CHAPTER LXIII.
THE GUESTS AT THE INN, AND THE STORY OF THE DEAD UNCLE.
As had been truly stated by Mr. Marchdale, who now stands out in histrue colours to the reader as the confidant and abettor of Sir FrancisVarney, there had assembled on that evening a curious and a gossippingparty at the inn where such dreadful and such riotous proceedings hadtaken place, which, in their proper place, we have already duly and atlength recorded.
It was not very likely that, on that evening, or for many and many anevening to come, the conversation in the parlour of the inn would beupon any other subject than that of the vampyre.
Indeed, the strange, mysterious, and horrible circumstances which hadoccurred, bade fair to be gossipping stock in trade for many a year.
Never before had a subject presenting so many curious features arisen.Never, within the memory of that personage who is supposed to knoweverything, had there occurred any circumstance in the county, or set ofcircumstances, which afforded such abundant scope for conjecture andspeculation.
Everybody might have his individual opinion, and be just as likely to beright as his neighbours; and the beauty of the affair was, that such wasthe interest of the subject itself, that there was sure to be a kind ofreflected interest with every surmise that at all bore upon it.
On this particular night, when Marchdale was prowling about, gatheringwhat news he could, in order that he might carry it to the vampyre, amore than usually strong muster of the gossips of the town took place.
Indeed, all of any note in the talking way were there, with theexception of one, and he was in the county gaol, being one of theprisoners apprehended by the military when they made the successfulattack upon the lumber-room of the inn, after the dreadful desecrationof the dead which had taken place.
The landlord of the inn was likely to make a good thing of it, fortalking makes people thirsty; and he began to consider that a vampyreabout once a-year would be no bad thing for the Blue Lion.
"It's shocking," said one of the guests; "it's shocking to think of.Only last night, I am quite sure I had such a fright that it added atleast ten years to my age."
"A fright!" said several.
"I believe I speak English--I said a fright."
"Well, but had it anything to do with the vampyre?"
"Everything."
"Oh! do tell us; do tell us all about it. How was it? Did he come toyou? Go on. Well, well."
The first speaker became immediately a very important personage in theroom; and, when he saw that, he became at once a very importantpersonage in his own eyes likewise; and, before he would speak anotherword, he filled a fresh pipe, and ordered another mug of ale.
"It's no use trying to hurry him," said one.
"No," he said, "it isn't. I'll tell you in good time what a dreadfulcircumstance has made me sixty-three to-day, when I was only fifty-threeyesterday."
"Was it very dreadful?"
"Rather. You wouldn't have survived it at all."
"Indeed!"
"No. Now listen. I went to bed at a quarter after eleven, as usual. Ididn't notice anything particular in the room."
"Did you peep under the bed?"
"No, I didn't. Well, as I was a-saying, to bed I went, and I didn'tfasten the door; because, being a very sound sleeper, in case there wasa fire, I shouldn't hear a word of it if I did."
"No," said another. "I recollect once--"
"Be so good as allow me to finish what I know, before you begin torecollect anything, if you please. As I was saying, I didn't lock thedoor, but I went to bed. Somehow or another, I did not feel at allcomfortable, and I tossed about, first on one side, and then on theother; but it was all in vain; I only got, every moment, more and morefidgetty."
"And did you think of the vampyre?" said one of the listeners.
"I thought of nothing else till I heard my clock, which is on thelanding of the stairs above my bed-room, begin to strike twelve."
"Ah! I like to hear a clock sound in the night," said one; "it puts onein mind of the rest of the world, and lets one know one isn't allalone."
"Very good. The striking of the clock I should not at all have objectedto; but it was what followed that did the business."
"What, what?"
"Fair and softly; fair and softly. Just hand me a light, Mr. Sprigs, ifyou please. I'll tell you all, gentlemen, in a moment or two."
With the most provoking deliberation, the speaker re-lit his pipe, whichhad gone out while he was talking, and then, after a few whiffs, toassure himself that its contents had thoroughly ignited, he resumed,--
"No sooner had the last sound of it died away, than I heard something onthe stairs."
"Yes, yes."
"It was as if some man had given his foot a hard blow against one of thestairs; and he would have needed to have had a heavy boot on to do it. Istarted up in bed and listened, as you may well suppose, not in the mosttranquil state of mind, and then I heard an odd, gnawing sort of noise,and then another dab upon one of the stairs."
"How dreadful!"
"It was. What to do I knew not, or what to think, except that thevampyre had, by some means, got in at the attic window, and was comingdown stairs to my room. That seemed the most likely. Then there wasanother groan, and then another heavy step; and, as they were evidentlycoming towards my door, I felt accordingly, and got out of bed, notknowing hardly whether I was on my head or my heels, to try and lock mydoor."
"Ah, to be sure."
"Yes; that was all very well, if I could have done it; but a man in sucha state of mind as I was in is not a very sharp hand at doing anything.I shook from head to foot. The room was very dark, and I couldn't, for amoment or two, collect my senses sufficient really to know which way thedoor lay."
"What a situation!"
"It was. Dab, dab, dab, came these horrid footsteps, and there was Igroping about the room in an agony. I heard them coming nearer andnearer to my door. Another moment, and they must have reached it, whenmy hand struck against the lock."
"What an escape!"
"No, it was not."
"No?"
"No, indeed. The key was on the outside, and you may well guess I wasnot over and above disposed to open the door to get at it."
"No, no."
"I felt regularly bewildered, I can tell you; it seemed to me as if thevery devil himself was coming down stairs hopping all the way upon oneleg."
"How terrific!"
"I felt my senses almost leaving me; but I did what I could to hold thedoor shut just as I heard the strange step come from the last stair onto the landing. Then there was a horrid sound, and some one began tryingthe lock of my door."
"What a moment!"
"Yes, I can tell you it was a moment. Such a moment as I don't wish togo through again. I held the door as close as I could, and did notspeak. I tried to cry out help and murder, but I could not; my tonguestuck to the roof of my mouth, and my strength was fast failing me."
"Horrid, horrid!"
"Take a drop of ale."
"Thank you. Well, I don't think this went on above two or three minutes,and all the while some one tried might and main to push open the door.My strength left me all at once; I had only time to stagger back a stepor two, and then, as the door opened, I fainted away."
"Well, well!"
"Ah, you wouldn't have said well, if you had been there, I can tellyou."
"No; but what become of you. What happened next? How did it end? Whatwas it?"
"Why, what exactly happened next after I fainted I cannot tell you; butthe first thing I saw when I recovered was a candle."
"Yes, yes."
"And then a crowd of people."
"Ah, ah!"
"And then Dr. Web."
"Gracious!"
"And. Mrs. Bulk, my housekeeper. I was in my own bed, and when I openedmy eyes I heard Dr. Webb say,--
"'He will be better soon. Can no one form any idea of what it is allabout. Some sudden fright surely could alone have
produced such aneffect.'"
"'The Lord have mercy upon me!' said I.
"Upon this everybody who had been called in got round the bed, andwanted to know what had happened; but I said not a word of it; butturning to Mrs. Bulk, I asked her how it was she found out I hadfainted.
"'Why, sir,' says she, 'I was coming up to bed as softly as I could,because I knew you had gone to rest some time before. The clock wasstriking twelve, and as I went past it some of my clothes, I suppose,caught the large weight, but it was knocked off, and down the stairs itrolled, going with such a lump from one to the other, and I couldn'tcatch it because it rolled so fast, that I made sure you would beawakened; so I came down to tell you what it was, and it was some timebefore I could get your room door open, and when I did I found you outof bed and insensible.'"
There was a general look of disappointment when this explanation wasgiven, and one said,--
"Then it was not the vampire?"
"Certainly not."
"And, after all, only a clock weight."
"That's about it."
"Why didn't you tell us that at first?"
"Because that would have spoilt the story."
There was a general murmur of discontent, and, after a few moments oneman said, with some vivacity,--
"Well, although our friend's vampyre has turned out, after all, to benothing but a confounded clock-weight, there's no disputing the factabout Sir Francis Varney being a vampyre, and not a clock-weight."
"Very true--very true."
"And what's to be done to rid the town of such a man?"
"Oh, don't call him a man."
"Well, a monster."
"Ah, that's more like. I tell you what, sir, if you had got a light,when you first heard the noise in your room, and gone out to see what itwas, you would have spared yourself much fright."
"Ah, no doubt; it's always easy afterwards to say, if you had done this,and if you had done the other, so and so would have been the effect; butthere is something about the hour of midnight that makes men tremble."
"Well," said one, who had not yet spoken, "I don't see why twelve atnight should be a whit more disagreeable than twelve at day."
"Don't you?"
"Not I."
"Now, for instance, many a party of pleasure goes to that old ruin whereSir Francis Varney so unaccountably disappeared in broad daylight. Butis there any one here who would go to it alone, and at midnight?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
"I would."
"What! and after what has happened as regards the vampyre in connectionwith it?"
"Yes, I would."
"I'll bet you twenty shilling you won't."
"And I--and I," cried several.
"Well, gentlemen," said the man, who certainly shewed no signs of fear,"I will go, and not only will I go and take all your bets, but, if I domeet the vampyre, then I'll do my best to take him prisoner."
"And when will you go?"
"To-night," he cried, and he sprang to his feet; "hark ye all, I don'tbelieve one word about vampyres. I'll go at once; it's getting late, andlet any one of you, in order that you may be convinced I have been tothe place, give me any article, which I will hide among the ruins; andtell you where to find it to-morrow in broad daylight."
"Well," said one, "that's fair, Tom Eccles. Here's a handkerchief ofmine; I should know it again among a hundred others."
"Agreed; I'll leave it in the ruins."
The wagers were fairly agreed upon; several handkerchiefs were handed toTom Eccles; and at eleven o'clock he fairly started, through the murkydarkness of the night, to the old ruin where Sir Francis Varney andMarchdale were holding their most unholy conference.
It is one thing to talk and to accept wagers in the snug parlour of aninn, and another to go alone across a tract of country wrapped in theprofound stillness of night to an ancient ruin which, in addition to thenatural gloom which might well be supposed to surround it, hassuperadded associations which are anything but of a pleasant character.
Tom Eccles, as he was named, was one of those individuals who actgreatly from impulse. He was certainly not a coward, and, perhaps,really as free from superstition as most persons, but he was human, andconsequently he had nerves, and he had likewise an imagination.
He went to his house first before he started on his errand to the ruins.It was to get a horse-pistol which he had, and which he duly loaded andplaced in his pocket. Then he wrapped himself up in a great-coat, andwith the air of a man quite determined upon something desperate he leftthe town.
The guests at the inn looked after him as he walked from the door ofthat friendly establishment, and some of them, as they saw his resolvedaspect, began to quake for the amount of the wagers they had laid uponhis non-success.
However, it was resolved among them, that they would stay untilhalf-past twelve, in the expectation of his return, before theyseparated.
To while away the time, he who had been so facetious about his story ofthe clock-weight, volunteered to tell what happened to a friend of hiswho went to take possession of some family property which he becamepossessed of as heir-at-law to an uncle who had died without a will,having an illegitimate family unprovided for in every shape.
"Ah! nobody cares for other people's illegitimate children, and, iftheir parents don't provide for them, why, the workhouse is open forthem, just as if they were something different from other people."
"So they are; if their parents don't take care of them, and provide forthem, nobody else will, as you say, neighbour, except when they have aFitz put to their name, which tells you they are royal bastards, and ofcourse unlike anybody else's."
"But go on--let's know all about it; we sha'n't hear what he has got tosay at all, at this rate."
"Well, as I was saying, or about to say, the nephew, as soon as he heardhis uncle was dead, comes and claps his seal upon everything in thehouse."
"But, could he do so?" inquired one of the guests.
"I don't see what was to hinder him," replied a third. "He could do so,certainly."
"But there was a son, and, as I take it, a son's nearer than a nephewany day."
"But the son is illegitimate."
"Legitimate, or illegitimate, a son's a son; don't bother me aboutdistinction of that sort; why, now, there was old Weatherbit--"
"Order, order."
"Let's hear the tale."
"Very good, gentlemen, I'll go on, if I ain't to be interrupted; butI'll say this, that an illegitimate son is no son, in the eyes of thelaw; or at most he's an accident quite, and ain't what he is, and socan't inherit."
"Well, that's what I call making matters plain," said one of the guests,who took his pipe from his mouth to make room for the remark; "now thatis what I likes."
"Well, as I have proved then," resumed the speaker, "the nephew was theheir, and into the house he would come. A fine affair it was too--theillegitimates looking the colour of sloes; but he knew the law, andwould have it put in force."
"Law's law, you know."
"Uncommonly true that; and the nephew stuck to it like a cobbler to hislast--he said they should go out, and they did go out; and, say whatthey would about their natural claims, he would not listen to them, butbundled them out and out in a pretty short space of time."
"It was trying to them, mind you, to leave the house they had been bornin with very different expectations to those which now appeared to betheir fate. Poor things, they looked ruefully enough, and well theymight, for there was a wide world for them, and no prospect of a warmcorner.
"Well, as I was saying, he had them all out and the house clear tohimself.
"Now," said he, "I have an open field and no favour. I don't care forno--Eh! what?"
"There was a sudden knocking, he thought, the door, and went and openedit, but nothing was to be seen.
"Oh! I see--somebody next door; and if it wasn't, it don't matter.There's nobody here. I'm alone, and there's plenty of valuables in thehouse. That is what
I call very good company. I wouldn't wish forbetter."
He turned about, looked over room after room, and satisfied himself thathe was alone--that the house was empty.
At every room he entered he paused to think over the value--what it wasworth, and that he was a very fortunate man in having dropped into sucha good thing.
"Ah! there's the old boy's secretary, too--his bureau--there'll besomething in that that will amuse me mightily; but I don't think I shallsit up late. He was a rum old man, to say the least of it--a very oddsort of man."
With that he gave himself a shrug, as if some very uncomfortable feelinghad come over him.
"I'll go to bed early, and get some sleep, and then in daylight I canlook after these papers. They won't be less interesting in the morningthan they are now."
There had been some rum stories about the old man, and now the nephewseemed to think he might have let the family sleep on the premises forthat night; yes, at that moment he could have found it in his heart tohave paid for all the expense of their keep, had it been possible tohave had them back to remain the night.
But that wasn't possible, for they would not have done it, but soonerhave remained in the streets all night than stay there all night, likeso many house-dogs, employed by one who stepped in between them andtheir father's goods, which were their inheritance, but for one triflingcircumstance--a mere ceremony.
The night came on, and he had lights. True it was he had not been downstairs, only just to have a look. He could not tell what sort of a placeit was; there were a good many odd sort of passages, that seemed to endnowhere, and others that did.
There were large doors; but they were all locked, and he had the keys;so he didn't mind, but secured all places that were not fastened.
He then went up stairs again, and sat down in the room where the bureauwas placed.
"I'll be bound," said one of the guests, "he was in a bit of a stew,notwithstanding all his brag."
"Oh! I don't believe," said another, "that anything done that isdangerous, or supposed to be dangerous, by the bravest man, is any waywholly without some uncomfortable feelings. They may not be strongenough to prevent the thing proposed to be done from being done, butthey give a disagreeable sensation to the skin."
"You have felt it, then?"
"Ha! ha! ha!"
"Why, at that time I slept in the churchyard for a wager, I must say Ifelt cold all over, as if my skin was walking about me in anuncomfortable manner."
"But you won your wager?"
"I did."
"And of course you slept there?"
"To be sure I did."
"And met with nothing?"
"Nothing, save a few bumps against the gravestones."
"Those were hard knocks, I should say."
"They were, I assure you; but I lay there, and slept there, and won mywager."
"Would you do it again?"
"No."
"And why not?"
"Because of the rheumatism."
"You caught that?"
"I did; I would give ten times my wager to get rid of them. I have themvery badly."
"Come, order, order--the tale; let's hear the end of that, since it hasbegun."
"With all my heart. Come, neighbour."
"Well, as I said, he was fidgetty; but yet he was not a man to be veryeasily frightened or overcome, for he was stout and bold.
"When he shut himself up in the room, he took out a bottle of some goodwine, and helped himself to drink; it was good old wine, and he soonfelt himself warmed and, comforted. He could have faced the enemy.
"If one bottle produces such an effect," he muttered, "what will twodo?"
This was a question that could only be solved by trying it, and this heproceeded to do.
But first he drew a brace of long barrelled pistols from his coatpocket, and taking a powder-flask and bullets from his pocket also, heloaded them very carefully.
"There," said he, "are my bull-dogs; and rare watch-dogs they are. Theynever bark but they bite. Now, if anybody does come, it will be all upwith them. Tricks upon travellers ain't a safe game when I have these;and now for the other bottle."
He drew the other bottle, and thought, if anything, it was better thanthe first. He drank it rather quick, to be sure, and then he began tofeel sleepy and tired.
"I think I shall go to bed," he said; "that is, if I can find my waythere, for it does seem to me as if the door was travelling. Never mind,it will make a call here again presently, and then I'll get through."
So saying he arose. Taking the candle in his hand, he walked with abetter step than might have been expected under the circumstance. Trueit was the candle wagged to and fro, and his shadow danced upon thewall; but still, when he got to the bed, he secured his door, put thelight in a safe place, threw himself down, and was fast asleep in a fewmoments, or rather he fell into a doze instantaneously.
How long he remained in this state he knew not, but he was suddenlyawakened by a loud bang, as though something heavy and flat had fallenupon the floor--such, for instance, as a door, or anything of that sort.He jumped up, rubbed his eyes, and could even then hear thereverberations through the house.
"What is that?" he muttered; "what is that?"
He listened, and thought he could hear something moving down stairs, andfor a moment he was seized with an ague fit; but recollecting, Isuppose, that there were some valuables down stairs that were worthfighting for, he carefully extinguished the light that still burned, andsoftly crept down stairs.
When he got down stairs he thought he could hear some one scramble upthe kitchen stairs, and then into the room where the bureau was.Listening for a moment to ascertain if there were more than one, andthen feeling convinced there was not, he followed into the parlour, whenhe heard the cabinet open by a key.
This was a new miracle, and one he could not understand; and then heheard the papers begin to rattle and rustle; so, drawing out one of thepistols, he cocked it, and walked in.
The figure instantly began to jump about; it was dressed in white--ingrave-clothes. He was terribly nervous, and shook, so he feared to firethe pistol; but at length he did, and the report was followed by a falland a loud groan.
This was very dreadful--very dreadful; but all was quiet, and he lit thecandle again, and approached the body to examine it, and ascertain if heknew who it was. A groan came from it. The bureau was open, and thefigure clutched firmly a will in his hand.
The figure was dressed in grave-clothes, and he started up when he sawthe form and features of his own uncle, the man who was dead, whosomehow or other had escaped his confinement, and found his way up,here. He held his will firmly; and the nephew was so horrified andstunned, that he threw down the light, and rushed out of the room with ashout of terror, and never returned again.
* * * * *
The narrator concluded, and one of the guests said,--
"And do you really believe it?"--"No, no--to be sure not."
"You don't?"--"Why should I? My friend was, out of all hand, one of thegreatest liars I ever came near; and why, therefore, should I believehim? I don't, on my conscience, believe one word of it."
It was now half-past twelve, and, as Tom Eccles came not back, and thelandlord did not feel disposed to draw any more liquor, they left theinn, and retired to their separate houses in a great state of anxiety toknow the fate of their respective wagers.
Varney the Vampire; Or, the Feast of Blood Page 62