THE NEW LODGER.—A NIGHT ALARM.—A MYSTERIOUS CIRCUMSTANCE.
It was not until late the next day that Mrs. Meredith heard anything
of her new lodger. All she had heard was that he would be there during
the day, but whether to breakfast, dinner, or tea, she could not tell
which, and now she was waiting with expectation, if not anxiety; but,
at the same time, she knew she was quite sure of her lodger, because
she held his bank-note.
It had been a dull day; there are many such in London, and therefore
that was no singular circumstance. It was one of those dull,
leaden-coloured days of which you can predict nothing with certainty,
or even a chance of being right; it was rather squally at times, and at
others a west wind blew; not cold—at least, not particularly so; but,
yet, notwithstanding the heavy appearance of the sky, there was a clear
white light that made every object look more disagreeable than ordinary.
The landlady and her daughter were both on the _qui vive_, as it is
called, looking out for their new lodger, whom they expected the more
immediately as the evening drew on, for there was less likelihood of
his coming in the middle of the day than towards the evening, and less
after evening had set in than before, for he was an invalid.
It was, they thought, just about the time when he must arrive, when
there could only be the uncertainty of a few minutes. The whole house
was in order; nothing was left to chance; Mrs. Meredith herself had
gone over the whole place, and took especial pains to find all sorts of
fault with the unfortunate drudge who did the work, of course, aided by
the mother and daughter; but such aid was distressing, because she had
to wait upon both, and do her own work as well.
However, all was in readiness, and they were looking out at every coach
from between the blinds. The sound of wheels was enough to cause them
to start, when suddenly a coach drove up to the door, upon which had
been carefully packed several leather boxes and portmanteaus.
“Here he is,” said the daughter; “here he is.”
“Yes; and, as I am alive,” said Mrs. Meredith, as she cast her eye
upwards towards the next house, “as I am alive, there is that girl
again. I do believe that she does it on purpose. It is done to
aggravate me, and to attract attention from the men. The hussy!”
There was now no time to lose, the knocker at the door giving pretty
clear indication that instant attention upon their part was requisite,
and up jumped Mrs. Meredith and her daughter Margaret. Immediately the
servant opened the door into the passage, the coach door was opened,
the steps let clattering down, and Colonel Deverill entered the house.
“Will you walk into the parlour, colonel,” inquired Mrs. Meredith,
“until your boxes are all in, and you see they are all correct? There
is a good fire.”
“Thank you, madam,” said the colonel, with some difficulty walking
along. “I am scarcely so well able to walk as I was yesterday.”
“Ah! colonel, you must have suffered much. But I am glad the parlour
is so handy—it will save you the walk up stairs at present, until you
are quite recovered from your fatigue. Pray be seated, colonel, by the
fire. The man shall bring them in, and lay them before the door.”
“Thank you,” said the colonel, and he sat down in a large easy chair,
having first dropped his cloak, which was a large blue military cloak,
lined with white, with a fur collar, and looked extremely rich and
handsome; beneath which he wore an officer’s undress frock, covered
over with a profusion of braid.
The boxes and portmanteaus were brought in and laid down so that the
colonel could see them; and, when that was done, the coachman made his
demand, which excited an exclamation of horror from Mrs. Meredith,
and a declaration that she thought hackney coachmen were the greatest
impostors and extortioners under the sun. There never was such a set as
hackney coachmen—never!
“Saving lodging house keepers, ma’am—axing your pardon for saying so.
Not that I means any offence, only I lived in one once, and ought to
know summat.”
The colonel, however, made no remark, but, pulling out an embroidered
purse, which appeared to full of gold, he paid the man his demand.
“Thank yer honour; you are one of the right sort, and no mistake.” So
saying, the coachman walked away, jinking the money as he walked along
the passage, until he came to the door where the girl was standing, and
then, giving her a knowing wink, and jerking his head backwards, he
said,—
“They are a scaley lot here, ain’t they, Mary?”
“Mary!” screamed Margaret.
“Yes, miss.”
“Shut the door, and come away from that insolent fellow.”
Slam went the door, and then the servant went down stairs, and the
parlour-door was immediately closed, and the colonel was given into the
tender mercies of the lodging-house keeper; for, though she pretended
that she merely offered a genteel and presentable home for such as
desired it, and could afford to pay for it, she was, in every sense of
the word, a lodging-house keeper.
The colonel, however, sat very composedly in his chair, and gazed at
the fire in silence; and from time to time he gazed at the mother
and daughter with his one eye; he had not lost the entire use of the
other, but had a green silk shade over it. He watched what went on,
and replied cautiously to what was said to him, but appeared inclined
to silence, and occasionally abrupt in his conversation; but this
they attributed to the habit he must have been in, when abroad, of
commanding.
“Will you take tea at once, colonel, or at what hour do you choose to
have it?”
“I will take it at once. I am tired.”
“What will you take, sir?” inquired Margaret, at one end of the table;
and, placing herself in an enticing posture, she awaited the answer,
expecting to be looked at.
“Coffee,” said the colonel, abruptly.
There was a pause; but Margaret said nothing more, and set about doing
such little matters as appeared to be an employment. But it was a mere
deception—it was all done; nothing had been left undone; they had taken
care of that, as the servant knew full well.
However, there was little that passed of any peculiar character on that
occasion, for the evening passed off very calmly and comfortable, the
colonel giving his opinion somewhat dogmatically; but that, of course
was submitted to, as he was a military man and had much experience,
and, moreover, he was a rich man—quite a nabob.
It is astonishing, as a general rule, what people will submit to when
it comes from those who have riches at command. That fact alone seems
to stamp all that is foolish and absurd, coming from such a quarter,
with sense and worth.
It is in vain for any one not blessed with property to talk; his
talking is nothing in comparison with what falls from the lips of the
man who has property. You are talked down, and if you are obstinate,
and won’t be talked down, why, you are a disagreeable fellow, a
dissatisfied man, and your neighbours ought to set their faces against
you.
Thus, through life, he who does not submit to the wealthy, is always
run down, and there is every disposition, if possible, of running him
off the road altogether, no matter how great the injustice against him,
and the enormity of the conduct of others; they are, as they think,
justified, because he is not a genteel person; in fact, he is not
evangelical.
The evening passed over, as we have said, in calmness and quiet, and
Mrs. Meredith appeared to be well pleased with her lodger; and, at a
moderately early hour, they separated and went to bed. The colonel
retired, after taking leave of them, to his own room, complaining he
was in great pain, and scarce able to walk, and so cold, he was nearly
benumbed.
“This climate,” he said, “is so cold, so moist, and altogether so
uncomfortable, that I cannot understand how it is people ever endure
it. Indeed,” he continued to Mrs. Meredith, “there must be some great
difference between rich and poor in their conformation, else they
couldn’t stand it.”
Of course, Mrs. Meredith assented to the proposition, as she would have
done to any other, no matter what proposition, that had been so urged
by such a person.
Thus it was with the colonel, who appeared very well satisfied with his
lodgings; and all parties, for so short a time, were well pleased with
each other.
• • • • •
The night was dark, that is to say, it was one of those nights in which
neither moon nor stars showed themselves; no sound was heard through
the streets, save the heavy step of the guardian of the night, or the
midnight reveller, who might be finding his way homeward boisterously,
and with scarce enough sense to enable him to take the right path.
There were clouds enough to have intercepted the moon, but there was a
kind of light that was spread through them that you saw when you looked
up, but which aided not the traveller below; but, then, there were
countless lamps that illumined the streets.
At that time there was a man creeping over the house-tops. He had
gained the housetop of Mr. Smith, the house in which resided Miss
Smith, who had given so much offence to Mrs. Meredith by sitting
so much out in the balcony. He stooped in the gutter, and looked
cautiously around; no human being was within sight; he was alone, and
no soul saw him.
Cautiously he crept towards the trap-door—it was bolted; but that was
soon obviated—no sound, however, could be heard. The soft, but rotten,
wood gave way under the steady pressure exerted upon the door, which at
length opened.
He paused a moment or two, and listened carefully for several minutes.
Then he entered the loft slowly and noiselessly, keeping as low as
possible, so that he might run no risk of being observed by any one who
might be passing the house, or who might be up by accident in any of
the opposite houses, in consequence of illness, or any other cause.
There was a lower trap-door through which the figure passed. There
could be no difficulty in passing, because that was always kept open,
as it was considered to assist in ventilating the house; and then the
intruder stood within the house.
He then drew himself up to his full height, and paused for some
moments, as if considering the next step he would take; but then he
descended to the second floor, on which were placed what are called the
best bedrooms. He paused at one, gently tried the handle, and finding
it turn, and the door open, he gave one look towards the stairs that he
had just descended, and then he entered the apartment.
All was yet still; no sound met his ear, save the breathing of
the sleeper within, who lay in a sweet sleep, and was as calm and
unconscious as the blessed; perfect rest and forgetfulness had steeped
the senses of the young girl, who lay in ambrosial sleep. One arm
was thrown outside the clothes, and revealed, in all its symmetry, a
snow-white bosom, heaving gently to the throbbing of the heart.
The intruder gazed at the young girl for some moments, and clasped his
hands with trembling eagerness, and a ghastly smile played upon his
terrible features, while a fearful fire shot from the eyes of one who
thus disturbed the slumbers of the living.
He approached the bed, and took the hand within his own, and then the
sleeper awoke. It would be impossible to describe the look of terror
and horror that sat on the young girl’s face.
She could not scream, she could not utter a sound; her whole faculties
appeared to have been bound up for a short time. She could not even
shrink from the horrible being who approached her, she was so perfectly
horror-stricken with that truly horrible countenance, the glance of
which seemed as if it would destroy the power of speech for ever. She
shrank now, but could not move.
The creature crept closer. It seized her hand, and held it within its
own; but even that could not awake her from the trance she was in. She
felt a horrible sinking feeling, as though she must sink through the
very flooring of the house, and yet she could not stir.
It appeared as though, so long as the hideous face was opposed to
her’s, so long she was unable to move; it was a species of fascination;
however great the horror felt, yet there was no help for it. She could
not ever shut her eyes; that boon was denied her.
What she saw cannot be described. It is by far too horrible for pen to
describe. The wild horrible insanity that appeared in the eyes of the
creature, with their peculiar cast, was indescribable; the only light
that entered the room, at that moment, came from a lamp below, and
illumined only the upper part of the room above the window sills.
The creature then stood in relief against this light, a horrible dark
object, whose glaring eyeballs were too terrible ever to be forgotten.
Then, again, while he with one hand held her’s, he passed his other
hand up her arm, and then felt along the soft, white flesh with its
cold, clammy fingers, as if it were feeling for something, or greedy of
the velvet-like substance.
Still keeping the eyes fixed upon the hapless and helpless girl, he
drew the arm towards him, and, leaning upon the bed, suddenly plunged
his face on the arm, and held and seized it near the middle with its
teeth, and then it made an attempt to suck the wound.
This, however, broke the charm, horrible and complete as it was; for
the creature’s hideous countenance was lost to her sight, as he plunged
his face to her arm.
Shriek followed shriek in quick and rapid succession. The whole house
was alarmed by the terrible shrieks that came from the apartment. She
struggled, and by a sudden effort, she disengaged herself from the
grasp of the fiend, and rolled, wrapped up in the bed-clothes, to the
other side of the floor.
The monster still pursued her with greedy thirst for blood, and had
picked her up, and again placed her on the bed, with more than mere
human strength, and again sought the arm he had been deprived of by the
sudden effort of the young girl.
“Help! help! Mother! father! help! help!”
The shouts rang through the house, awaking the affrighted sleepers from
their repose, in a manner that may be called distressing.
It is distressing in the midst of a large city to be awoke, in the
dead of the night, by loud and urgent cries of distress. It is such a
contrast to the dead stillness that reigns around, and when the first
cries are heard, it creates a terror and surprise that takes away all
power of action.
It was not till the cries had been heard a second time that the inmates
aroused themselves; the fact was, they were fearful of fire. The moment
that idea floated across their minds, then, indeed, they started up,
and the father of the young girl, hearing the fall, at once rushed to
the room of his daughter. He arrived but in time; the hideous monster,
being affrighted by the footsteps approaching him, turned from his
blood-stained feast, and hid himself beneath the drapery, as the father
entered the room.
“Mary,” he said, “Mary! Mary! what means this—what can be the
matter—are you hurt—how come you in this disorder?”
“Oh, God! that thing from the grave has been sucking my blood from my
veins. See—see yonder—he moves! Watch him—note him, father!”
Believing she raved, her father paid no attention to what she did say,
but continued to regard her with sorrow and regret, for he believed it
to be a sudden attack of mania; but seeing the curtains move, he turned
his head, and at once divined it to be the cause of his daughter’s
alarm.
The glance was but momentary; but he saw the figure of a man who was
escaping from the apartment by the door by which he had at that moment
entered.
[Illustration: The flight of the vampyre from the young lady’s chamber.]
“Help!” he shouted—“help—thieves—murder!”
And as he shouted, he rushed after the figure that was flying towards
the top of the house. By this time the house was filled with people,
and the noise up stairs had caused the servants below to rise confused
and thoroughly terrified by the sounds they heard, and the cries of
their master.
At that moment, one of those watchful guardians of the night passed by
the house, and was immediately hailed by the unfortunate people below,
who were afraid to go up stairs to offer any assistance, lest they
might be knocked back again, which fear stopped all aid from below.
“Hilloa! what’s the matter now?” inquired the worthy guardian of the
night.
“Oh, I don’t know—goodness knows. You had better go up and see. I’ll
come up after you. Don’t be afraid; I’ll come up after you, if you’ll
go first.”
“Stop a moment while I spring my rattle,” said the worthy functionary;
who thereupon gave an alarming peal upon his instrument, and then he
entered the house, with instructions to the servant to run down stairs
and let any of his party in that might come up.
Then the guardian of the night hastened up stairs with all the haste
he could, and came up just in time to pick Mr. Smith up, who was lying
stunned at the foot of the stairs.
The fact was, Mr. Smith had pursued his adversary too quickly, and
finding he could not get off, he turned round and felled him to the
earth, like an ox. It was just at this juncture when the charley came
up stairs, and in another moment Mr. Smith recovered.
“What’s the matter?” inquired the watchman; “is the house on fire.”
“No, no; the vampyre—the vampyre!”
“Eh—what? Never heard on ’im afore—never seed him.”
“Quick—quick! he has gone up stairs. Quick—after him!” said Mr. Smith,
as he ran up the stairs, and was quickly followed by the watchman and
some others who now crowded about, having had time to dress themselves
and come to Mr. Smith’s aid; and they now crowded to the house-top,
for they saw the trap-door was unfastened, though it had been hastily
pushed to. This they opened, and then looked on the house-top, first
one way, and then another.
“He ain’t here,” said the watchman, “and we mustn’t expect to find him
here; he wouldn’t wait for us, you may depend upon that. We had better
search along the house-tops till we see him, or find some of the other
traps open, and then you may guess where he has gone.”
“The difficulty is, which way did he go?” said Mr. Smith.
“Oh, I saw him go that way,” said another watchman, who came up stairs,
having been first attracted by the sounds of the rattle, and then,
looking up at the house, he saw the figure of a man stealing, with
great rapidity of motion, across the house-tops.
“There I lost him, then,” he said. “I didn’t see him after that spot;
but he may have gone further, for all I can say to the contrary. But we
shall soon see.”
“This trap-door is open,” said the other watchman, as he pulled aside
Mrs. Meredith’s trap-door, which had only been pushed to. “We had
better go in here, and see if he isn’t gone somewhere into the house,
and hiding himself until all is quiet, and then he will make off if
left alone.”