Penny Dreadful Multipack Vol. 1 (Illustrated. Annotated. 'Wagner The Wehr-Wolf,' 'Varney The Vampire,' 'The Mysteries of London Vol. 1' + Bonus Features) (Penny Dreadful Multipacks) (84 page)

"Flora,
this is madness. Think again, dear Flora. Misfortunes for a time will hover
over the best and most fortunate of us; but, like the clouds that now obscure
the sweet sunshine, will pass away, and leave no trace behind them. The
sunshine of joy will shine on you again."

There
was a small break in the clouds, like a window looking into Heaven. From it
streamed one beam of sunlight, so bright, so dazzling, and so beautiful, that
it was a sight of wonder to look upon. It fell upon the face of Flora; it
warmed her cheek; it lent lustre to her pale lips and tearful eyes; it
illumined that little summer-house as if it had been the shrine of some saint.

"Behold!"
cried Charles, "where is your omen now?"

"God
of Heaven!'" cried Flora; and she stretched out her arms.

"The
clouds that hover over your spirit now," said Charles, "shall pass
away. Accept this beam of sunlight as a promise from God."

"I
will—I will. It is going."

"It
has done its office."

The
clouds closed over the small orifice, and all was gloom again as before.

"Flora,"
said Charles, "you will not ask me now to leave you?"

She
allowed him to clasp her to his heart. It was beating for her, and for her
only.

"You
will let me, Flora, love you still?"

Her
voice, as she answered him, was like the murmur of some distant melody the ears
can scarcely translate to the heart.

"Charles
we will live, love, and die together."

And
now there was a wrapt stillness in that summer-house for many minutes—a trance
of joy. They did not speak, but now and then she would look into his face with
an old familiar smile, and the joy of his heart was near to bursting in tears
from his eyes.

A
shriek burst from Flora's lips—a shriek so wild and shrill that it awakened
echoes far and near. Charles staggered back a step, as if shot, and then in
such agonised accents as he was long indeed in banishing the remembrance of,
she cried,—

"The
vampyre! the vampyre!"

THE EXPLANATION.—THE ARRIVAL OF THE ADMIRAL AT THE HOUSE.—A
SCENE OF CONFUSION, AND SOME OF ITS RESULTS.

So
sudden and so utterly unexpected a cry of alarm from Flora, at such a time
might well have the effect of astounding the nerves of any one, and no wonder
that Charles was for a few seconds absolutely petrified and almost unable to
think.

Mechanically,
then, he turned his eyes towards the door of the summer-house, and there he saw
a tall, thin man, rather elegantly dressed, whose countenance certainly, in its
wonderful resemblance to the portrait on the panel, might well appal any one.

The
stranger stood in the irresolute attitude on the threshold of the summer-house
of one who did not wish to intrude, but who found it as awkward, if not more so
now, to retreat than to advance.

Before
Charles Holland could summon any words to his aid, or think of freeing himself
from the clinging grasp of Flora, which was wound around him, the stranger made
a very low and courtly bow, after which he said, in winning accents,—

"I
very much fear that I am an intruder here. Allow me to offer my warmest
apologies, and to assure you, sir, and you, madam, that I had no idea any one
was in the arbour. You perceive the rain is falling smartly, and I made towards
here, seeing it was likely to shelter me from the shower."

These
words were spoken in such a plausible and courtly tone of voice, that they
might well have become any drawing-room in the kingdom.

Flora
kept her eyes fixed upon him during the utterance of these words; and as she
convulsively clutched the arm of Charles, she kept on whispering,—

"The
vampyre! the vampyre!"

"I
much fear," added the stranger, in the same bland tones, "that I have
been the cause of some alarm to the young lady!"

"Release
me," whispered Charles to Flora. "Release me; I will follow him at
once."

"No,
no—do not leave me—do not leave me. The vampyre—the dreadful vampyre!"

"But,
Flora—"

"Hush—hush—hush!
It speaks again."

"Perhaps
I ought to account for my appearance in the garden at all," added the insinuating
stranger. "The fact is, I came on a visit—"

Flora
shuddered.

"To
Mr. Henry Bannerworth," continued the stranger; "and finding the
garden-gate open, I came in without troubling the servants, which I much
regret, as I can perceive I have alarmed and annoyed the lady. Madam, pray
accept of my apologies."

"In
the name of God, who are you?" said Charles.

"My
name is Varney."

"Oh,
yes. You are the Sir Francis Varney, residing close by, who bears so fearful a
resemblance to—"

"Pray
go on, sir. I am all attention."

"To
a portrait here."

"Indeed!
Now I reflect a moment, Mr. Henry Bannerworth did incidentally mention
something of the sort. It's a most singular coincidence."

The
sound of approaching footsteps was now plainly heard, and in a few moments
Henry and George, along with Mr. Marchdale, reached the spot. Their appearance
showed that they had made haste, and Henry at once exclaimed,—

"We
heard, or fancied we heard, a cry of alarm."

"You
did hear it," said Charles Holland. "Do you know this
gentleman?"

"It
is Sir Francis Varney."

"Indeed!"

Varney
bowed to the new comers, and was altogether as much at his ease as everybody
else seemed quite the contrary. Even Charles Holland found the difficulty of
going up to such a well-bred, gentlemanly man, and saying, "Sir, we
believe you to be a vampyre"—to be almost, if not insurmountable.

"I
cannot do it," he thought, "but I will watch him."

"Take
me away," whispered Flora. "'Tis he—'tis he. Oh, take me away,
Charles."

"Hush,
Flora, hush. You are in some error; the accidental resemblance should not make
us be rude to this gentleman."

"The
vampyre!—it is the vampyre!"

"Are
you sure, Flora?"

"Do
I know your features—my own—my brother's? Do not ask me to doubt—I cannot. I am
quite sure. Take me from his hideous presence, Charles."

"The
young lady, I fear, is very much indisposed," remarked Sir Francis Varney,
in a sympathetic tone of voice. "If she will accept of my arm, I shall
esteem it a great honour."

"No—no—no!—God!
no," cried Flora.

"Madam,
I will not press you."

He
bowed, and Charles led Flora from the summer-house towards the hall.

"Flora,"
he said, "I am bewildered—I know not what to think. That man most
certainly has been fashioned after the portrait which is on the panel in the
room you formerly occupied; or it has been painted from him."

"He
is my midnight visitor!" exclaimed Flora. "He is the vampyre;—this
Sir Francis Varney is the vampyre."

"Good
God! What can be done?"

"I
know not. I am nearly distracted."

"Be
calm, Flora. If this man be really what you name him, we now know from what
quarter the mischief comes, which is, at all events, a point gained. Be assured
we shall place a watch upon him."

"Oh,
it is terrible to meet him here."

"And
he is so wonderfully anxious, too, to possess the Hall."

"He
is—he is."

"It
looks strange, the whole affair. But, Flora, be assured of one thing, and that
is, of your own safety."

"Can
I be assured of that?"

"Most
certainly. Go to your mother now. Here we are, you see, fairly within doors. Go
to your mother, dear Flora, and keep yourself quiet. I will return to this
mysterious man now with a cooler judgment than I left him."

"You
will watch him, Charles?"

"I
will, indeed."

"And
you will not let him approach the house here alone?"

"I
will not."

"Oh,
that the Almighty should allow such beings to haunt the earth!"

"Hush,
Flora, hush! we cannot judge of his allwise purpose."

'"Tis
hard that the innocent should be inflicted with its presence."

Charles
bowed his head in mournful assent.

"Is
it not very, very dreadful?"

"Hush—hush!
Calm yourself, dearest, calm yourself. Recollect that all we have to go upon in
this matter is a resemblance, which, after all, may be accidental. But leave it
all to me, and be assured that now I have some clue to this affair, I will not
lose sight of it, or of Sir Francis Varney."

So
saying, Charles surrendered Flora to the care of her mother, and then was
hastening back to the summer-house, when he met the whole party coming towards
the Hall, for the rain was each moment increasing in intensity.

"We
are returning," remarked Sir Francis Varney, with a half bow and a smile,
to Charles.

"Allow
me," said Henry, "to introduce you, Mr. Holland, to our neighbour,
Sir Francis Varney."

Charles
felt himself compelled to behave with courtesy, although his mind was so full
of conflicting feelings as regarded Varney; but there was no avoiding, without
such brutal rudeness as was inconsistent with all his pursuits and habits,
replying in something like the same strain to the extreme courtly politeness of
the supposed vampyre.

"I
will watch him closely," thought Charles. "I can do no more than
watch him closely."

Sir
Francis Varney seemed to be a man of the most general and discursive
information. He talked fluently and pleasantly upon all sorts of topics, and
notwithstanding he could not but have heard what Flora had said of him, he
asked no questions whatever upon that subject.

This
silence as regarded a matter which would at once have induced some sort of
inquiry from any other man, Charles felt told much against him, and he trembled
to believe for a moment that, after all, it really might be true.

"Is
he a vampyre?" he asked himself. "Are there vampyres, and is this man
of fashion—this courtly, talented, educated gentleman one?" It was a
perfectly hideous question.

"You
are charmingly situated here," remarked Varney, as, after ascending the
few steps that led to the hall door, he turned and looked at the view from that
slight altitude.

"The
place has been much esteemed," said Henry, "for its picturesque
beauties of scenery."

"And
well it may be. I trust, Mr. Holland, the young lady is much better?"

"She
is, sir," said Charles.

"I
was not honoured by an introduction."

"It
was my fault," said Henry, who spoke to his extraordinary guest with an
air of forced hilarity. "It was my fault for not introducing you to my
sister."

"And
that was your sister?"

"It
was, sir."

"Report
has not belied her—she is beautiful. But she looks rather pale, I thought. Has
she bad health?"

"The
best of health."

"Indeed!
Perhaps the little disagreeable circumstance, which is made so much food for
gossip in the neighbourhood, has affected her spirits?"

"It
has."

"You
allude to the supposed visit here of a vampyre?" said Charles, as he fixed
his eyes upon Varney's face.

"Yes,
I allude to the supposed appearance of a supposed vampyre in this family,"
said Sir Francis Varney, as he returned the earnest gaze of Charles, with such
unshrinking assurance, that the young man was compelled, after about a minute,
nearly to withdraw his own eyes.

"He
will not be cowed," thought Charles. "Use has made him familiar to
such cross-questioning."

It
appeared now suddenly to occur to Henry that he had said something at Varney's
own house which should have prevented him from coming to the Hall, and he now
remarked,—

"We
scarcely expected the pleasure of your company here, Sir Francis Varney."

"Oh,
my dear sir, I am aware of that; but you roused my curiosity. You mentioned to
me that there was a portrait here amazingly like me."

"Did
I?"

"Indeed
you did, or how could I know it? I wanted to see if the resemblance was so
perfect."

"Did
you hear, sir," added Henry, "that my sister was alarmed at your
likeness to that portrait?"

"No,
really."

"I
pray you walk in, and we will talk more at large upon that matter."

"With
great pleasure. One leads a monotonous life in the country, when compared with
the brilliancy of a court existence. Just now I have no particular engagement.
As we are near neighbours I see no reason why we should not be good friends,
and often interchange such civilities as make up the amenities of existence,
and which, in the country, more particularly, are valuable."

Henry
could not be hypocrite enough to assent to this; but still, under the present
aspect of affairs, it was impossible to return any but a civil reply; so he
said,—

"Oh,
yes, of course—certainly. My time is very much occupied, and my sister and
mother see no company."

"Oh,
now, how wrong."

"Wrong,
sir?"

"Yes,
surely. If anything more than another tends to harmonize individuals, it is the
society of that fairer half of the creation which we love for their very
foibles. I am much attached to the softer sex—to young persons full of health.
I like to see the rosy checks, where the warm blood mantles in the superficial
veins, and all is loveliness and life."

Charles
shrank back, and the word "Demon" unconsciously escaped his lips.

Sir
Francis took no manner of notice of the expression, but went on talking, as if
he had been on the very happiest terms with every one present.

"Will
you follow me, at once, to the chamber where the portrait hangs," said
Henry, "or will you partake of some refreshment first?"

"No
refreshment for me," said Varney. "My dear friend, if you will permit
me to call you such, this is a time of the day at which I never do take any
refreshment."

"Nor
at any other," thought Henry.

They
all went to the chamber where Charles had passed one very disagreeable night,
and when they arrived, Henry pointed to the portrait on the panel, saying—

"There,
Sir Francis Varney, is your likeness."

He
looked, and, having walked up to it, in an under tone, rather as if he were
conversing with himself than making a remark for any one else to hear, he said—

"It
is wonderfully like."

"It
is, indeed," said Charles.

"If
I stand beside it, thus," said Varney, placing himself in a favourable
attitude for comparing the two faces, "I dare say you will be more struck
with the likeness than before."