holland argued now that they had a right to
the amount of money which Marmaduke Bannerworth had hidden somewhere,
and the old admiral reasoned upon it rather ingeniously, for he said,—
“I suppose you don’t mean to dispute that the money belongs to
somebody, and in that case I should like to know who else it belonged
to, if not to you? How do you get over that, master Henry?”
“I don’t attempt to get over it at all,” said Henry; “all I say is,
that I do dislike the whole circumstances connected with it, and
the manner in which it was come by; and, now that we have a small
independence, I hope it will not be found. But, admiral, we are
going to hold a family consultation as to what we shall do, and what
is to become of Varney. He has convinced me of his relationship to
our family, and, although his conduct has certainly been extremely
equivocal, he has made all the amends in his power; and now, as he
is getting old, I do not like to throw him upon the wide world for a
subsistence.”
“You don’t contemplate,” said the admiral, “letting him remain with
you, do you?”
“No; that would be objectionable for a variety of reasons; and I could
not think of it for a moment.”
“I should think not. The idea of sitting down to breakfast, dinner,
tea, and supper with a vampyre, and taking your grog with a fellow
that sucks other people’s blood!”
“Really, admiral, you do not really still cling to the idea that Sir
Francis Varney is a vampyre.”
“I really don’t know; he clings to it himself, that’s all I can say;
and I think, under those circumstances, I might as well give him the
benefit of his own proposition, and suppose that he is a vampyre.”
“Really, uncle,” said Charles Holland, “I did think that you had
discarded the notion.”
“Did you? I have been thinking of it, and it ain’t so desirable to be
a vampyre, I am sure, that any one should pretend to it who is not;
therefore, I take the fellow upon his own showing. He is a vampyre in
his own opinion, and so I don’t see, for the life of me, why he should
not be so in ours.”
“Well,” said Henry, “waving all that, what are we to do with him?
Circumstances seem to have thrown him completely at our mercy. What are
we to do with him, and what is to become of him for the future?”
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said the admiral. “If he were ten times a
vampyre, there is some good in the fellow; and I will give him enough
to live upon if he will go to America and spend it. They will take
good care there that he sucks no blood out of them; for, although an
American would always rather lose a drop of blood than a dollar, they
keep a pretty sharp look out upon both.”
“The proposal can be made to him,” said Henry, “at all events. It is
one which I don’t dislike, and probably one that he would embrace at
once; because he seems, to me, to have completely done with ambition,
and to have abandoned those projects concerning which, at one time, he
took such a world of trouble.”
“Don’t you trust to that,” said the admiral. “What’s bred in the bone
don’t so easily get out of the flesh; and once or twice, when Master
Varney has been talking, I have seen those odd looking eyes of his
flash up for a moment, as if he were quite ready to begin his old
capers again, and alarm the whole country side.”
“I must confess,” said Charles Holland, “that I myself have had the
impression once or twice that Varney was only subdued for a time, and
that, with a proper amount of provocation, he would become again a very
serious fellow, and to the full as troublesome as he has been.”
“Do you doubt his sincerity?” said Henry.
“No, I do not do that, Henry. I think Varney fully means what he says;
but I think, at the same time, that he has for so long lead a strange,
wild, and reckless life, that he will find it very far from easy, if
indeed possible, to shake off his old habits and settle down quietly,
if not to say comfortably.”
“I regret,” said Henry, “that you have such an impression; but, while I
do so, I cannot help admitting that it is, to a considerable extent, no
more than a reasonable one; and perhaps, after all, my expectation that
Varney will give us no more trouble, only amounts to a hope that he
will not do so, and nothing more. But let us consider; there seems to
be some slight difference of opinion among us, as to whether we should
take up our residence at this new house of ours, which we did not know
we owned, at Dearbrook, or proceed to London, and there establish
ourselves, or again return to Bannerworth Hall, and, by a judicious
expenditure of some money, make that a more habitable place than it has
been for the last twenty years.”
“Now, I’ll tell you what,” said the admiral, “I would do. It’s quite
out of the question for any body to live long unless they see a ship;
don’t you think so, Miss Flora?”
“Why, how can you ask Flora such a question, uncle,” said Charles
Holland, “when you know she don’t care a straw about ships, and only
looks upon admirals as natural curiosities?”
“Excepting one,” said Flora, “and he is an admiral who is natural but
no curiosity, unless it be that you can call him such because he is so
just and generous, and, as for ships, who can help admiring them; and
if Admiral Bell proposes that we live in some pleasant, marine villa by
the sea-coast, he shall have my vote and interest for the proceeding.”
“Bravo! Huzza!” cried the admiral. “I tell you what it is, Master
Charley—you horse marine,—I have a great mind to cut you out, and have
Miss Flora myself.”
“Don’t, uncle,” said Charles; “that would be so very cruel, after she
has promised me so faithfully. How do you suppose I should like it;
come now, be merciful.”
At this moment, and before any one could make another remark, there
came rather a sharp ring at the garden-gate bell, and Henry exclaimed,—
“That’s Mr. Chillingworth, and I am glad he has come in time to join
our conference. His advice is always valuable; and, moreover, I rather
think he will bring us some news worth the hearing.”
The one servant who they had to wait upon them looked into the room,
and said,—
“If you please, here is Mrs. Chillingworth.”
“Mistress? you mean Mr.”
“No; it is Mrs. Chillingworth and her baby.”
“The devil!” said the admiral; “what can she want?”
“I’ll come and let you know,” said Mrs. Chillingworth, “what I want;”
and she darted into the room past the servant. “I’ll soon let you know,
you great sea crab. I want my husband; and what with your vampyre, and
one thing and another, I haven’t had him at home an hour for the past
three weeks. What am I to do? There is all his patients getting well
as fast as they can without him; and, when they find that out, do you
think they will take any more filthy physic? No, to be sure not; people
ain’t such fools as to do anything of the sort.”
“I’ll tell you what we will do, ma’am,” said the admiral; “we’ll all
get ill at once, on purpose to oblige ye; and I’ll begin by having the
measles.”
“You are an old porpoise, and I believe it all owing to you that my
husband neglects his wife and family. What’s vampyres to him, I should
like to know, that he should go troubling about them? I never heard of
vampyres taking draughts and pills.”
“No, nor any body else that had the sense of a goose,” said the
admiral; “but if it’s your husband you want, ma’am, it’s no use your
looking for him here, for here he is not.”
“Then where is he? He is running after some of your beastly vampyres
somewhere, I’ll be bound, and you know where to send for him.”
“Then you are mistaken; for, indeed, we don’t. We want him ourselves,
ma’am, and can’t find him—that’s the fact.”
“It’s all very well talking, sir, but if you were a married woman,
with a family about you, and the last at the breast, you’d feel very
different from what you do now.”
“I’m d——d if I don’t suppose I should,” said the admiral; “but as for
the last, ma’am, I’d soon settle that. I’d wring its neck, and shove it
overboard.”
“You would, you brute? It’s quite clear to me you never had a child of
your own.”
“Mrs. Chillingworth,” said Henry, “I think you have no right to
complain to us of your domestic affairs. Where your husband goes, and
what he does, is at his own will and pleasure, and, really, I don’t
see that we are to be made answerable as to whether he is at home or
abroad; to say nothing of the bad taste—and bad taste it most certainly
is, of talking of your private affairs to other people.”
“Oh, dear!” said Mrs. Chillingworth; “that’s your idea, is it, you
no-whiskered puppy?”
“Really, madam, I cannot see what my being destitute of whiskers has to
do with the affair; and I am inclined to think my opinion is quite as
good without them as with them.”
“I will speak,” said Flora, “to the doctor, when I see him.”
“Will you, Miss Doll’s-eyes? Oh, dear me! you’ll speak to the doctor,
will you?”
“What on earth do you want?” said Henry. “For your husband’s sake, whom
we all respect, we wish to treat you with every imaginable civility;
but we tell you, candidly, that he is not here, and, therefore, we
cannot conceive what more you can require of us.”
“Oh, it’s a row,” said the admiral; “that’s what she wants—woman
like. D——d a bit do they care what it’s about as long as there’s a
disturbance. And now, ma’am, will you sit down and have a glass of
grog?”
“No, I will not sit down; and all I can say is, that I look upon this
place as a den full of snakes and reptiles. That’s my opinion; so I’ll
not stay any longer; but, wishing that great judgments may some day
come home to you all, and that you may know what it is to be a mother,
with five babies, and one at the breast, I despise you all and leave
you.”
So saying, Mrs. Chillingworth walked from the place, feeling herself
highly hurt and offended at what had ensued; and they were compelled
to let her go just as she was, without giving her any information,
for they had a vivid recollection of the serious disturbance she had
created on a former occasion, when she had actually headed a mob,
for the purpose of hunting out Varney, the vampyre, from Bannerworth
Hall, and putting an end consequently, as she considered, to that set
of circumstances which kept the doctor so much from his house, to the
great detriment of a not very extensive practice.
“After all,” said Flora, “Mrs. Chillingworth, although she is not the
most refined person in the world, is to be pitied.”
“What!” cried the admiral; “Miss Doll’s-eyes, are you taking her part?”
“Oh, that’s nothing. She may call me what she likes.”
“I believe she is a good wife to the doctor,” said Henry,
“notwithstanding her little eccentricities; but suppose we now at once
make the proposal we were thinking of to Sir Francis Varney, and so
get him to leave England as quickly as possible and put an end to the
possibility of his being any more trouble to anybody.”
“Agreed—agreed. It’s the best thing that can be done, and it will be
something gained to get his consent at once.”
“I’ll run up stairs to him,” said Charles, “and call him down at once.
I scarcely doubt for a moment his acquiescence in the proposal.”
Charles Holland rose, and ran up the little staircase of the cottage
to the room which, by the kindness of the Bannerworth family, had been
devoted to the use of Varney. He had not been gone above two minutes,
when he returned, hastily, with a small scrap of paper in his hand,
which he laid before Henry, saying,—
“There, what think you of that?”
Henry, upon taking up the paper, saw written upon it the words,—
“_The Farewell of Varney the Vampyre_.”
“He is gone,” said Charles Holland. “The room is vacant. I saw at a
glance that he had removed his hat, and cloak, and all that belonged to
him. He’s off, and at so short a warning, and in so abrupt a manner,
that I fear the worst.”
“What can you fear?”
“I scarcely know what; but we have a right to fear everything and
anything from his most inexplicable being, whose whole conduct has
been of that mysterious nature, as to put him past all calculation
as regards his motives, his objects, or his actions. I must confess
that I would have hailed his departure from England with feelings of
satisfaction; but what he means now, by this strange manœuvre, Heaven,
and his own singular intellect, can alone divine.”
“I must confess,” said Flora, “I should not at all have thought this of
Varney. It seems to me as if something new must have occurred to him.
Altogether, I do not feel any alarm concerning his actions as regards
us. I am convinced of his sincerity, and, therefore, do not view with
sensations of uneasiness this new circumstance, which appears at
present so inexplicable, but for which we may yet get some explanation
that will be satisfactory to us all.”
“I cannot conceive,” said Henry, “what new circumstances could have
occurred to produce this effect upon Varney. Things remain just as they
were; and, after all, situated as he is, if any change had taken place
in matters out of doors, I do not see how he could become acquainted
with them, so that his leaving must have been a matter of mere
calculation, or of impulse at the moment—Heaven knows which—but can
have nothing to do with actual information, because it is quite evident
he could not get it.”
“It is rather strange,” said Charles Holland, “that just as we were
speculating upon the probability of his doing something of this sort,
he should suddenly do it, and in this singular manner too.”
“Oh,” said the old admiral, “I told you I saw his eye, that was enough
for me. I knew he would do something, as well as I know a mainmast from
a chain cable. He can’t help it; it’s in the nature of the beast, and
that’s all you can say about it.”