Varney the Vampyre 58The Interrupted Breakfast at Sir Francis Varney’s
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Literature · Horror
Varney the Vampyre 58
The Interrupted Breakfast at Sir Francis Varney’s
RymerEnglish
Notwithstanding all Mr. Chillingworth could say to the contrary, the admiral really meant to breakfast with Sir Francis Varney.
The worthy doctor could not for some time believe but that the admiral must be joking, when he talked in such a strain; but he was very soon convinced to the contrary, by the latter actually walking out and once more asking him, Mr. Chillingworth, if he meant to go with him, or not.
This was conclusive, so the doctor said,—
“Well, admiral, this appears to me rather a mad sort of freak; but, as I have begun the adventure with you, I will conclude it with you.”
“That’s right,” said the admiral; “I’m not deceived in you, doctor; so come along. Hang these vampyres, I don’t know how to tackle them, myself. I think, after all, Sir Francis Varney is more in your line than he is in mine.”
“How do you mean?”
“Why, couldn’t you persuade him he’s ill, and wants some physic? That would soon settle him, you know.”
“Settle him!” said Mr. Chillingworth; “I beg to say, that if I did give him any physic, the dose would be much to his advantage; but, however, my opinion is, that this invitation to breakfast is, after all, a mere piece of irony; and that, when we get to Walmesley Lodge, we shall not see anything of him; on the contrary, we shall probably find it’s a hoax.”
“I certainly shouldn’t like that, but still it’s worth the trying. The fellow has really behaved himself in such an extraordinary manner, that, if I can make terms with him I will; and there’s one thing, you know, doctor, that I think we may say we have discovered.”
“And what may that be? Is it, not to make too sure of a vampyre, even when you have him by the leg?”
“No, that ain’t it, though that’s a very good thing in its way; but it is just this, that Sir Francis Varney, whoever he is and whatever he is, is after Bannerworth Hall, and not the Bannerworth family. If you recollect, Mr. Chillingworth, in our conversation, I have always insisted upon that fact.”
“You have; and it seems to me to be completely verified by the proceedings of the night. There, then, admiral, is the great mystery—what can he want at Bannerworth Hall that makes him take such a world of trouble, and run so many fearful risks in trying to get at it?”
“That is, indeed, the mystery; and if he really means this invitation to breakfast, I shall ask him plumply, and tell him, at the same time, that possibly his very best way to secure his object will be to be candid, vampyre as he is.”
“But really, admiral, you do not still cling to that foolish superstition of believing that Sir Francis Varney is in reality a vampyre?”
“I don’t know, and I can’t say; if anybody was to give me a description of a strange sort of fish that I had never seen, I wouldn’t take upon myself to say there wasn’t such a thing; nor would you, doctor, if you had really seen the many odd ones that I have encountered at various times.”
“Well, well, admiral, I’m certainly not belonging to that school of philosophy which declares the impossible to be what it don’t understand; there may be vampyres, and there may be apparitions, for all I know to the contrary; I only doubt these things, because I think, if they were true, that, as a phenomena of nature, they would have been by this time established by repeated instances without the possibility of doubt or cavil.”
“Well, there’s something in that; but how far have we got to go now?”
“No further than to yon enclosure where you see those park-like looking gates, and that cedar-tree stretching its dark-green foliage so far into the road; that is Walmesley Lodge, whither you have been invited.”
“And you, my learned friend, recollect that you were invited too; so that you are no intruder upon the hospitality of Varney the vampyre.”
“I say, admiral,” said Mr. Chillingworth, when they reached the gates, “you know it is not quite the thing to call a man a vampyre at his own breakfast-table, so just oblige me by promising not to make any such remark to Sir Francis.”
“A likely thing!” said the admiral; “he knows I know what he is, and he knows I’m a plain man and a blunt speaker; however, I’ll be civil to him, and more than that I can’t promise. I must wring out of him, if I can, what has become of Charles Holland, and what the deuce he really wants himself.”
“Well, well; come to no collision with him, while we’re his guests.”
“Not if I can help it.”
The doctor rang at the gate bell of Walmesley Lodge, and was in a few moments answered by a woman, who demanded their business.
“Is Sir Francis Varney here?” said the doctor.
“Oh, ah! yes,” she replied; “you see his house was burnt down, for something or other—I’m sure I don’t know what—by some people—I’m sure I don’t know who; so, as the lodge was to let, we have took him in till he can suit himself.”
“Ah! that’s it, is it?” said the admiral—“tell him that Admiral Bell and Dr. Chillingworth are here.”
“Very well,” said the woman; “you may walk in.”
“Thank ye; you’re vastly obliging, ma’am. Is there anything going on in the breakfast line?”
“Well, yes; I am getting him some breakfast, but he didn’t say as he expected company.”
The woman opened the garden gate, and they walked up a trimly laid out garden to the lodge, which was a cottage-like structure in external appearance, although within it boasted of all the comforts of a tolerably extensive house.
She left them in a small room, leading from the hall, and was absent about five minutes; then she returned, and, merely saying that Sir Francis Varney presented his compliments, and desired them to walk up stairs, she preceded them up a handsome flight which led to the first floor of the lodge.
Up to this moment, Mr. Chillingworth had expected some excuse, for, notwithstanding all he had heard and seen of Sir Francis Varney, he could not believe that any amount of impudence would suffice to enable him to receive people as his guests, with whom he must feel that he was at such positive war.
It was a singular circumstance; and, perhaps, the only thing that matched the cool impertinence of the invitation, was the acceptance of it under the circumstances by the admiral.
Sir Francis Varney might have intended it as a jest; but if he did so, in the first instance, it was evident he would not allow himself to be beaten with his own weapons.
The room into which they were shown was a longish narrow one; a very wide door gave them admission to it, at the end, nearest the staircase, and at its other extremity there was a similar door opening into some other apartments of the house.
Sir Francis Varney sat with his back towards this second door, and a table, with some chairs and other articles of furniture, were so arranged before him, that while they seemed but to be carelessly placed in the position they occupied, they really formed a pretty good barrier between him and his visitors.
The admiral, however, was too intent upon getting a sight of Varney, to notice any preparation of this sort, and he advanced quickly into the room.
And there, indeed, was the much dreaded, troublesome, persevering, and singular looking being who had caused such a world of annoyance to the family of the Bannerworths, as well as disturbing the peace of the whole district, which had the misfortune to have him as an inhabitant.
If anything, he looked thinner, taller, and paler than usual, and there seemed to be a slight nervousness of manner about him, as he slowly inclined his head towards the admiral, which was not quite intelligible.
“Well,” said Admiral Bell, “you invited me to breakfast, and my learned friend; here we are.”
“No two human beings,” said Varney, “could be more welcome to my hospitality than yourself and Dr. Chillingworth. I pray you to be seated. What a pleasant thing it is, after the toils and struggles of this life, occasionally to sit down in the sweet companionship of such dear friends.”
He made a hideous face as he spoke, and the admiral looked as if he were half inclined to quarrel at that early stage of the proceedings.
“Dear friends!” he said; “well, well—it’s no use squabbling about a word or two; but I tell you what it is, Mr. Varney, or Sir Francis Varney, or whatever your d—d name is——”
“Hold, my dear sir,” said Varney—“after breakfast, if you please—after breakfast.”
He rang a hand-bell as he spoke, and the woman who had charge of the house brought in a tray tolerably covered with the materials for a substantial morning’s meal. She placed it upon the table, and certainly the various articles that smoked upon it did great credit to her culinary powers.
“Deborah,” said Sir Varney, in a mild sort of tone, “keep on continually bringing things to eat until this old brutal sea ruffian has satiated his disgusting appetite.”
The admiral opened his eyes an enormous width, and, looking at Sir Francis Varney, he placed his two fists upon the table, and drew a long breath.
“Did you address those observations to me,” he said, at length, “you blood-sucking vagabond?”
“Eh?” said Sir Francis Varney, looking over the admiral’s head, as if he saw something interesting on the wall beyond.
“My dear admiral,” said Mr. Chillingworth, “come away.”
“I’ll see you d—d first!” said the admiral. “Now, Mr. Vampyre, no shuffling; did you address those observations to me?”
“Deborah,” said Sir Francis Varney, in silvery tones, “you can remove this tray and bring on the next.”
“Not if I know it,” said the admiral “I came to breakfast, and I’ll have it; after breakfast I’ll pull your nose—ay, if you were fifty vampyres, I’d do it.”
“Dr. Chillingworth,” said Varney, without paying the least attention to what the admiral said, “you don’t eat, my dear sir; you must be fatigued with your night’s exertions. A man of your age, you know, cannot be supposed to roll and tumble about like a fool in a pantomime with impunity. Only think what a calamity it would be if you were laid up. Your patients would all get well, you know.”
“Sir Francis Varney,” said Mr. Chillingworth, “we’re your guests; we come here at your invitation to partake of a meal. You have wantonly attacked both of us. I need not say that by so doing you cast a far greater slur upon your own taste and judgment than you can upon us.”
“Admirably spoken,” said Sir Francis Varney, giving his hands a clap together that made the admiral jump again. “Now, old Bell, I’ll fight you, if you think yourself aggrieved, while the doctor sees fair play.”
“Old who?” shouted the admiral.
“Bell, Bell—is not your name Bell?—a family cognomen, I presume, on account of the infernal clack, clack, without any sense in it, that is the characteristic of your race.”
“You’ll fight me?” said the admiral, jumping up.
“Yes; if you challenge me.”
“By Jove I do; of course.”
“Then I accept it; and the challenged party, you know well, or ought to know, can make his own terms in the encounter.”
“Make what terms you please; I care not what they are. Only say you will fight, and that’s sufficient.”
“It is well,” said Sir Francis Varney, in a solemn tone.
“Nay, nay,” interrupted Mr. Chillingworth; “this is boyish folly.”
“Hold your row,” said the admiral, “and let’s hear what he’s got to say.”
“In this mansion,” said Sir Francis Varney—“for a mansion it is, although under the unpretending name of a lodge—in this mansion there is a large apartment which was originally fitted up by a scientific proprietor of the place, for the purpose of microscopic and other experiments, which required a darkness total and complete, such a darkness as seems as if it could be felt—palpable, thick, and obscure as the darkness of the tomb, and I know what that is.”
“The devil you do!” said this admiral “It’s damp, too, ain’t it?”
“The room?”
“No; the grave.”
“Oh! uncommonly, after autumnal rains. But to resume—this room is large, lofty, and perfectly empty.”
“Well?”
“I propose that we procure two scythes.”
“Two what?”
“Scythes, with their long handles, and their convenient holding places.”
“Well, I’ll be hanged! What next do you propose?”
“You may be hanged. The next is, that with these scythes we be both of us placed in the darkened room, and the door closed, and doubly locked upon us for one hour, and that then and there we do our best each to cut the other in two. If you succeed in dismembering me, you will have won the day; but I hope, from my superior agility”—here Sir Francis jumped upon his chair, and sat upon the back of it—“to get the better of you. How do you like the plan I have proposed? Does it meet your wishes?”
“Curse your impudence!” said the admiral, placing his elbows upon the table and resting his chin in astonishment upon his two hands.
“Nay,” interrupted Sir Francis, “you challenged me; and, besides, you’ll have an equal chance, you know that. If you succeed in striking me first, down I go; whereas it I succeed in striking you first, down you go.”
As he spoke, Sir Francis Varney stretched out his foot, and closed a small bracket, which held out the flap of the table on which the admiral was leaning, and, accordingly, down the admiral went, tea-tray and all.
Mr. Chillingworth ran to help him up, and, when they both recovered their feet, they found they were alone.
