Varney the Vampyre 147The Scene at the Hotel.—the Relation of the Cause of Sir Francis Varney’s Paleness
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Literature · Horror
Varney the Vampyre 147
The Scene at the Hotel.—the Relation of the Cause of Sir Francis Varney’s Paleness
RymerEnglish
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.
