THE BARON BECOMES MASTER OF ANDERBURY-ON-THE-MOUNT, AND BEGINS TO
CONGRATULATE HIMSELF.—THE DREAM.
It was a wonderful relief to Mr. Leek to find that the fact of a dead
body having been found in the subterranean passage of Anderbury House,
was really no bar to the baron possessing himself of those premises.
Mr. Leek could not disguise from himself that, to many persons, it
would have been a serious impediment, and the very mystery in which
that affair was still wrapped up, would have made the impediment
greater, because people don’t so much think of a murder, which is all
found out, and for which the perpetrator suffers; but a murdered body
found, and yet no murderer, keeps public curiosity upon the stretch,
and is almost certain destruction to house property.
But now, whether the baron bought Anderbury House, or rented it, was
much the same to Mr. Leek; for, in the former case, he got his per
centage all at once; and, in the latter, acting as agent, he got more,
but he got it by degrees.
He waited, therefore, with some degree of feverish impatience to know
which way that illustrious individual would make up his mind; and when
he said, at length, in his strange calm way, that he would give £10,000
for Anderbury-on-the-Mount, Mr. Leek wrote off, in violent haste, to
the owner, advising him to accept the same without delay; and, as
the owner never intended again to set foot in Anderbury House, and,
moreover, wanted money, he wrote back again in as violent haste that he
would take £10,000 most certainly, and wished the transaction concluded
as quickly as it very well could be, promising Mr. Leek, which was a
very gratifying thing to that gentleman, not on account of the money,
as he himself said, “Oh, dear, no!” but as a matter of feeling, a
handsome bonus, in addition to his per centage, if he quickly got the
matter completed.
Armed with this authority, the agent showed an amount of generalship
which must, if he had been placed in the situation of Field Marshal the
Duke of Wellington, have won for him all the continental battles.
He went at once to the baron, and told him that he had received a
letter from the owner of Anderbury-on-the-Mount, asking £10,500 for the
estate, but leaving it at his, Mr. Leek’s option to take £10,000 if he
chose.
“Now, my lord baron,” said Mr. Leek, “business is business, and I may
as well put £250 in my pocket, and your lordship put £250 in yours, as
not.”
“That is to say,” said the baron, “that you are willing to sell your
employer’s interest to me.”
“Oh, why, it isn’t exactly that, you know, my lord; only you know, in
these transactions, everybody does the best he can for himself; and I
am sure I should be very sorry if you thought that—that——”
“Mr. Leek,” interrupted the baron, “you need have no delicacy with me,
whatever. I believe you to be as great a rogue as ever stepped; so you
need make no excuses, only, of course, you cannot expect me to assist
you in your villainy—that is quite out of the question; so you will
understand that I decline giving more than the £10,000 for Anderbury
House; and, if that is not accepted in one hour from this time, I will
not have it at all.”
“It’s accepted now at once,” groaned Mr. Leek, who found that the baron
was too many for him. “It’s accepted at once, my lord; and I beg that
you will bury the past in what do you call it—oblivion.”
“Very good,” said the baron. “I presume, if I give you a check for a
thousand pounds as a deposit, I may have possession at once, while the
deeds are preparing.”
“Certainly, my lord baron; oh! certainly.”
The baron then gave Mr. Leek, and took his acknowledgement for the
same, a check for a thousand pounds on one of the most eminent
banking-houses in London; and in two hours from that time, such was
the celerity and precision of his movements, he took possession of
Anderbury House, and engaged the man and woman who had been minding it
to be his temporary servants, until he could get up an establishment
suitable to his rank, and the place he inhabited.
It would have been a strange sight to Mr. Leek, and would have made him
open his eyes a little with wonder, if he could have seen the baron
traversing the apartments of Anderbury House alone.
“And am I at last settled?” he said to himself, as he stood in a large
saloon. “Am I at last settled in a home such as I can really call my
own?—and shall I not be hunted from it by my enemies? Let me consider—I
will be quick in giving such an entertainment here, that it shall be
talked of for many a day to come. It shall be such an entertainment as
shall present to me all of youth, beauty, rank, and wealth, that can
be found in the neighbourhood; and out of them I will choose some one
who shall be the baroness, and, for a time, pace the stately halls as
their mistress—for a time; yes, I have said only for a time. I wonder
if there be a family vault to this property, because, if there be, I
may want to use it.”
In this purchase of Anderbury-on-the-Mount, the ancient furniture of
the place had been all included; so that, in truth, the baron had but
to walk in and to find himself, if he could make himself so, quite at
home.
A costly bed-chamber was prepared for him; the bed-linen and furniture
of which was sent by Mr. Leek from his own house; and, no doubt, he
fully intended to be well paid for the same.
The baron, after about two hours spent in the examination of his house,
sat down in one of the principal apartments, and partook of a very
slight repast; and after that, folding his arms upon his bosom, he
seemed to give himself up to thought entirely; and from the smile that
occasionally showed itself on his remarkable physiognomy, it would seem
that those thoughts of his were of a pleasant and felicitous character.
Now and then, too, from a few and unsettled words that fell from his
lips, it would seem as if he were greatly felicitating himself upon
something which he had achieved that was of a character to give him
intense satisfaction.
Perhaps it was the death of this singular man who called upon him, that
gave him so much pleasure; and we are inclined to think that was the
case, for, after the commission of a murder such as that, one of two
feelings were pretty sure to possess him.
Remorse might take possession of him, and he might suffer much mental
anguish in consequence of the deed; or the object which he achieved by
that death might be of such a nature as to become quite a subject of
congratulation, so as, whenever he thought upon it, to give him the
pleasantest and most delightful feelings.
It looked very much as if this was the case as regarded the baron,
because it was as clear and evident as the sun at noon day, that he had
felt no degree of remorse or regret for that deed; and that, as regards
his conscience, certainly the murder he had committed sat as easy upon
it as anything well could.
The evening was now drawing on, and the large apartments of the ancient
house began to be enveloped in gloom; but, unlike the generality of
persons who have committed crimes, and whose consciences are charged
with injustice, the gathering gloom of night seemed to have no terror
whatever for the Baron Stolmuyer.
But at length, with something of a sense of weariness, he rose and rang
for attendance, desiring to be shown to the bedchamber which had been
prepared for his reception.
It was a strange thing; but it seemed to be customary with him not to
undress when he retired to rest; but, as he had done at the hotel, he
only took off a portion of his apparel, and then cast himself upon the
bed, and, in a few moments, it seemed as if a deep repose crept over
him.
We say seemed; but, in reality, it was a disturbed and anxious sleep
which the baron had; and soon he began to toss his arms to and fro
restlessly, and to utter deep groans, indicative of mental anguish.
Occasionally, likewise, a muttered word or two, scarcely articulately
pronounced, would come from his lips, such as—“Save me, save me! Not
yet, not yet—my doom—no—no—the moonlight—the moonlight—kill him—strike
him down!”
This state of mind continued for a considerable time, until with a
shrill cry he sprung to his feet, and stood in an attitude of horror,
trembling in every limb, and exhibiting a most horrible and frightful
picture of mental distress.
Then there came a loud knocking at his chamber-door, and the voice of
the man Davis, who had been alarmed at the strange shriek that had
come from the baron’s lips, fell upon his ears. The sound of any human
voice, at such a time, was like music to him.
“Are you ill, sir?” cried Davis; “are you ill?”
“No—no—it was nothing but a dream—only a dream;” and then he added to
himself, “but it was a dream of such absolute horror, that I shall
dread to close my eyes in rest again, lest once more so fearful a
vision should greet me. It was a dream of such frightful significance,
that it will live in my remembrance like a reality, and be dreamed of
again as such.”
He sat down, and wiped the cold perspiration from his brow; then
rising, he walked with unsteady steps towards the window, and throwing
aside the massive curtain which shut out the night without by making a
still deeper night within, a flood of beautiful and tender moonlight
fell into the apartment.
As the cold rays fell upon his face, he breathed more freely, and
seemed more to revive beneath their influence than as if he had
suddenly found the bright sunshine beaming upon him in all the
refulgence of its mid-day glory.
“I am better now,” he muttered; “I am much better now. What a fearful
vision that was which came across my heated fancy! Welcome, welcome,
beautiful moonbeams, welcome; for deep in my very heart I feel your
cheering influence now.”
The violent trembling which had seized him passed away, and once more
he resumed his wonted composure and calm hideousness of expression, if
we may be allowed the word.
Now, for some time, he sat in silence, and then, in a low deep tone, he
spoke.
“It was a strange dream! A dream made up of strange fancies and strange
impulses! I thought that I stood in a vaulted chamber, and that all
around me depicted nothing but gloom and desolation; but, as I there
stood, the chamber filled with hideous forms, coming from where I knew
not, but still crowding, crowding in, until the shadow of the merest
shade could not have found a place.
[Illustration: The vampyre’s dream.]
“And so they crushed me into the smallest possible space; and there I
stood, with a hundred grinning faces close around me, and in such a mad
paroxysm of terror, that I would have given the world for escape from
that dreadful thraldom.
“But they gibed at me, filling my ears with shrieking noises, and then
at once there was a proposition—a proposition yelled out with shrieking
vehemence by every voice. It was, to place me in the tomb even as I
was, a living man.
“‘Heap mountains of earth upon him,’ cried a voice. ‘Endow him with the
rare gift of immortality, and then let him lie buried for thousands of
years yet to come.’
“They seized upon me, those gaunt and terrific forms, and deep into the
bowels of the earth I was hurried—a depth beyond all calculation; and
when I thought my fate was sealed, a change came over me, and I found
myself in one of the ice-wells of this mansion, cold and death-like,
while a crowd of eager, curious faces, illumined by the light of
torches, gazed down upon me, but no one spoke; and then they began to
cast large fragments of the rocky cliff upon me.
“I called for aid, and asked for death; but still they proceeded to
fill up the pit, while I lay, incapable of anything but agonised
thought, at the bottom of it.
“Then it was, I presume, that in my despair I shook off that fearful
slumber and awakened.”
He was silent, and seemed again much to rejoice in the moonbeams, as
they fell upon his face; and, after a time, in order, it would appear,
that he might feel more of their influence, he opened the window, and
stepped out upon a balcony which was immediately in front of it.
The view that he now had was a beautiful one in the extreme, spreading
far over, in one direction, a beautiful tract of highly cultivated
country; and on the other, as far as the eye could reach, upon the
boundless ocean, on which the moonbeams fell with such beauty and
power, that, still and placid as the waters were on that particular
night, the sea looked like a sheet of radiant silver, broken into
gentle irregularities.
It was a scene upon which a poet or a painter—but painters should all
be poets, although poets may not be painters—might gaze with rapture
and delight.
Not the slightest breath of air stirred the gentlest leaf upon a forest
tree; but such a calmness and such a serenity reigned over all things,
that one might imagine oneself looking upon some new and beautiful
world, the harmony of which had never yet been disturbed by the jarring
sounds of elemental strife.
Strange thoughts and feelings seemed to come over the baron, as he then
looked upon that mild and placid scene without, and, after a time, he
spoke, saying,—
“And what do I struggle for now? What is it now but mere existence
that is the end and aim of all these anxious thoughts and feelings?
Nothing more, nothing more, but the mere liberty to breathe and to be
anxious—the capacity to endure pain. That is what I live for—nothing
else—nothing else in the wide world; for when and how can I expect that
calm contentment of the soul which man takes such pains to cast from
him, but which I know the full value of, can ever be mine?”
Once more he cast his eyes around him, upon the great extent of
cultivated country, and although he felt he could call the most of it,
that lay immediately beneath his observation, his own, it yet gave him
but little gratification to do so, and probably he looked with about as
much indifference upon his own possessions as any one possibly could.
“This is a new career,” he said, “and something tells me that it is
my last; so, while it continues, I will not shrink from it, but, on
the contrary, enjoy it; and I will endeavour to lose the recollection
of those stormy periods of my existence which have passed away in
a complete round and whirl of what the world calls enjoyments and
delights. I will spend large sums on brilliant entertainments, and this
house, which they tell me has been so long deserted by everything in
the shape of festivity and hilarity, shall once again ring with joyous
laughter, and I will make an endeavour to forget what I am.”
He evidently dreaded again to lie down to repose, for, after some time
further spent in thought, and in the expression of the feelings that
lay uppermost in his mind, he put on again that portion of his apparel
which he had taken off.
“In this soft and pleasant moonlight,” he said, “which is so grateful
to my senses, I will walk in the gardens of this mansion; and, should
a sense of weariness oppress me, I shall be able to find, no doubt,
some pleasant spot where I can lie down to rest, and I shall not fear
horrifying or anxious dreams when I can repose beneath the beams of the
moon, which cool my fevered brow.”
With a slow and stately step he moved across the long and beautiful
corridor from which his chamber opened, and then, descending the grand
staircase, and in that house a grand staircase it really was, he made
his way across the hall, and, undoing the fastening of a window which
opened into a large and handsome conservatory, he passed through that
again, and soon found himself in the extensive gardens of Anderbury.
Certainly, if there be any sight more chaste and beautiful than
another, it is a highly-cultivated and well-wooded garden by moonlight,
and we cannot but admire the taste of the Baron Stolmuyer in preferring
it even to the stately bed-chamber he had so recently left, and which,
notwithstanding all the advantages and beauties that art could bestow
upon it, could never hope to rival, or even to come near, the natural
beauties of that highly-cultivated piece of ground.
And there are some flowers, too, that give out their sweetest odours to
the night air, and some again that unfold their choicest beauties only
when the sun has set, and the cold moonbeams can but look down upon
them.
When he got fairly into the garden, he found that there was a light,
gentle breeze playing among the shorter shrubs and flowers, but that
it reached not high enough to stir the leaves of the trees; but it
is extremely doubtful if, completely taken up as this man was, no
doubt, with worldly pursuits, he did not, after the first few moments,
completely forget the world of natural beauties by which he was
surrounded.
Folding his arms, he walked along the stately avenues with a solemn
tread, and then, soon banishing from his mind those feelings of
melancholy sadness which had oppressed him, he began evidently to
indulge in dreams of felicity which, by the manner in which he spoke of
them, were evidently but dreams.
“What can I desire or want more than I have?” he said, “Immense
wealth—consequently, immense power. Golden opinions may always be
purchased with gold, and what is there then really to hinder me
pursuing to the full the career which I have marked out to myself?
Surely I can surround myself with all that is young, and delightful,
and beautiful? Can I not make these halls echo with such laughter,
that surely it must awaken, even in my breast, joyous emotions? Then
there is the wine cup; why should not that flow with rich abundance,
gladdening the hearts of all, and adding even to genius, for the time,
a new fire, and a more delightful expression of its thoughts and
feelings?
“And music, too; surely I can have abundance of music, to shed the
witchery of its charms about me; and, with these inducements and
allurements, I must and will succeed in banishing reflection, if I
achieve no more.”
As he now stood, and turned his eyes towards the east, he fancied he
saw that the morning light was beginning faintly to show itself in the
far off horizon.
“Another day is coming,” he said, “and how much, how very much might be
done in a day. I will, with the assistance of that man Leek, who, I can
readily perceive, is quite willing to bow down to any idol, provided it
be of gold, to commence the career of festivities that I have set my
heart upon, and we shall soon see how striking an alteration will take
place in the halls of Anderbury.”
He entered a small summer-house which was built in the garden, and
through the stained glass of which the moon shone with a variegated
light, and there he sat down, and, after a time, tasted of that repose
which, upon the bed of down that he had left, and surrounded by all the
costly litter of his handsome bedchamber he had courted in vain.