The Penny Dreadfuls MEGAPACK™ (195 page)

“He was fearfully enraged, and offered fifty pounds reward to any one who could give him information as to who it was that assaulted him.

“I believe he had a pretty good notion of who it was; but he could not swear to me; but still, seeing he was busying himself too much about me, I at once walked away, and went on my way to another part of the country.”

“To get married?”

“Ay, and to get into business.”

“Then, things are not quite so bad as I thought for at first.”

“No—no, not so bad but what they might have been worse a great deal; only I cannot go to sea any more, that’s quite certain.”

“You needn’t regret that.”

“I don’t know.”

“Why not know? Are you not going to be married?—ain’t that much better?”

“I can’t say,” replied the sailor; “there’s no knowing how my bargain may turn out; if she does well, why, then the cruising is over; but nothing short of that will satisfy me; for if my wife is at all not what I wish her to be, why, I shall be off to sea.”

“I don’t blame you, either; I would do so too, if it were possible; but you see, we can’t do so well on land as you do at sea; we can be followed about from pillar to post, and no bounds set to our persecution.”

“That’s true enough,” said the other; “we can cut and run when we have had enough of it. However, I must get to the village, as I shall sleep there tonight, if I find my quarters comfortable enough.”

“Come on, then, at once,” said his companion; “it’s getting dark now; and you have no time to lose.”

These two now got up, and walked away towards the village; and Chillingworth arose also, and pursued his way towards the Hall, while he remarked to himself—

“Well—well, they have nothing to do with that affair at all events. By-the-bye, I wonder what amount of females are deserted in the navy; they certainly have an advantage over landsmen, in the respect of being tied to tiresome partners; they can, at least, for a season, get a release from their troubles, and be free at sea.”

However, Mr. Chillingworth got to the Hall, and unobserved, for he had been especially careful not to be seen; he had watched on all sides, and no signs of a solitary human being had he seen, that could in any way make the slightest observation upon him.

Indeed, he had sheltered himself from observation at every point of his road, especially so when near Bannerworth Hall, where there were plenty of corners to enable him to do so; and when he arrived there, he entered at the usual spot, and then sat down a few moments in the bower.

“I will not sit here,” he muttered. “I will go and have a watch at that mysterious picture; there is the centre of attraction, be it what it may.”

As he spoke, he arose and walked into the house, and entered the same apartment which has been so often mentioned to the reader.

Here he took a chair, and sat down full before the picture, and began to contemplate it.

“Well, for a good likeness, I cannot say I ever saw anything more unprepossessing. I am sure such a countenance as that could never have won a female heart. Surely, it is more calculated to terrify the imagination, than to soothe the affections of the timid and shrinking female.

“However, I will have an inspection of the picture, and see if I can make anything of it.”

As he spoke, he put his hand upon the picture with the intention of removing it, when it suddenly was thrust open, and a man stepped down.

The doctor was for a moment completely staggered, it was so utterly unexpected, and he stepped back a pace or two in the first emotion of his surprise; but this soon passed by, and he prepared to close with his antagonist, which he did without speaking a word.

There was a fair struggle for more than two or three minutes, during which the doctor struggled and fought most manfully; but it was evident that Mr. Chillingworth had met with a man who was his superior in point of strength, for he not only withstood the utmost force that Chillingworth could bring against him, but maintained himself, and turned his strength against the doctor.

Chillingworth panted with exertion, and found himself gradually losing ground, and was upon the point of being thrown down at the mercy of his adversary, who appeared to be inclined to take all advantages of him, when an occurrence happened that altered the state of affairs altogether.

While they were struggling, the doctor borne partially to the earth—but yet struggling, suddenly his antagonist released his hold, and staggered back a few paces.

“There, you swab—take that; I am yard-arm and yard-arm with you, you piratical-looking craft—you lubberly, buccaneering son of a fish-fag.”

Before, however, Jack Pringle, for it was he who came so opportunely to the rescue of Doctor Chillingworth, could find time to finish the sentence, he found himself assailed by the very man who, but a minute before, he had, as he thought, placed
hors de combat
.

A desperate fight ensued, and the stranger made the greatest efforts to escape with the picture, but found he could not get off without a desperate struggle. He was, at length, compelled to relinquish the hope of carrying that off, for both Mr. Chillingworth and Jack Pringle were engaged hand to hand; but the stranger struck Jack so heavy a blow on the head, that made him reel a few yards, and then he escaped through the window, leaving Jack and Mr. Chillingworth masters of the field, but by no means unscathed by the conflict in which they had been engaged.

CHAPTER XCI.

THE GRAND CONSULTATION BROKEN UP BY MRS. CHILLINGWORTH
, AND THE DISAPPEARANCE OF VARNEY.

Remarkable was the change that had taken place in the circumstances of the Bannerworth family. From a state of great despondency, and, indeed, absolute poverty, they had suddenly risen to comfort and independence.

It seemed as if the clouds that had obscured their destiny, had now, with one accord, dissipated, and that a brighter day was dawning. Not only had the circumstances of mental terror which had surrounded them given way in a great measure to the light of truth and reflection, but those pecuniary distresses which had pressed upon them for a time, were likewise passing away, and it seemed probable that they would be in a prosperous condition.

The acquisition of the title deeds of the estate
, which they thought had passed away from the family for ever, became to them, in their present circumstances, an immense acquisition, and brought to their minds a feeling of great contentment.

Many persons in their situation would have been extremely satisfied at having secured so strong an interest in the mind of the old admiral, who was very wealthy, and who, from what he had already said and done, no doubt fully intended to provide handsomely for the Bannerworth family.

And not only had they this to look forward to, if they had chosen to regard it as an advantage, but they knew that by the marriage of Flora with Charles Holland she would have a fortune at her disposal, while he (Charles) would be the last man in the world to demur at any reasonable amount of it being lavished upon her mother and her brothers.

But all this did not suit the high and independent spirit of Henry Bannerworth. He was one who would rather have eaten the dust that he procured for himself by some meritorious exertion, than have feasted on the most delicate viands placed before him from the resources of another.

But now that he knew this small estate, the title deeds of which had been so singularly obtained, had once really belonged to the family, but had been risked and lost at the gaming-table, he had no earthly scruple in calling such property again his own.

As to the large sum of money which Sir Francis Varney in his confessions had declared to have found its way into the possession of Marmaduke Bannerworth, Henry did not expect, and scarcely wished to become possessed of wealth through so tainted a source.

“No,” he said to himself frequently; “no—I care not if that wealth be never forthcoming, which was so badly got possession of. Let it sink into the earth, if, indeed, it be buried there; or let it rot in some unknown corner of the old mansion. I care not for it.”

In this view of the case he was not alone, for a family more unselfish, or who cared so little for money, could scarcely have been found; but Admiral Bell and Charles Holland argued now that they had a right to the amount of money which Marmaduke Bannerworth had hidden somewhere, and the old admiral reasoned upon it rather ingeniously, for he said—

“I suppose you don’t mean to dispute that the money belongs to somebody, and in that case I should like to know who else it belonged to, if not to you? How do you get over that, master Henry?”

“I don’t attempt to get over it at all,” said Henry; “all I say is, that I do dislike the whole circumstances connected with it, and the manner in which it was come by; and, now that we have a small independence, I hope it will not be found. But, admiral, we are going to hold a family consultation as to what we shall do, and what is to become of Varney. He has convinced me of his relationship to our family, and, although his conduct has certainly been extremely equivocal, he has made all the amends in his power; and now, as he is getting old, I do not like to throw him upon the wide world for a subsistence.”

“You don’t contemplate,” said the admiral, “letting him remain with you, do you?”

“No; that would be objectionable for a variety of reasons; and I could not think of it for a moment.”

“I should think not. The idea of sitting down to breakfast, dinner, tea, and supper with a vampire, and taking your grog with a fellow that sucks other people’s blood!”

“Really, admiral, you do not really still cling to the idea that Sir Francis Varney is a vampire.”

“I really don’t know; he clings to it himself, that’s all I can say; and I think, under those circumstances, I might as well give him the benefit of his own proposition, and suppose that he is a vampire.”

“Really, uncle,” said Charles Holland, “I did think that you had discarded the notion.”

“Did you? I have been thinking of it, and it ain’t so desirable to be a vampire, I am sure, that any one should pretend to it who is not; therefore, I take the fellow upon his own showing. He is a vampire in his own opinion, and so I don’t see, for the life of me, why he should not be so in ours.”

“Well,” said Henry, “waving all that, what are we to do with him? Circumstances seem to have thrown him completely at our mercy. What are we to do with him, and what is to become of him for the future?”

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said the admiral. “If he were ten times a vampire, there is some good in the fellow; and I will give him enough to live upon if he will go to America and spend it. They will take good care there that he sucks no blood out of them; for, although an American would always rather lose a drop of blood than a dollar, they keep a pretty sharp look out upon both.”

“The proposal can be made to him,” said Henry, “at all events. It is one which I don’t dislike, and probably one that he would embrace at once; because he seems, to me, to have completely done with ambition, and to have abandoned those projects concerning which, at one time, he took such a world of trouble.”

“Don’t you trust to that,” said the admiral. “What’s bred in the bone don’t so easily get out of the flesh; and once or twice, when Master Varney has been talking, I have seen those odd looking eyes of his flash up for a moment, as if he were quite ready to begin his old capers again, and alarm the whole country side.”

“I must confess,” said Charles Holland, that I myself have had the impression once or twice that Varney was only subdued for a time, and that, with a proper amount of provocation, he would become again a very serious fellow, and to the full as troublesome as he has been.”

“Do you doubt his sincerity?” said Henry.

“No, I do not do that, Henry: I think Varney fully means what he says; but I think, at the same time, that he has for so long lead a strange, wild, and reckless life, that he will find it very far from easy, if indeed possible, to shake off his old habits and settle down quietly, if not to say comfortably.”

“I regret,” said Henry, “that you have such an impression; but, while I do so, I cannot help admitting that it is, to a considerable extent, no more than a reasonable one; and perhaps, after all, my expectation that Varney will give us no more trouble, only amounts to a hope that he will not do so, and nothing more. But let us consider; there seems to be some slight difference of opinion among us, as to whether we should take up our residence at this new house of ours, which we did not know we owned, at Dearbrook, or proceed to London, and there establish ourselves, or again return to Bannerworth Hall, and, by a judicious expenditure of some money, make that a more habitable place than it has been for the last twenty years.”

“Now, I’ll tell you what,” said the admiral, “I would do. It’s quite out of the question for any body to live long unless they see a ship; don’t you think so, Miss Flora?”

“Why, how can you ask Flora such a question, uncle,” said Charles Holland, “when you know she don’t care a straw about ships, and only looks upon admirals as natural curiosities?”

“Excepting one,” said Flora, “and he is an admiral who is natural but no curiosity, unless it he that you, can call him such because he is so just and generous, and, as for ships, who can help admiring them; and if Admiral Bell proposes that we live in some pleasant, marine villa by the sea-coast, he shall have my vote and interest for the proceeding.”

“Bravo! Huzza!” cried the admiral. “I tell you what it is, Master Charley—you horse marine—I have a great mind to cut you out, and have Miss Flora myself.”

“Don’t, uncle,” said Charles; “that would be so very cruel, after she has promised me so faithfully. How do you suppose I should like it; come now, be merciful.”

At this moment, and before any one could make another remark, there came rather a sharp ring at the garden-gate bell, and Henry exclaimed—

“That’s Mr. Chillingworth, and I am glad he has come in time to join our conference. His advice is always valuable; and, moreover, I rather think he will bring us some news worth the hearing.”

The one servant who they had to wait upon them looked into the room, and said—“If you please, here is Mrs. Chillingworth.”

“Mistress? you mean Mr.”

“No; it is Mrs. Chillingworth and her baby.”

“The devil!” said the admiral; “what can she want?”

“I’ll come and let you know,” said Mrs. Chillingworth, “what I want;” and she darted into the room past the servant. “I’ll soon let you know, you great sea crab. I want my husband; and what with your vampire, and one thing and another, I haven’t had him at home an hour for the past three weeks. What am I to do? There is all his patients getting well as fast as they can without him; and, when they find that out, do you think they will take any more filthy physic? No, to be sure not; people ain’t such fools as to do anything of the sort.”

“I’ll tell you what we will do, ma’am,” said the admiral; “we’ll all get ill at once, on purpose to oblige ye; and I’ll begin by having the measles.”

“You are an old porpoise, and I believe it all owing to you that my husband neglects his wife and family. What’s vampires to him, I should like to know, that he should go troubling about them? I never heard of vampires taking draughts and pills.”

“No, nor any body else that had the sense of a goose,” said the admiral; “but if it’s your husband you want, ma’am, it’s no use your looking for him here, for here he is not.”

“Then where is he? He is running after some of your beastly vampires somewhere, I’ll be bound, and you know where to send for him.”

“Then you are mistaken; for, indeed, we don’t. We want him ourselves, ma’am, and can’t find him—that’s the fact.”

“It’s all very well talking, sir, but if you were a married woman, with a family about you, and the last at the breast, you’d feel very different from what you do now.”

“I’m damned if I don’t suppose I should,” said the admiral; “but as for the last, ma’am, I’d soon settle that. I’d wring its neck, and shove it overboard.”

“You would, you brute? It’s quite clear to me you never had a child of your own.”

“Mrs. Chillingworth,” said Henry, “I think you have no right to complain to us of your domestic affairs. Where your husband goes, and what he does, is at his own will and pleasure, and, really, I don’t see that we are to be made answerable as to whether he is at home or abroad; to say nothing of the bad taste—and bad taste it most certainly is, of talking of your private affairs to other people.”

“Oh, dear!” said Mrs. Chillingworth; “that’s your idea, is it, you no-whiskered puppy?”

“Really, madam, I cannot see what my being destitute of whiskers has to do with the affair; and I am inclined to think my opinion is quite as good without them as with them.”

“I will speak,” said Flora, “to the doctor, when I see him.”

“Will you, Miss Doll’s-eyes? Oh, dear me! you’ll speak to the doctor, will you?”

“What on earth do you want?” said Henry. “For your husband’s sake, whom we all respect, we wish to treat you with every imaginable civility; but we tell you, candidly, that he is not here, and, therefore, we cannot conceive what more you can require of us.”

“Oh, it’s a row,” said the admiral; “that’s what she wants—woman like. Damned a bit do they care what it’s about as long as there’s a disturbance. And now, ma’am, will you sit down and have a glass of grog?”

“No, I will not sit down; and all I can say is, that I look upon this place as a den full of snakes and reptiles. That’s my opinion; so I’ll not stay any longer; but, wishing that great judgments may some day come home to you all, and that you may know what it is to be a mother, with five babies, and one at the breast, I despise you all and leave you.”