THE SCENE AT THE HOTEL.—THE RELATION OF THE CAUSE OF SIR FRANCIS
VARNEY’S PALENESS.
When Sir Francis Varney reached his hotel, he hurried to his own
apartment, and then he called for his luggage; and when that was
brought to him, and he was alone, he unlocked a portmanteau, and placed
his gold in it; and then, having taken care to dress himself, he again
met the Frasers below, at the evening meal.
“I have been strolling the streets for an odd hour,” he said, “and find
things pretty much as they used to be; I don’t see many alterations
worth speaking of.”
“And yet they say they are improving daily.”
“They may be; but only in parts and places; and it does not alter the
general plan of the place, though appearances may be benefited.”
“Exactly; that, I dare say, may be the case; as, indeed, it is most
likely to be the fact, especially when we see that, save in the case
of entire new streets, all improvements are effected by individual
exertions.”
“Exactly; but life and happiness is the result of individual
exertions,” said Sir Francis; “but yet many shrink from prosecuting a
scheme of happiness, lest barriers be placed in their path that would
be as injurious to all as they are effectual.”
“Indeed, that is often the case.”
“I have met with many instances of blighted devotion since I have
wandered about over the green vales of England.”
“I dare say you have met with some adventures?”
“I have, sir. I have met with many that, perhaps, few men would have
ventured into, and ever expect to come out alive; but I have not done
so without paying dearly for my temerity.”
“Indeed; have you incurred much danger?”
“I have, sir.”
“But still it must be pleasant to fall back upon the remembrances of
the past, and recall scenes and events that possess interest to your
mind.”
“It is so. I remember well that, some years ago, when I was in the
north, that an occurrence took place that has left a lasting memorial
upon me, and one I can never forget as long as I live.”
“It must have been a serious affair.”
“It was a serious affair—a very serious affair. I was going to
Scotland, when, by some accident, the carriage in which I was
travelling broke down, and it was unable to proceed, and I took up
my abode at the nearest inn; where I determined to remain until the
carriage was repaired, which would, it was said, take a couple of days,
at the least.
Well, in the evening of the first day, I walked about visiting the
different places where I could hope for any pleasure; in doing so, I
was wandering slowly down a lane, when I heard voices on before me. The
wind blew from them to me, and I heard all they said.
“Then this evening,” said one.
“Yes, yes; I consider this the most favourable opportunity than can be
taken advantage of.”
“Well, then, we had better go at once.”
“Yes; now we are on our road there, you see, and we shall be soon
there; there will just be light enough to reconnoitre.”
“Very well. We can secret ourselves somewhere about the place, where
we shall not be discovered, and then we can get into the house at our
leisure.”
“But we may have to meet with opposition.”
“Then, we must resist, too. You don’t intend to be taken, I suppose?”
“No, not I.”
“What did you intend to do if you were caught?”
“Fight my way out, or, if need be, I can push my knife into the ribs of
any one who may be in my way.”
“Right. I shall be inclined to do for any one who wants to keep me
against my will—you may reckon upon that for a certainty; and if the
old man but as much as moves or utters a single cry, I will do for him.”
“You don’t mean that, do you?”
“I do, and will do it.”
“Then I know, and I will do the same. I like to have a pal that will
stick by me, and have no nonsense. However, we need not be in a hurry,
and just do what is necessary—go to work steadily and determinedly.”
“Agreed. We will now go on—strike off to the left here, and we come
then to the house. There’s only one man servant, but he can be dealt
with; and as for the old man himself, he cannot do much.”
Then they both proceeded across the fields until they came to some
thick wood, when I lost sight of them.
Well, I knew the house they were both going to, and I determined to
proceed by another route to the same place.
I followed the lane as far as it would go, and found it led up to
the very house which I had heard the men declare their intention of
robbing, and possibly of murdering the owners—the inhabitants, I might
say, for master or servant alike they would not hesitate in destroying.
I entered the house—the door was open,—after having walked up a broad
and stately avenue of linden trees which lined the way up to the hall
door. I was for some moments unable to make any one hear, but soon
after I heard some one approaching the hall. I paused, therefore, and
presently there came an elderly gentleman, with a grave but pleasant
countenance, upon whose shoulders fell a profusion of snow-white locks;
he was venerable, yet pleasing in the expression of countenance.
He bowed when he saw me, but looked rather surprised.
“I dare say, sir, you appear surprised at my intrusion; but I do not
come without a motive.”
“I dare say not, sir. But you are welcome; will you walk in?”
“Thank you,” I said, “but I have come to put you on your guard against
an attempt at robbery, and possibly murder, that is to be made upon
your house to-night.”
“Indeed, sir. I can hardly believe any one would be so wicked as to do
anything of the kind; and yet, I am sure you would not say so if you
had not some grounds for such a belief.”
“I have,” I replied, “and I will relate them.”
I then related to him distinctly all that I had overheard in the lane,
and the direction the men had taken. He appeared very thoughtful for
some moments, and then he said to me, as he led the way up stairs,—
“Will you walk up stairs with me?”
I did as he desired, and followed him up stairs, until he came to a
small observatory erected in the top part of the house.
“You say you saw them enter the copse between here and the lane yonder.”
“Yes, I did; and I imagine they may be seen if watch is kept in such a
place as this; for I am sure they intend to examine the house, as to
the means of approaching it, and they expect to find only yourself and
a man-servant.”
“They would have met but little more, indeed; however, I am
fore-warned, and I will take care to be fore-armed.”
“That is my object in coming to you; to effect this is all I seek; and
now I will bid you good evening, for I have got some distance to walk
before I can get back to the hotel where I am staying.”
“Are you staying at an hotel?”
“Yes,” I replied; and I named the place where I was stopping, when he
said,—
“You are welcome, if you are pleased to do so, to remain here; I shall
be most happy with your company.”
“Thank you,” I said; “and frankly I must say, I should like to see
the issue of this affair, and will accept of your invitation, though,
perhaps, I have accepted of your invitation too readily.”
“Not at all—not at all, you are heartily welcome; we will sit up and
wait for these fellows; when we have beaten them off, we can retire in
security to rest, without fear of disturbance.”
“Do you see them?” I inquired, as he was looking through a telescope
towards the point I had named.
“No, I do not see them yet,” he said; “no, no; and yet I—I think I see
something now through a portion of the copse—it’s difficult to tell
what they are about; if they go much further in that direction, they
will be plain enough; there—there they are; I can see them both plainly
enough.”
“Two of them?” said I.
“Yes,” he replied, “I see two; they appear to be looking this way;
what are they doing now? Oh, I see, they are making for a place of
concealment nearer the house. Well, sir, I am much obliged to you—very
much, indeed; for you have evidently saved my house from being robbed,
and myself from murder—I owe you my life.”
“Nay, sir, not so bad as that; the villains might not have been
successful enough to have effected an entrance before you were alarmed.”
“And if they had, what could I have done? Why, truly, I have fire-arms,
but I should have been loth to have used them, and my hesitating might
have cost me my life; so I have to thank you for life and property.”
“As you please,” I said; “but what steps do you intend to take towards
your own and your property’s preservation?”
“I shall obtain the aid of another, and quietly await their coming; but
as I think, from their appearance, they are not mere country people who
come about robbing from distress, but men who make a kind of profession
of housebreaking, I will have both taken and dealt with according to
law.”
“It is their deserts,” I said, “for a more deliberately planned affair
I never yet heard of; and what makes it so very black, is the fact of
their early making up their minds to murder any one.”
“No doubt,” he replied; “but that is an inducement to take them in the
fact. I will send for one man, and, what with ourselves, we can secure
the villains; we are enough to do that.”
“They are desperate,” I said.
“But they will yield to numbers,” he said.
“No doubt; but there must be a yet greater number; the odds, in my
opinion, are not great enough to secure victory. These are desperate
men, for they will not be taken, and two to one will not deter
them—one, or even two lives may be sacrificed before they are secured,
if they do not get off.”
“Well, then, you appear to think that we had better obtain more aid?”
“I do,” I replied. “At least, a couple of men, if not, three, over the
number you first spoke of, if you wish it to be perfectly harmless in
its results.”
“I should so desire it,” he replied.
“Then you’ll find that requisite,” I answered.
Then I was invited down stairs, and great hospitality shown me by the
old gentleman, who was an exceedingly pleasant companion. He was well
informed, and a well read man, and was the only inhabitant of that
large mansion.
He had been many years a widower, and had but one child, a son, a young
man of great promise; he was abroad on a tour, and he was awaiting
his return with great anxiety, as he was somewhat longer than he had
anticipated.
We sat conversing for some hours. We had a handsome supper, and
afterwards some choice wine, and then in came three stout countrymen.
“My friends,” he said, “I want you to keep watch and ward to-night in
my house, to protect it from robbers.”
They agreed to do so, but expressed some surprise at what had occurred,
and appeared to believe it hardly possible that any one could have been
wicked enough to compass such an object.
However, he told them all I had said, and they were sent below, where
they were served with a very good supper, and promised reward, with
injunctions not to speak after a certain hour.
This all arranged, I and my host seated before a fire, and with some
wine, we passed the time agreeably enough.
• • • • •
“The time passes,” said my host, as the clock chimed the hours. “I
wonder if anybody is about now?”
“I should think,” I replied, “they must be about thinking of what they
have in contemplation. I am sure it is a quiet hour in this part of the
world, and I should imagine that no human being can be awake about
here.”
“None, I dare say, save ourselves, and our assailants, if they have
not altered their minds, and given up their intentions, or altered the
night they intended for the attempt. Who can tell? they may have done
so.”
“I hope not.”
“No; it will be very uncomfortable to be in constant dread, never
knowing any night I lay down what I may come to before morning; I may
lose my life, and never again see my son.”
“Yes,” I replied; “but had we better not put out the lights?”
“I will order it to be done.”
As he spoke, he rang a bell, and when a servant appeared, he said to
him,—
“William, you had better put out all lights, and be quite silent; and
if you hear any noise, get out of the way, and remain silent, unless
they try to get away and elude us.”
“Very well, sir.”
“And as soon as you hear them at work, you had better steal up and let
me know, as I intend to be present when they are taken into custody, as
I have a particular desire to see it done.”
“Very well, sir; but you don’t know the danger you run. These men are
desperate men, and they care not what they do.”
“I know all that, William; but hasten down, and see my orders executed.”
“Very well, sir,” said the servant, who at once left the room.
“These people,” said my host, “are not willing that I should run any
risk; perhaps they think they will not have so indulgent a master in
the next. Perhaps they are right; for I give but little trouble, and my
servants are mostly out visiting some of their relatives.”
“Indeed. I thought you were somewhat slenderly attended.”
“I am. I have two very ill away at this moment, and I have another away
on a visit to some relative.”
“Indeed; they have an easy life under you.”
“It is much the same as not having them at all; and yet, I must say, I
have nothing to complain of; my wishes are complied with, and I have
all my work done well, and punctually to a minute; and, if they have
extra work to do, they never complain, but set about it cheerfully.”
At that moment we heard William creeping up the stairs, and my thoughts
soon reverted from the contemplation of the calm contentment in which
all here appeared to dwell, to the confusion and bustle that was now
likely to ensue.
“Hilloa, William!”
“Yes, sir, they are come,” said William, in a low voice.
“Where are they getting in at?”
“In at the pantry window, sir. I can hear them unbolting the shutters.
They have cut a hole out of it, and they will be clear in another
minute.”
“Very good. Now do you all keep together, and, at the appointed signal,
rush upon them, and bind them hand and foot.”
“It shall be done, sir, as soon as they get into the kitchen.”
“Very well. I will come down and watch the operations; but don’t let
them get back again.”
“Oh, we’ll take care of that.”
“Make haste,” he said, “and station some of them under the stairs, so
that they cannot escape. They must both be taken.”
“And they shall.”
“Go on. Will you come down with me,” he said, turning to me, “or will
you remain here till we have secured them? You, sir, are a stranger,
and, perhaps, you had better remain here.”
“No, not I,” said I. “I will go down with you, by all means, and we
will see how these fellows behave themselves under these circumstances.
Let me see them. I was the first to discover them, and I hope you will
not refuse me permission to be present at a _denouement_ which I have,
in some measure, been instrumental in bringing about. I wish to be
present.”
“Then follow me,” said my host; “we shall not be too soon, for several
minutes have elapsed.”
I waited not a moment, but hurried down stairs, and found that, as I
was going down the kitchen stairs, the robbers were well aware of the
fact that they were entrapped; and, in their rage, they fought with
desperation, and forced their way out of the kitchen, and through the
barrier placed below; and, seeing they would effect an escape, I jumped
over the rails, and stood between them and the way out.
I had but my sword, and I drew that, and placed myself in a position,
threatening destruction to the first who should attempt to pass.
This, however, was disregarded; and the two men rushed at me, hoping to
bear me down, but my weapon ran through the first, when a pistol bullet
laid me low, and the man rushed over me.
“Good Heavens! and were you shot, Sir Francis?”
“Oh, yes, and was severely injured; and it was some months before I
was cured, the bullet having wounded an artery.”
“That was dangerous.”
“Yes, so much so, that two surgeons declared that, had I bled another
half-second, I must have been dead—that I must in fact have bled to
death, and I should never have recovered; for I had, they thought,
scarcely half an ounce of blood in my whole body—scarcely sufficient to
cause the heart to beat.”
“It was a fearful state—where did you remain?”
“I remained at this gentleman’s house the whole of the time; he was
very liberal, and very generous; I wanted for nothing. He said that,
but for the immediate attention of the surgeons, he thought I must have
bled to death; he saw me fall, and one of the men, without waiting for
orders to do so, ran for a surgeon, and hence the rapidity with which
the medical man was in attendance. And, what was worse, I had, in about
two months afterwards, to undergo an operation to have the bullet
extracted.”
“Good Heavens! you had a severe time of it?”
“I had; and I had nearly lost my life a second time, for I lost a vast
quantity of blood again; and, ever since that, I have been of the
extraordinary pale complexion which you now see.”
“I thought it was natural,” said Mrs. Fraser, suddenly; but a look from
Mr. Fraser told her she had done wrong.
“No, ma’am, it is not, indeed, natural.”
“It was not until the loss of blood occasioned it, I presume?”
“No, captain, it was not; it resulted partly from the dreadful loss
of the vital fluid which I sustained, and partly from a most violent
virulent typhus, which I took in consequence of my looseness of
system—that, I believe, did more than anything else towards bringing me
to my present position—for, before, I was considered fair and florid in
complexion, but my friends hardly knew me, or professed they did not,
and I have not seen them from that day to this.”
“Upon my word, Sir Francis Varney, you have had some extraordinary
occurrences in your life. I am amazed at them; indeed I could scarcely
believe one person, especially a gentleman of your property and
standing——”
“Why, as for that, I can only say that my position and rank have given
me the means to enable me to go through them without any inconvenience,
for I have no home or place dedicated to domestic delights; such a
life I should be proud and happy to possess, but which I can never
accomplish; indeed, I may say, I fear to make the attempt; but, no
matter. The prime of life will, in a few years, pass away, and then I
shall be past the desire for a home; and yet Varney-hall, in the north,
is an ancient, palace-like abode, that would grace a duchess.”
“Is that your ancestral hall?”
“It is,” said Varney, with emotion.
“And now uninhabited?”
“Oh, dear, no. When I determined to lead the life I do, I could not
permit the old place to become ruinous and deserted and, therefore, let
it, and those who now live there, are well able and willing to keep the
place in repair.”
“That is fortunate.”
“Well, sir, I hardly know what is fortunate or unfortunate as regards
myself; but I have one of my old fits of melancholy come over me.”
“Nay, you must battle against them, Sir Francis.”
“I have ever endeavoured to do so, but I don’t know how it is—I cannot,
somehow or other, bear up—I feel a terrible depression of spirits.”
“I am truly sorry to hear it; but let us hope that the gaieties of Bath
will restore you to your wonted serenity.”
“I am sure I wish it,” said Mrs. Fraser; “but where are we to go
to-morrow?—can you tell me that, Sir Francis?”
“To the pump-room in the morning—the library and the assembly in the
evening, if you are inclined to do all at once.”
“Yes; well, then, suppose we make the attempt; we can but give in if we
find it too much exertion, though I am inclined to believe we shall not
find it beyond our strength,” said Mrs. Fraser.
“Then that is our agreement,” said Sir Francis.
“Yes; it is.”