Varney the Vampyre 119The Death of the Inquisitive Guest.—the Escape of Sir Francis Varney
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Literature · Horror
Varney the Vampyre 119
The Death of the Inquisitive Guest.—the Escape of Sir Francis Varney
RymerEnglish
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.
“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!
