VARNEY’S NARRATIVE CONTINUED.
Mr. Bevan paused when he had got thus far, to ask himself if he ought
to give credence to what he read, or put it down as the raving of some
person, whose wits had become tangled and deranged by misfortune.
Had the manuscript come to him without other circumstances to give
it the air of truthfulness, he would have read it only as a literary
curiosity, but it will be remembered that he had been a spectator of
the resuscitation of Clara Crofton, which afforded of itself a very
frightful verification of Varney’s story—a story so horrible in all its
details, that but for the great interest which it really possessed,
he would have deeply regretted the mixing it up in his memory with
brighter subjects.
There was something yet to read in the papers before him, and thinking
that it was better to know all at once than to leave his imagination
to work upon matters so likely seriously to affect it, he resumed his
perusal of these papers, which might be considered the autobiography of
Varney.
• • • • •
I have already said that I was not yet fully alive to the horror of
what I was, but I soon found what the words which had been spoken to
me by the mysterious being who had exhumed me meant; I was a thing
accursed, a something to be shunned by all men, a horror, a blight, and
a desolation.
I felt myself growing sick and weak, as I traversed the streets of the
city, and yet I loathed the sight of food, whenever I saw it.
I reached my own house, and saw that it had been burned down; there lay
nothing but a heap of charred ruins where it once stood.
But I had an interest in those ruins, for from time to time I had
buried considerable sums of money beneath the flooring of the lowest
apartments, and I had every reason to believe, as such a secret
treasure was only known to myself, that it remained untouched.
I waited until the moon became obscured by some passing clouds, and
then having a most intimate knowledge of the locality, I commenced
groping about the ruins, and removing a portion of them, until I made
my way to the spot where my money was hidden.
The morning came, however, and surprised me at my occupation; so I hid
myself among the ruins of what had once been my home for a whole day,
and never once stirred from my concealment.
Oh, it was a long and weary day. I could hear the prattle of children
at play, an inn or change-house was near at hand, and I could hear
noisy drinkers bawling forth songs that had been proscribed in the
Commonwealth.
I saw a poor wretch hunted nearly to death, close to where I lay
concealed, because from the fashion of his garments, and the cut of his
hair, he was supposed to belong to the deposed party.
But the long expected night came at last. It was a dark one, too, so
that it answered my purpose well.
I had found an old rusty knife among the ruins, and with that I set to
work to dig up my hidden treasure; I was successful, and found it all.
Not a guinea had been removed, although in the immediate neighbourhood,
there were those who would have sacrificed a human life for any piece
of gold that I had hoarded.
I made no enquiries about any one that had belonged to me. I dreaded to
receive some horrible and circumstantial answer, but I did get a slight
piece of news, as I left the ruins, although I asked not for it.
“There’s a poor devil,” said one; “did you ever see such a wretch in
all your life?”
“Why, yes,” said another, “he’s enough to turn one’s canary sour, he
seems to have come up from the ruins of Mortimers’s house. By-the-by
did you ever hear what became of him?”
“Yes, to be sure, he was shot by two of Cromwell’s dragoons in some
fracas or another.”
“Ah, I recollect now, I heard as much. He murdered his son, didn’t he?”
I passed on. Those words seemed to send a bolt of fire through the
brain, and I dreaded that the speaker might expatiate upon them.
A slow misty rain was falling, which caused the streets to be very much
deserted, but being extremely well acquainted with the city, I passed
on till I came to that quarter which was principally inhabited by Jews,
who I knew would take my money without any troublesome questions being
asked me, and also I could procure every accommodation required; and
they did do so, for before another hour had passed over my head, I
emerged richly habited as a chevalier of the period, having really not
paid to the conscientious Israelite much more than four times the price
of the clothing I walked away with.
And thus I was in the middle of London, with some hundreds of pounds in
my pocket, and a horrible uncertainty as to what I was.
I was growing fainter and fainter still, and I feared that unless I
succeeded in housing myself shortly, I should become a prey to some
one who, seeing my exhausted condition, would, notwithstanding I had a
formidable rapier by my side, rob me of all I possessed.
My career has been much too long and too chequered an one even to give
the briefest sketch of. All I purpose here to relate is how I became
convinced I was a vampyre, and that blood was my congenial nourishment
and the only element of my new existence.
I passed on until I came to a street where I knew the houses were large
but unfashionable, and that they were principally occupied by persons
who made a trade by letting out apartments, and there I thought I might
locate myself in safety.
As I made no difficulty about terms, there was no difficulty at all of
any sort, and I found myself conducted into a tolerably handsome suite
of rooms in the house of a decent-looking widow woman, who had two
daughters, young and blooming girls, both of whom regarded me as the
new lodger, with looks of anything but favour, considering my awful and
cadaverous appearance most probably as promising nothing at all in the
shape of pleasant companionship.
This I was quite prepared for—I had seen myself in a mirror—that was
enough; and I could honestly have averred that a more ghastly and
horrible looking skeleton, attired in silks and broad-cloth, never yet
walked the streets of the city.
When I retired to my chamber, I was so faint and ill, that I could
scarcely drag one foot after the other; and was ruminating what
I should do, until a strange feeling crept over me that I should
like——what? Blood!—raw blood, reeking and hot, bubbling and juicy, from
the veins of some gasping victim.
A clock upon the stairs struck one. I arose and listened attentively;
all was still in the house—still as the very grave.
It was a large old rambling building, and had belonged at one time, no
doubt, to a man of some mark and likelihood in the world. My chamber
was one of six that opened from a corridor of a considerable length,
and which traversed the whole length of the house.
I crept out into this corridor, and listened again for full ten
minutes, but not the slightest sound, save my own faint breathing,
disturbed the stillness of the house; and that emboldened me so that,
with my appetite for blood growing each moment stronger, I began to ask
myself from whose veins I could seek strength and nourishment.
But how was I to proceed? How was I to know in that large house which
of the sleepers I could attack with safety, for it had now come to
that, that I was to attack somebody. I stood like an evil spirit,
pondering over the best means of securing a victim.
And there came over me the horrible faintness again, that faintness
which each moment grew worse, and which threatened completely to
engulf me. I feared that some flush of it would overtake me, and then
I should fall to rise no more; and strange as it may appear, I felt
a disposition to cling to the new life that had been given to me. I
seemed to be acquainted already with all its horrors, but not all its
joys.
Suddenly the darkness of the corridor was cleared away, and soft and
mellow light crept into it, and I said to myself,—
“The moon has risen.”
Yes, the bright and beautiful moon, which I had felt the soft influence
of when I lay among the graves, had emerged from the bank of clouds
along the eastern sky, its beams descending through a little window.
They streamed right through the corridor, faintly but effectually
illuminating it, and letting me see clearly all the different doors
leading to the different chambers.
And thus it was that I had light for anything I wished to do, but not
information.
The moonbeams playing upon my face seemed to give me a spurious sort
of strength. I did not know until after experience what a marked and
sensible effect they would always have upon me, but I felt it even
then, although I did not attribute it wholly to the influence of the
queenly planet.
I walked on through the corridor, and some sudden influence seemed to
guide me to a particular door. I know not how it was, but I laid my
hand upon the lock, and said to myself,—
“I shall find my victim here.”