THE DEATH OF THE INQUISITIVE GUEST.—THE ESCAPE OF SIR FRANCIS VARNEY.
The guest who was so valorous, and so very impatient for the capture
of Varney, would have preceded everybody in descending to the passage
cut in the cliff, but Henry Bannerworth thought not only was it more
particularly his concern to do so, but that as he knew Varney better,
it was desirable that he should go first.
He thought there would less likelihood of any mischief by adopting
such a kind of procedure, for he did not anticipate that Varney would
willingly do him any injury; while, as regarded what he might do if any
stranger should attempt to seize him, that was quite another affair.
“You do not know him as we know him,” said Henry, to the guest. “He is
a dangerous man, and in all respects such an one as your prudence might
well induce you to keep clear of. Allow me to precede you, therefore,
for the sake of preventing the probability of the most unpleasant
consequences.”
This argument appeared to have its effect and to damp a little the
ardour of this individual, which it might well enough do, without
casting any imputation upon his courage whatever; for, after all, he
could have no strong motive in the pursuit of Varney, since he was in
a line of life which would have prevented him, even if he had been the
sole captor of Varney, from taking the reward which the admiral had
offered for his apprehension.
The sudden change from the daylight, and all the noise and bustle which
had animated the scene above, to the silence, the darkness, and the
strange atmosphere which reigned in the underground region, could not
fail of having some effect upon the imagination of every one present.
This effect would, of course, vary in different individuals, being
the greatest in those of a highly excitable and imaginative turn of
mind, and the less in those who were of a more matter-of-fact kind of
intellect. Probably, Henry Bannerworth felt more acutely than any one
else the full effect which such a scene was likely to produce, and he
was profoundly silent upon the occasion for some time.
Under even the most extraordinary circumstances, the descent into
such a place must have affected the mind to some extent, for it seems
like leaving the world altogether for a time, and bidding farewell to
everything which we have been in the habit of enjoying and thinking
beautiful.
No one ever thought of accusing Admiral Bell of being very imaginative;
but, upon this occasion, although he was the first to speak, what he
did say, showed that he had felt some of those sensations to which we
have alluded.
“How do you feel, Henry?” he said. “I’ll be hanged if I don’t seem as
if I were going into my grave before my time.”
“And I, too,” said Henry; “but I rather like the solemn feeling which
such a place as this inspires.”
“Gentlemen,” said the tall footman with the yellow plush
what-do-you-call-em’s, “gentlemen, I think, after all, that I somehow
will go back again. I don’t seem, actually, in a manner of speaking,
to care to catch the baron, somehow; so, if you please, gentlemen, I
rather think I’ll go back.”
“Why don’t you say you are afraid, at once, John?” said the admiral.
“Who, me, sir? I afraid? Oh, dear, no, sir. It would take a trifle,
indeed, to frighten me, I rather think. Oh! no, no, sir you mistake me.
It’s my feelings—it’s my feelings, sir.”
“Why, what the deuce have your feelings to do with it?”
“Everything in the world, sir. Haven’t I drank his beer, sir, and
haven’t I eat his beef, and his bread, and his _tatoes_, sir, and
shall I now hunt him up among his own ice-wells? No; perish the
thought—perish the blessed idea. Perish the—the—the—good bye,
gentlemen.”
With these words, the chivalrous footman gave up all idea of continuing
the chase for Varney, the vampyre, and turning quickly, so as to stop
the possibility of his hearing any further remonstrance, he went from
the place with great speed.
Still, however, with the departure of this individual, whose courage
from the first had had about it a very suspicious colour, they were
in quite sufficient strength to have accomplished the capture of the
vampyre, if they could get hold of him, and always provided he was not
sufficiently armed with powers of mischief to their number, by taking
perchance the life of some one of them.
There was one circumstance connected with a search for anybody in that
strange region, which spoke much in favour of a successful result,
and that was that the passage was narrow, and that there were no
hiding-places except the ice-wells, to explore which, at all events,
could not be a very difficult task; and as they proceeded, they felt
certain that they must be driving Varney before them.
Before they had got very far, Henry Bannerworth thought it would be
advisable to announce to Varney the precise intentions of himself and
the admiral, always provided he were equally peaceably inclined, and
within hearing of what was said to him.
He accordingly raised his voice, inquiring,—
“Sir Francis Varney, you no doubt recognise, by my tones, that it
is Henry Bannerworth who speaks to you; and therefore you may feel
convinced that no harm is intended you; but you are implored to come
forth and meet your friends, who, from former circumstances, you ought
to know you can trust.”
There was no reply whatever to this appeal, and when the echoes of
Henry’s voice had died away, the same death-like stillness reigned in
the place that had before characterised it.
“He will not answer,” said the admiral; “and yet, if the other end of
this passage be guarded as it is said to be, he must be here. Let us
come on at once—I have no wish of my own to stay in this damp, chalky
hole a moment longer than may be absolutely necessary.”
“Nor I,” remarked Henry; “so let us proceed, and it will be necessary
that we keep an accurate watch upon our progress, for I am told that
there are ice-wells here of great depth, down which you may fall and
come by an awful death when you least expect, unless you are very
cautious in looking where you tread.”
“There’s no doubt of that, sir,” said one of his guests. “This place is
considered to be one of the most curious that Anderbury can boast of,
and I have been told that there are ice-houses, in which all kinds of
provisions may be kept with ease and safety in the most violent heat of
the summer months.”
After a few moments they came upon one of the ice-wells, which
yawned terrifically before them, and had they not been very careful
and watchful upon the occasion, one or more of them might have been
precipitated down the well, and the loss of life must have been the
result.
“I scarcely think,” said Henry, “that ordinary caution has been used in
the construction of these places, or they never would have been left
in such a state as they are now in. The ice-well, you perceive, lies
directly in the very pathway?”
“Yes,” said the admiral, “it does seem so, Master Henry; but if you
look a little closer you will perceive that at one time there has been
a wooden bridge exactly over this chasm.”
“Ah, I do, indeed, now perceive such has been the case.”
“Yes, and that made the place both safe and convenient; for no doubt
there was a means of lowering down any baskets of wine or other matters
that required a low temperature.”
The admiral was perfectly right in his supposition, for that was just
the way in which the ice-wells of Anderbury House were constructed;
and now, since the bridge had been broken down, there was but a very
narrow pathway, indeed, by which the well could be passed, unless it
was jumped over, which might be done by any active person.
They would not pass this ice well without an examination of it, and
that was accomplished by lying down upon the rough pathway of the
passage, and holding a light at arm’s-length down it, when the bottom
was clearly visible.
“He is not there,” said Henry, who was the person who made the
experiment; “he is not there, so we must pass on.”
They accordingly did so, until they came to another such ice-well,
and then the guest which had shown such eagerness in the chase, and
accompanied them so far, went through the process of stooping down
the chasm to ascertain if it contained anything unusual beyond the
debris of broken bottles, old flint-stones, &c., which might fairly be
expected to be there.
“Do you see anything?” inquired Henry, as the guest seemed to be
looking very intently over the precipice.
He was about to reply something, for some sound came from his lips,
when he suddenly, as if he had been impelled to do by some unseen
power, toppled over the edge and disappeared, torch and all, into the
abyss below.
[Illustration: The guest topples into the ice-well.]
“Good God!” cried Henry, “he has fallen.”
“Good night,” said the admiral, with characteristic coolness; “I
suspect, my friend, that your career is at an end.”
“Listen! for God’s sake, listen!” cried Henry; “does he speak?”
There was a strange scuffling noise, and then a low deep groan from the
bottom of the ice-pit, and then all was still; and from the character
of the sound, Henry was of opinion that this well was of much greater
depth than the former one, which he had so successfully examined.
“He has met with his death,” said Henry.
“Don’t be too sure,” said the admiral; “we must have a good stout rope,
and somebody must go down; if nobody likes the job, I will go myself.”
“If ropes are wanted,” said one of the other two persons who were
present, “I can show you where they may be found, for I was at the
inquest on the body of the man who was found dead in this place some
time ago, and I marked that the ropes by which his body had been got
out of one of the ice-wells were left where they had been used.”
“That, then,” said the other, “is further on, and nearer the beach.”
“Yes; lend me the light, and I will get the rope as quickly as I can;
for I don’t think, as well as I can remember, that there is another
well between this one and that which is nearer the beach entrance.”
This was done, and for a few moments Henry and the admiral were left in
darkness while the ropes were being searched for. It was a darkness so
total and complete, that it did indeed seem like that darkness which
it requires but a little stretch of the imagination to fancy it can be
felt.
“Henry,” said the admiral—“Henry!”
“Yes; I am here.”
“Were you ever in such a confounded dark hole in all your life?”
“Scarcely, I think, ever. It is certainly tremendous, and it is a
grievous thing to think that a life had been sacrificed, as no doubt it
has, in this adventure.”
“Ah, well! we must all go to Davy Jones’s locker some day, you——But—but
don’t lay hold of me so!”
“I lay hold of you! I am not near you, sir.”
“D—n it! who is it, then? Somebody has got hold of me as if I were in a
vice. Stand off, I say! Who are you?”
“Varney, the vampyre,” said a deep sepulchral voice; “who warns you,
and all others, that there is abundance of danger in visiting here, and
nothing to be gained.”
Almost as these words were spoken, Henry suddenly found himself whirled
round with such force, that it was only by a great effort that he
succeeded in keeping his feet, and he felt convinced that some one had
passed him. Who could that one be but Sir Francis Varney, the much
dreaded vampyre?
In the next moment the light glanced again upon the walls of the
subterranean passage, and the admiral cried,—
“He has escaped, unless some one stops him above. But let us think of
nothing else at present, but to find out if the poor fellow who fell
down here be alive or dead.”
Henry descended by the assistance of the ropes, and found the
adventurous guest quite dead. They raised the body from the well, and
conveying it, as best they could, among them, they arrived, after some
troubles on account of their burden, in the gardens, and, finally, in
the great hall of Anderbury House, on a table in which they laid the
corpse.
It was quite evident now to the admiral and to the Bannerworths that
Varney had escaped, so they could have no desire to remain at the
house, over which Mr. Leek was running like a madman, wondering what
he should do. Flora had invited Helen Williams to accompany her to the
inn, so that the whole party of the Bannerworths went away together,
with the one addition to it of that poor girl who had so narrow an
escape of becoming the vampyre’s bride. Horrible destiny!