CHAPTER LXII.
THE MYSTERIOUS MEETING IN THE RUIN AGAIN.--THE VAMPYRE'S ATTACK UPON THECONSTABLE.
It is now necessary that we return once more to that mysterious ruin, inthe intricacies of which Varney, when pursued by the mob, had succeededin finding a refuge which defied all the exertions which were made forhis discovery. Our readers must be well aware, that, connected with thatruin, are some secrets of great importance to our story; and we willnow, at the solemn hour of midnight, take another glance at what isdoing within its recesses.
At that solemn hour it is not probable that any one would seek thatgloomy place from choice. Some lover of the picturesque certainly mightvisit it; but such was not the inciting cause of the pilgrimage withthose who were soon to stand within its gloomy precincts.
Other motives dictated their presence in that spot--motives of rapine;peradventure of murder itself.
As the neighbouring clocks sounded the hour of twelve, and the faintstrokes were borne gently on the wind to that isolated ruin, there mighthave been seen a tall man standing by the porch of what had once been alarge doorway to some portion of the ruin.
His form was enveloped in a large cloak, which was of such amplematerial that he seemed well able to wrap it several times around him,and then leave a considerable portion of it floating idly in the gentlewind.
He stood as still, as calm, and as motionless as a statue, for aconsiderable time, before any degree of impatience began to show itself.
Then he took from his pocket a large antique watch, the white face ofwhich just enabled him to see what the time was, and, in a voice whichhad in it some amount of petulance and anger, he said,--
"Not come yet, and nearly half an hour beyond the time! What can havedetained him? This is, indeed, trifling with the most important momentsof a man's existence."
Even as he spoke, he heard, from some distance off, the sound of ashort, quick footstep. He bent forwards to listen, and then, in a toneof satisfaction, he said,--
"He comes--he comes!"
But he who thus waited for some confederate among these dim and old greyruins, advanced not a step to meet him. On the contrary, such seemed theamount of cold-blooded caution which he possessed, that the nearer theman--who was evidently advancing--got to the place, the further back didhe who had preceded him shrink into the shadow of the dim and crumblingwalls, which had, for some years now past, seemed to bend to the passingblast, and to be on the point of yielding to the destroying hand oftime.
And yet, surely he needed not have been so cautious. Who was likely, atsuch an hour as that, to come to the ruins, but one who sought it byappointment?
And, moreover, the manner of the advancing man should have been quitesufficient to convince him who waited, that so much caution wasunnecessary; but it was a part and parcel of his nature.
About three minutes more sufficed to bring the second man to the ruin,and he, at once, and fearlessly, plunged into its recesses.
"Who comes?" said the first man, in a deep, hollow voice.
"He whom you expect," was the reply.
"Good," he said, and at once he now emerged from his hiding-place, andthey stood together in the nearly total darkness with which the placewas enshrouded; for the night was a cloudy one, and there appeared not astar in the heavens, to shed its faint light upon the scene below.
For a few moments they were both silent, for he who had last arrived hadevidently made great exertions to reach the spot, and was breathinglaboriously, while he who was there first appeared, from some naturaltaciturnity of character, to decline opening the conversation.
At length the second comer spoke, saying,--
"I have made some exertion to get here to my time, and yet I am beyondit, as you are no doubt aware."
"Yes, yes."
"Well, such would not have been the case; but yet, I stayed to bring yousome news of importance."
"Indeed!"
"It is so. This place, which we have, now for some time had as a quietand perfectly eligible one of meeting, is about to be invaded by one ofthose restless, troublesome spirits, who are never happy but when theyare contriving something to the annoyance of others who do not interferewith them."
"Explain yourself more fully."
"I will. At a tavern in the town, there has happened some strange scenesof violence, in consequence of the general excitement into which thecommon people have been thrown upon the dreadful subject of vampyres."
"Well."
"The consequence is, that numerous arrests have taken place, and theplaces of confinement for offenders against the laws are now full ofthose whose heated and angry imaginations have induced them to takeviolent steps to discover the reality or the falsehood of rumours whichso much affected them, their wives, and their families, that they fearedto lie down to their night's repose."
The other laughed a short, hollow, restless sort of laugh, which had notone particle of real mirth in it.
"Go on--go on," he said. "What did they do?"
"Immense excesses have been committed; but what made me, first of all,stay beyond my time, was that I overheard a man declare his intentionsthis night, from twelve till the morning, and for some nights to come,to hold watch and ward for the vampyre."
"Indeed!"
"Yes. He did but stay, at the earnest solicitation of his comrades, totake yet another glass, ere he came upon his expedition."
"He must be met. The idiot! what business is it of his?"
"There are always people who will make everything their business,whether it be so or not."
"There are. Let us retire further into the recesses of the ruin, andthere consider as well what is to be done regarding more importantaffairs, as with this rash intruder here."
They both walked for some twenty paces, or so, right into the ruin, andthen he who had been there first, said, suddenly, to his companion,--
"I am annoyed, although the feeling reaches no further than annoyance,for I have a natural love of mischief, to think that my reputation hasspread so widely, and made so much noise."
"Your reputation as a vampyre, Sir Francis Varney, you mean?"
"Yes; but there is no occasion for you to utter my name aloud, even herewhere we are alone together."
"It came out unawares."
"Unawares! Can it be possible that you have so little command overyourself as to allow a name to come from your lips unawares?"
"Sometimes."
"I am surprised."
"Well, it cannot be helped. What do you now propose to do?"
"Nay, you are my privy councillor. Have you no deep-laid, artful projectin hand? Can you not plan and arrange something which may yet have theeffect of accomplishing what at first seemed so very simple, but whichhas, from one unfortunate circumstance and another, become full ofdifficulty and pregnant with all sorts of dangers?"
"I must confess I have no plan."
"I listen with astonishment."
"Nay, now, you are jesting."
"When did you ever hear of me jesting?"
"Not often, I admit. But you have a fertile genius, and I have always,myself, found it easier to be the executive than to plan an elaboratecourse of action for others."
"Then you throw it all on me?"
"I throw a weight, naturally enough, upon the shoulders which I thinkthe best adapted to sustain it."
"Be it so, then--be it so."
"You are, I presume, from what you say, provided with a scheme of actionwhich shall present better hopes of success, at less risk, I hope. Lookwhat great danger we have already passed through."
"Yes, we have."
"I pray you avoid that in the next campaign."
"It is not the danger that annoys and troubles me, but it is that,notwithstanding it, the object is as far off as ever from beingattained."
"And not only so, but, as is invariably the case under suchcircumstances, we have made it more difficult of execution because wehave put those upon their guard thoroughly who are the most
likely tooppose us."
"We have--we have."
"And placed the probability of success afar off indeed."
"And yet I have set my life upon the cast, and I will stand the hazard.I tell you I will accomplish this object, or I will perish in theattempt."
"You are too enthusiastic."
"Not at all. Nothing has been ever done, the execution of which wasdifficult, without enthusiasm. I will do what I intend, or BannerworthHall shall become a heap of ruins, where fire shall do its worst work ofdevastation, and I will myself find a grave in the midst."
"Well, I quarrel with no man for chalking out the course he intends topursue; but what do you mean to do with the prisoner below here?"
"Kill him."
"What?"
"I say kill him. Do you not understand me?"
"I do, indeed."
"When everything else is secured, and when the whole of that which I somuch court, and which I will have, is in my possession, I will take hislife, or you shall. Ay, you are just the man for such a deed. Asmooth-faced, specious sort of roan are you, and you like not danger.There will be none in taking the life of a man who is chained to thefloor of a dungeon."
"I know not why," said the other, "you take a pleasure on thisparticular night, of all others, in saying all you can which you thinkwill be offensive to me."
"Now, how you wrong me. This is the reward of confidence."
"I don't want such confidence."
"Why, you surely don't want me to flatter you."
"No; but--"
"Psha! Hark you. That admiral is the great stumbling-block in my way. Ishould ere this have had undisturbed possession of Bannerworth Hall butfor him. He must be got out of the way somehow."
"A short time will tire him out of watching. He is one of those men ofimpulse who soon become wearied of inaction."
"Ay, and then the Bannerworths return to the Hall."
"It may be so."
"I am certain of it. We have been out-generalled in this matter,although I grant we did all that men could do to give us success."
"In what way would you get rid of this troublesome admiral?"
"I scarcely know. A letter from his nephew might, if well put together,get him to London."
"I doubt it. I hate him mortally. He has offended me more than once mostgrievously."
"I know it. He saw through you."
"I do not give him so much credit. He is a suspicious man, and a vainand a jealous one."
"And yet he saw through you. Now, listen to me. You are completely atfault, and have no plan of operations whatever in your mind. What I wantyou to do is, to disappear from the neighbourhood for a time, and sowill I. As for our prisoner here below, I cannot see what else can bedone with him than--than--"
"Than what? Do you hesitate?"
"I do."
"Then what is it you were about to say?"
"I cannot but feel that all we have done hitherto, as regards this youngprisoner of ours, has failed. He has, with a determined obstinacy, setat naught, as well you know, all threats."
"He has."
"He has refused to do one act which could in any way aid me in myobjects. In fact, from the first to the last, he has been nothing but anexpense and an encumbrance to us both."
"All that is strictly true."
"And yet, although you, as well as I, know of a marvellously ready wayof getting rid of such encumbrances, I must own, that I shrink with morethan a feeling of reluctance from the murder of the youth."
"You contemplated it then?" asked the other.
"No; I cannot be said to have contemplated it. That is not the propersort of expression to use."
"What is then?"
"To contemplate a deed seems to me to have some close connexion to thewish to do it."
"And you have no such wish?"
"I have no such wish, and what is more I will not do it."
"Then that is sufficient; and the only question that remains for you toconfide, is, what you will do. It is far easier in all enterprises todecide upon what we will not do, than upon what we will. For my own partI must say that I can perceive no mode of extricating ourselves fromthis involvement with anything like safety."
"Then it must be done with something like danger."
"As you please."
"You say so, and your words bear a clear enough signification; but fromyour tone I can guess how much you are dissatisfied with the aspect ofaffairs."
"Dissatisfied!"
"Yes; I say, dissatisfied. Be frank, and own that which it is in vain toconceal from me. I know you too well; arch hypocrite as you are, andfully capable of easily deceiving many, you cannot deceive me."
"I really cannot understand you."
"Then I will take care that you shall."
"How?"
"Listen. I will not have the life of Charles Holland taken."
"Who wishes to take it?"
"You."
"There, indeed, you wrong me. Unless you yourself thought that such anact was imperatively called for by the state of affairs, do you thinkthat I would needlessly bring down upon my head the odium as well as thedanger of such a deed? No, no. Let him live, if you are willing; he maylive a thousand years for all I care."
"'Tis well. I am, mark me, not only willing, but I am determined that heshall live so far as we are concerned. I can respect the courage that,even when he considered that his life was at stake, enabled him to sayno to a proposal which was cowardly and dishonourable, although it wentfar to the defeat of my own plans and has involved me in much trouble."
"Hush! hush!"
"What is it?"
"I fancy I hear a footstep."
"Indeed; that were a novelty in such a place as this."
"And yet not more than I expected. Have you forgotten what I told youwhen I reached here to-night after the appointed hour?"
"Truly; I had for the moment. Do you think then that the footstep whichnow meets our ears, is that of the adventurer who boasted that he couldkeep watch for the vampyre?"
"In faith do I. What is to be done with such a meddling fool?"
"He ought certainly to be taught not to be so fond of interfering withother people's affairs."
"Certainly."
"Perchance the lesson will not be wholly thrown away upon others. It maybe worth while to take some trouble with this poor valiant fellow, andlet him spread his news so as to stop any one else from being equallyventurous and troublesome."
"A good thought."
"Shall it be done?"
"Yes; if you will arrange that which shall accomplish such a result."
"Be it so. The moon rises soon."
"It does."
"Ah, already I fancy I see a brightening of the air as if the mellowradiance of the queen of night were already quietly diffusing itselfthroughout the realms of space. Come further within the ruins."
They both walked further among the crumbling walls and fragments ofcolumns with which the place abounded. As they did so they paused nowand then to listen, and more than once they both heard plainly the soundof certain footsteps immediately outside the once handsome and spaciousbuilding.
Varney, the vampyre, who had been holding this conversation with noother than Marchdale, smiled as he, in a whispered voice, told thelatter what to do in order to frighten away from the place the foolhardyman who thought that, by himself, he should be able to accomplishanything against the vampyre.
It was, indeed, a hair-brained expedition, for whether Sir FrancisVarney was really so awful and preternatural a being as so manyconcurrent circumstances would seem to proclaim, or not, he was not alikely being to allow himself to be conquered by anyone individual, lethis powers or his courage be what they might.
What induced this man to become so ventursome we shall now proceed torelate, as well as what kind of reception he got in the old ruins,which, since the mysterious disappearance of Sir Francis Varney withintheir recesses, had possessed so increased a share of interest andattr
acted so much popular attention and speculation.
Varney the Vampire; Or, the Feast of Blood Page 61