Vampires 3

by J. R. Rain

  Varney now rose, and the officer made a rush at him, when he saw him do so, saying,—

  "Surrender in the king's name."

  Varney, however, paid no attention to that, but rushed past, throwing his chair down to impede the officer, who could not stay himself, but fell over it, while Varney made a rush towards the window, which he cleared at one bound, and crossing the road, was lost to sight in a few seconds, in the trees and hedges on the other side.

  "Accidents will happen," said the officer, as he rose to his feet; "I did not think the fellow would have taken the window in that manner; but we have him in view, and that will be enough."

  "In heaven's name," said Henry, "explain all about this; we cannot understand one word of it—I am at a loss to understand one word of it."

  "We will return and do so presently," said the officer as he dashed out of the house after the fugitive at a rapid and reckless speed, followed by his companion.

  The man who had been left with the chaise, however, was the first in the chase; seeing an escape from the window, he immediately guessed that he was the man wanted, and, but for an accident, he would have met Varney at the gate, for, as he was getting out in a hurry, his foot became entangled with the reins, and he fell to the ground, and Varney at the same moment stepped over him.

  "Curse his infernal impudence, and d—n these reins!" muttered the man in a fury at the accident, and the aggravating circumstance of the fugitive walking over him in such a manner, and so coolly too—it was vexing.

  The man, however, quickly released himself, and rushed after Varney across the road, and kept on his track for some time. The moon was still rising, and shed but a gloomy light around. Everything was almost invisible until you came close to it. This was the reason why Varney and his pursuer met with several severe accidents—fumbles and hard knocks against impediments which the light and the rapid flight they were taking did not admit of their avoiding very well.

  They went on for some time, but it was evident Varney knew the place best, and could avoid what the man could not, and that was the trees and the natural impediments of the ground, which Varney was acquainted with.

  For instance, at full speed across a meadow, a hollow would suddenly present itself, and to an accustomed eye the moonlight might enable it to be distinguished at a glance what it was, while to one wholly unaccustomed to it, the hollow would often look like a hillock by such a light. This Varney would clear at a bound, which a less agile and heavier person would step into, lifting up his leg to meet an impediment, when he would find it come down suddenly some six or eight inches lower than he anticipated, almost dislocating his leg and neck, and producing a corresponding loss of breath, which was not regained by the muttered curse upon such a country where the places were so uneven.

  Having come to one of these places, which was a little more perceptible than the others, he made a desperate jump, but he jumped into the middle of the hole with such force that he sprained his ankle, besides sinking into a small pond that was almost dry, being overgrown with rushes and aquatic plants.

  "Well?" said the other officer coming up—"well?"

  "Well, indeed!" said the one who came first; "it's anything but well. D—n all country excursions say I."

  "Why, Bob, you don't mean to say as how you are caught in a rat-trap?"

  "Oh, you be d——d! I am, ain't I?"

  "Yes; but are you going to stop there, or coming out, eh? You'll catch cold."

  "I have sprained my ankle."

  "Well?"

  "It ain't well, I tell you; here have I a sprained foot, and my wind broken for a month at least. Why were you not quicker? If you had been sharper we should have had the gentleman, I'll swear!"

  "I tumbled down over the chair, and he got out of the window, and I come out of the door."

  "Well, I got entangled in the reins; but I got off after him, only his long legs carried him over everything. I tell you what, Wilkinson, if I were to be born again, and intended to be a runner, I would bespeak a pair of long legs."

  "Why?"

  "Because I should be able to get along better. You have no idea of how he skimmed along the ground; it was quite beautiful, only it wasn't good to follow it."

  "A regular sky scraper!"

  "Yes, or something of that sort; he looked like a patent flying shadow."

  "Well, get up and lead the way; we'll follow you."

  "I dare say you will—when I lead the way back there; for as to going out yonder, it is quite out of the question. I want supper to-night and breakfast to-morrow morning."

  "Well, what has that to do with it?"

  "Just this much: if you follow any farther, you'll get into the woods, and there you'll be, going round and round, like a squirrel in a cage, without being able to get out, and you will there get none of the good things included under the head of those meals."

  "I think so too," said the third.

  "Well, then, let's go back; we needn't run, though it might be as well to do so."

  "It would be anything but well. I don't gallop back, depend upon it."

  The three men now slowly returned from their useless chase, and re-trod the way they had passed once in such a hurry that they could hardly recognize it.

  "What a dreadful bump I came against that pole standing there," said one.

  "Yes, and I came against a hedge-stake, that was placed so as the moon didn't show any light on it. It came into the pit of my stomach. I never recollect such a pain in my life; for all the world like a hot coal being suddenly and forcibly intruded into your stomach."

  "Well, here's the road. I must go up to the house where I started him from. I promised them some explanation. I may as well go and give it to them at once."

  "Do as you will. I will wait with the horse, else, perhaps, that Beauchamp will again return and steal him."

  The officer who had first entered the house now returned to the Bannerworths, saying,

  "I promised you I would give you some explanation as to what you have witnessed."

  "Yes," said Henry; "we have been awaiting your return with some anxiety and curiosity. What is the meaning of all this? I am, as we are all, in perfect ignorance of the meaning of what took place."

  "I will tell you. The person whom you have had here, and goes by the name of Varney, is named Francis Beauchamp."

  "Indeed! Are you assured of this?"

  "Yes, perfectly assured of it; I have it in my warrant to apprehend him by either name."

  "What crime had he been guilty of?"

  "I will tell you: he has been hanged."

  "Hanged!" exclaimed all present.

  "What do you mean by that?" added Henry; "I am at a loss to understand what you can mean by saying he was hanged."

  "What I say is literally true."

  "Pray tell us all about it. We are much interested in the fact; go on, sir."

  "Well, sir, then I believe it was for murder that Francis Beauchamp was hanged—yes, hanged; a common execution, before a multitude of people, collected to witness such an exhibition."

  "Good God!" exclaimed Henry Bannerworth. "And was—but that is impossible. A dead man come to life again! You must be amusing yourself at our expense."

  "Not I," replied the officer. "Here is my warrant; they don't make these out in a joke."

  And, as he spoke, he produced the warrant, when it was evident the officer spoke the truth.

  "How was this?"

  "I will tell you, sir. You see that this Varney was a regular scamp, gamester, rogue, and murderer. He was hanged, and hung about the usual time; he was cut down and the body was given to some one for dissection, when a surgeon, with the hangman, one Montgomery, succeeded in restoring the criminal to life."

  "But I always thought they broke the neck when they were hanged; the weight of the body would alone do that."

  "Oh, dear, no, sir," said the officer; "that is one of the common every day mistakes; they don't break the neck once in twenty times."

/>   "Indeed!"

  "No; they die of suffocation only; this man, Beauchamp, was hanged thus, but they contrived to restore him, and then he assumed a new name, and left London."

  "But how came you to know all this?"

  "Oh! it came to us, as many things usually do, in a very extraordinary manner, and in a manner that appears most singular and out of the way; but such it was.

  "The executioner who was the means of his being restored, or one of them, wished to turn him to account, and used to draw a yearly sum of money from him, as hush money, to induce them to keep the secret; else, the fact of his having escaped punishment would subject him to a repetition of the same punishment; when, of course, a little more care would be taken that he did not escape a second time."

  "I dare say not."

  "Well, you see, Varney, or rather Beauchamp, was to pay a heavy sum to this man to keep him quiet, and to permit him to enjoy the life he had so strangely become possessed of."

  "I see," said Holland.

  "Well, this man, Montgomery, had always some kind of suspicion that Varney would murder him."

  "Murder him! and he the means of saving his life; surely he could not be so bad as that."

  "Why, you see, sir, this hangman drew a heavy sum yearly from him; thus making him only a mine of wealth to himself; this, no doubt, would rankle in the other's heart, to think he should be so beset, and hold life upon such terms."

  "I see, now."

  "Yes; and then came the consideration that he did not do it from any good motive, merely a selfish one, and he was consequently under no obligation to him for what he had done; besides, self-preservation might urge him on, and tell him to do the deed.

  "However that may be, Montgomery dreaded it, and was resolved to punish the deed if he could not prevent it. He, therefore, left general orders with his wife, whenever he went on a journey to Varney, if he should be gone beyond a certain time, she was to open a certain drawer, and take out a sealed packet to the magistrate at the chief office, who would attend to it.

  "He has been missing, and his wife did as she was desired, and now we have found what he there mentioned to be true; but, now, sir, I have satisfied you and explained to you why we intruded upon you, we must now leave and seek for him elsewhere."

  "It is most extraordinary, and that is the reason why his complexion is so singular."

  "Very likely."

  They poured out some wine, which was handed to the officers, who drank and then quitted the house, leaving the inmates in a state of stupefaction, from surprise and amazement at what they had heard from the officers.

  There was a strange feeling came over them when they recollected the many occurrences they had witnessed, and even the explanation of the officers; it seemed as if some mist had enveloped objects and rendered them indistinct, but which was fast rising, and they were becoming plainer and more distinct every moment in which they were regarded.

  There was a long pause, and Flora was about to speak, when suddenly there came the sound of a footstep across the garden. It was slow but unsteady, and paused between whiles until it came close beneath the windows. They remained silent, and then some one was heard to climb up the rails of the veranda, and then the curtains were thrust aside, but not till after the person outside had paused to ascertain who was there.

  Then the curtains were opened, and the visage of Sir Francis Varney appeared, much altered; in fact, completely worn and exhausted.

  It was useless to deny it, but he looked ghastly—terrific; his singular visage was as pallid as death; his eyes almost protruding, his mouth opened, and his breathing short, and laboured in the extreme.

  He climbed over with much difficulty, and staggered into the room, and would have spoken, but he could not; befell senseless upon the floor, utterly exhausted and motionless.

  There was a long pause, and each one present looked at each other, and then they gazed upon the inanimate body of Sir Francis Varney, which lay supine and senseless in the middle of the floor.

  _____________

  The importance of the document, said to be on the dead body, was such that it would admit of no delay before it was obtained, and the party determined that it should be commenced instanter. Lost time would be an object to them; too much haste could hardly be made; and now came the question of, "should it be to-night, or not?"

  "Certainly," said Henry Bannerworth; "the sooner we can get it, the sooner all doubt and distress will be at an end; and, considering the turn of events, that will be desirable for all our sakes; besides, we know not what unlucky accident may happen to deprive us of what is so necessary."

  "There can be none," said Mr. Chillingworth; "but there is this to be said, this has been such an eventful history, that I cannot say what might or what might not happen."

  "We may as well go this very night," said Charles Holland. "I give my vote for an immediate exhumation of the body. The night is somewhat stormy, but nothing more; the moon is up, and there will be plenty of light."

  "And rain," said the doctor.

  "Little or none," said Charles Holland. "A few gusts of wind now and then drive a few heavy plashes of rain against the windows, and that gives a fearful sound, which is, in fret, nothing, when you have to encounter it; but you will go, doctor?"

  "Yes, most certainly. We must have some tools."

  "Those may be had from the garden," said Henry. "Tools for the exhumation, you mean?"

  "Yes; pickaxe, mattocks, and a crowbar; a lantern, and so forth," said the doctor. "You see I am at home in this; the fact is, I have had more than one affair of this kind on my hands before now, and whilst a student I have had more than one adventure of a strange character."

  "I dare say, doctor," said Charles Holland, "you have some sad pranks to answer for; you don't think of it then, only when you find them accumulated in a heap, so that you shall not be able to escape them; because they come over your senses when you sleep at night."

  "No, no," said Chillingworth; "you are mistaken in that. I have long since settled all my accounts of that nature; besides, I never took a dead body out of a grave but in the name of science, and never far my own profit, seeing I never sold one in my life, or got anything by it."

  "That is not the fact," said Henry; "you know, doctor, you improved your own talents and knowledge."

  "Yes, yes; I did."

  "Well, but you profited by such improvements?"

  "Well, granted, I did. How much more did the public not benefit then," said the doctor, with a smile.

  "Ah, well, we won't argue the question," said Charles; "only it strikes me that the doctor could never have been a doctor if he had not determined upon following a profession."

  "There may be a little truth in that," said Chillingworth; "but now we had better quit the house, and make the best of our way to the spot where the unfortunate man lies buried in his unhallowed grave."

  "Come with me into the garden," said Henry Bannerworth; "we shall there be able to suit ourselves to what is required. I have a couple of lanterns."

  "One is enough," said Chillingworth; "we had better not burden ourselves more than we are obliged to do; and we shall find enough to do with the tools."