Varney the Vampyre 120Mrs. Williams Visits the Bannerworths at the Inn.—the Marriage of James Anderson with Helen
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Literature · Horror
Varney the Vampyre 120
Mrs. Williams Visits the Bannerworths at the Inn.—the Marriage of James Anderson with Helen
RymerEnglish
Let us fancy now, after all these singular circumstances had taken place, the Bannerworth family, with James Anderson and Helen Williams, seated in a comfortable room at the inn at Anderbury, where they had put up when they came to that place, in pursuance of the invitation they had received from Mrs. Williams.
And that lady, probably could she have foreseen what was about to occur, would have taken most especial pains to prevent such an invitation from ever reaching such a destination; but she had fallen a victim to her own love of display, and not being content with inviting people whom she did know, she must, forsooth, give them a carte blanche to bring with them people whom she did not know at all.
And thus it was that she had been horrified by what had taken place, and had had all her brightest visions of the future levelled with the dust.
When Jack Pringle told Mrs. Williams that he believed she would quite willingly have sold her daughter to a vampyre, he was right; for she would have done so, always provided that the vampyre, as aforesaid, had a good property, and was able to convince her of that most important fact.
The only person of all the little party that was assembled at the inn, who looked pale and anxious, was poor Helen, and she certainly did look so; for when we come to consider her novel position we shall not wonder at it.
She had thrown herself completely upon the consideration of strangers, and was severed from all those natural ties which ought to have for ever held her in their gentle bondage. But this conduct, or rather the conduct of that one who ought to have protected her though all trouble and anxieties—her mother—had been such as to deprive her of the feeling that she had a home at all.
Flora saw that her guest, as indeed she considered Helen, looked sad and dejected, and she made every effort within her power to rescue her from such a state of things.
“Do not despair of much happiness,” she whispered to her; “but rather thank good fortune, which, at the last moment, rescued you from one whom you could not love. Be assured that now you will enjoy the protection of those who will soon be able to prevail upon your mother to look with a favourable eye upon any new arrangement.”
“I am much beholden to you,” said Helen—“very much beholden to you, and I feel that I ought to congratulate myself upon my escape. But my heart does feel sad, because the state of things, to avoid which I made myself a sacrifice, may now ensue in all their terrors.”
“My dear,” said the admiral, who overheard her, “don’t you believe any such rubbish as all that. I have no doubt you have been regularly persecuted into the match with the supposed baron, and you would, perhaps, have found out afterwards that one-half of the things you were told, to induce you to consent, had no foundation but in somebody’s active imagination.”
“Do you think so, sir?”
“Do I think so! To be sure I do. Now, I dare say you were told how, if you married the Baron What’s-his-name, you would be doing something wonderful for all your family.”
“Yes—yes.”
“Oh, of course; I can see through all that clearly enough; and I tell you, my lass, that you have had a most fortunate escape, and that there is, and shall be, no reason on the face of the earth why you should not be married to the man of your choice. He has been to sea, and so, of course, he has finished what may be called his education. If he had been on shore all his life, you might have doubted about the prudence of having him; but, as it is, it’s quite another matter.”
“Sir, I thank you for your kind advocacy of my cause,” said James Anderson; “and I shall ever consider, as one of the most fortunate accidents of my life, the meeting with Admiral Bell.”
“Oh, don’t say anything about that. I know some of the people at the Admiralty, and when you go to make the report of how you have been shipwrecked, and how you lost your despatches, I will give you a letter of introduction, which, I dare say, won’t do you any harm.”
“Indeed, sir, this is more kindness than I ought to expect.”
“Not at all, my boy—not at all. Don’t put yourself out of the way about that. Only I tell you what I would do. You need not take my advice unless you like; but, if I were you, I’d be hanged if I moved an inch anywhere till I had made Helen Williams my wife.”
“Can you suppose,” cried James Anderson, while his eyes sparkled with delight—“can you suppose, my dear sir, that such advice could be other than most welcome to me?”
“And what do you say, Helen, to it?” whispered Flora.
“What can I say?”
“You can say yes, I suppose?” said the admiral.
Helen was silent.
“Very good,” added the admiral. “When a girl don’t say no, of course she means yes; and you can make sure of your prize now you have got her, Master Anderson. Let’s see; you manage these affairs with what you call a special license, don’t you?”
“Yes, uncle,” said Flora; “that is the way. You seem to know all about it, and I almost suspect you really must have had some experience in those matters.”
“I experience, you little gypsy!—what do you mean? I never was married in all my life, and I don’t intend to be.”
“Don’t make too sure, uncle. But, despite all that, no one could more warmly second your advice to Mr. Anderson than myself.”
“Very good. For that speech I forgive you. And now, Mr. Anderson, just come along with me, for I want to say a few words to you which nobody else has anything to do with.”
When the admiral got James Anderson alone, he said to him,—
“Of course you are without funds, so it’s no use making any fuss of delicacy about it. I have no doubt but that, with my interest, I shall be able to get you into an appointment of some sort; but, in the meantime, I beg that you will not cross me in my desire to serve you; and mind, I take your word of honour to repay me, so, you see, there is no obligation.”
“Sir, this noble generosity——”
“There, there—that’s quite enough; for the fact is, it ain’t noble generosity at all, so hold your tongue about it, and be so good as to let me consider that as settled. Here are fifty pounds for you, which will enable you to go to London like a gentleman, and to conduct your marriage either here or there, as you may yourself think proper, and as your bride may consent.”
“Sir, I would fain make Helen my own here.”
“Very good. I don’t pretend to understand how to manage these things: but set about it as quickly as you can, and don’t be deterred by anybody.”
This short but, to James Anderson, deeply interesting conversation, because it relieved his mind from a load of anxiety, took place a few paces from the inn door only, so that they returned at once; but scarcely had they joined the rest of the party, and were considering what they should order for dinner, when one of the waiters of the establishment came to say,
“If you please, there’s a lady who wants to come in. I asked her her name, but she won’t give it; but she says she must see everybody.”
“The deuce she must!” cried the admiral. “What sort of a craft is she?”
“Sort of a what, sir?”
“My fears tell me,” sobbed Helen, “that it is my mother.”
The admiral whistled, and then he said,—
“I suppose we shall have a breeze; but the sooner it’s over the better. Let the lady come in; and don’t you be afraid of anything, my lass. Why, you look as pale as if you expected—here she is.”
The door was flung open, and Mrs. Williams made her appearance. Anger was upon her face, and it required but a small amount of penetration to perceive that she came fully charged with all sorts of reproaches. Helen trembled and shrunk back for she had an habitual fear of her mother, which the imperious conduct of that individual had induced in the mind of so gentle a creature as Helen from her very childhood.
“Well, madam,” said Henry, stepping forward; “to what are we indebted for the honour of this visit from one who has not the courtesy to wait for an invitation?”
“Oh! I expected this,” said Mrs. Williams, with a shivering toss of her head; “I quite expected this, I can assure you—of course. But I’ll pretty soon let you know, sir, what I came about. I have come for my daughter, sir. What have you got to say against that?”
“Nothing, madam; if your daughter chooses to comply with your request.”
“Helen!” screamed Mrs. Williams. “Helen! I command you to come home this moment!”
“Mother, hear me!” said Helen. “Consent to my happiness with one whom I can love, with the same readiness that you would have seen me the bride of one for whom I never could hope to feel anything in the shape of affection, and I will accompany you home at once.”
“Oh, dear, yes—of course. Consent to ruin—consent to nonsense! Consent to your marrying a scapegrace who cannot even keep himself—far less a wife! No, Helen; you cannot expect that I should ever consent to your marrying such a poor wretch.”
“But don’t you think,” said Henry, “that any poor wretch is better than a vampyre?”
“No; I do not.”
“Oh! very good, then,” said the admiral; “if that’s the lady’s opinion, what can we say to her? And, as for commanding Miss Helen, here, to go home, I command her to stay.”
“You command her?”
“Yes, to be sure. Ain’t I an admiral? What have you got to say against that, I should like to know? I shall take good care that James Anderson is no poor wretch by getting him some good appointment; and, as your daughter is of age, old girl, and so can choose for herself, you may as well weigh anchor, and be off at once, for nobody wants to be bothered with you.”
“Do you mean to say you are a real admiral, and have nothing to do with the horse-marines?”
“Nothing whatever, ma’am. Good day to you—we are all waiting for our dinners, and don’t feel disposed to talk any more; so be off with you.”
Mrs. Williams seemed to be considering for a moment, and then she said,—
“Oh, gracious! a mother’s feelings must always be excused. I almost think that—just to please you, admiral—I will consent.”
“You will, mother?” exclaimed Helen.
“Why, in a manner of speaking,” said Mrs. Williams, “I should not mind; but it’s quite, you see, a dreadful thing to think of, when we consider what an expense I have gone to in all these matters, and that I have not had so much as one farthing from the baron, although he did say he would pay all the cost I might be put to.”
“From resources which, in course of time, industry may procure me,” said James Anderson, eagerly, “you shall be repaid all that you can possibly say has been expended for Helen.”
“Ah! well, then, if Admiral Bell, here, will say that he will see me paid, I consent.”
“Very well,” said the admiral; “I’ll see you paid. If you had acted generously in the matter, you should have been a gainer; but, as it is, you shall be paid, and we decline your acquaintance.”
Mrs. Williams began, from the tone and manner of her daughter’s new friends, to suspect that it would have been more prudent on her part if she had behaved in a very different manner towards them, and complied with a good grace with their wishes; for, as regarded the baron, anything in the shape of a more extended connexion with him was clearly out of the question.
But she had gone almost too far for reconciliation, and, although there was no such thing as denying the genius of the lady, she was, for a few minutes, puzzled to know what to do. At length, however, she thought it would not be a bad plan to be suddenly quite overcome with her feelings, and make a desperate scene.
Accordingly, to the surprise of every one, and the consternation of the admiral, she suddenly uttered a piercing scream, and commenced a good exhibition of hysterics.
“D—n it!” cried the admiral; “what does she mean by that? Come, come, I say, Mother Williams, we cannot stand all that noise, you know; it is quite out of the question!”
“Let us all leave the room,” said Henry, “and send Jack Pringle to her. I have heard him say that he has some mode of recovering ladies from hysterics by throwing a pail-full of salt water over them, and then biting their thumb-nails off.”
“The wretch!” exclaimed Mrs. Williams, suddenly recovering. “The wretch! I’d let him know soon enough what it was to interfere with my nails!”
“Oh! you are better, are you?” said the admiral.
“What’s that to you?” shrieked Mrs. Williams. “I’ll go at once to a lawyer, and see what can be done with you. I look upon you all with odium and contempt!”
“Ah! words easily spoken,” said the admiral; “and just like young chickens, they commonly go home to roost.”
Mrs. Williams darted an angry look at the whole party, which she intended should be expressive at once of the immense contempt in which she held them, and of her determination to have vengeance upon their heads, which double-dealing look, however, had no effect upon them of an intimidating character, and then she bounced from the room.
“My dear,” said the admiral, turning to Helen, who he saw was affected at the proceeding. “My dear, don’t you fret yourself. Your mother cannot make us angry; and, as far as regards her own anger, it will all subside, and then we will forget that she has said anything at all uncivil to us. So don’t you fret yourself about what is of no consequence at all.”
“You may depend,” said Henry, “that such will be the fact, and that in a very short time you will find that your mother has completely recovered from her anger, and will be as pleasant with us all as possible. I grieve to say so to you, but the fact is, what you must perceive, namely, that, as regards your mother, your marriage is merely a matter of pounds, shillings, and pence, and when she finds that the baron’s fortune cannot be had, she will content herself with reflecting upon the prospects of Mr. James Anderson, who, if he do well, will soon be quite a favourite.”
It was humiliating to poor Helen to be forced to confess that this was the correct view to take of the question, but she could not help doing so at all; and, after a time, she did not regret having sufficient moral courage to resist the command of her mother to return home.
In the society of him whom she loved, and upheld and encouraged, too, as she was by Flora, who was just about the best and kindest companion such a person as Helen could have had, the minutes began to fly past upon rosy pinions, and the remainder of that day she confessed, even to the admiral, was the happiest she had known for many a weary month.
The Bannerworths and James Anderson fully expected another visit from Mrs. Williams on the morrow, but she did not come; and, although they had expected her to do so, her not coming was no disappointment, but, on the contrary, a matter for some congratulation.
But no time was lost; and, as James Anderson was really most anxious to get to London to report himself at the Admiralty, and as that was an anxiety in which the admiral much encouraged him, so that as it was quite an understood thing among them all that the marriage of the fair Helen should take place before he again left her, a special license was procured, and the ceremony arranged to take place at nine o’clock in the morning, on the second morning after the strange and exciting occurrences at Anderbury House.
This marriage was conducted in the most private manner possible; because, as it had been so well known throughout the whole of Anderbury that Helen Williams was the chosen of the great and rich Baron Stolmuyer of Saltzburgh, who had turned out to be such an equivocal character, the news of her marriage with any one else would have been sure to have created a vast amount of pubic curiosity.
All this they escaped by fixing the hour at which the ceremony was to be performed at an early hour in the morning, and trusting no one out of their own party with the secret.
Of course, from what the reader knows of the gentle and timid disposition of Helen Williams, he may well suppose how glad she would have been to have had the countenance of her mother at her marriage, notwithstanding the conduct of that mother was certainly not what should have entitled her to the esteem of any one whatever, not excepting her own child.
But this was a feeling which, when she came to consider the new tie she was forming, was likely soon to wear away; and, although, while she pronounced those words which were irrevocably to make her another’s, the tears gushed to her eyes, they were far different from those bitter drops she had shed when she considered that, beyond all hope of redemption, she was condemned to become the bride of the baron.
When the ceremony was over, they all went back very quietly and comfortably to the inn, and, after a good breakfast, and many healths had been drank to the bride, James Anderson, according to arrangement, took his departure for London, leaving Helen in the care of the Bannerworths until he should come back to claim her, as he now could do, despite all the plots and machinations of Mrs. Williams, who, as yet, was in a state of blessed ignorance as to the fact of her daughter’s wedding, and who had not quite made up her mind as to what she should do next in so delicate and troublesome a transaction.
