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) (161 page)

"I
know not how to thank you," said Sir Francis Varney; "I assure you,
of late I have not been luxuriously lodged, and the less trouble I give you the
greater I shall esteem the favour."

The
hour was late, and Sir Francis Varney, before another half hour had elapsed,
was consigned to his own reflections, in a small but neat room, there to repose
his bruised and battered carcass, and court the refreshing influence of sleep.

His
reflections were, for nearly an hour, of the most contradictory character; some
one passion was trying to overcome the other; but he seemed quite subdued.

"I
could not have expected this," he muttered; "Flora Bannerworth has
the soul of a heroine. I deserved not such a reception from them; and yet, in
my hour of utmost need, they have received me like a favoured friend; and yet
all their misfortunes have taken their origin from me; I am the cause of all."

Filled
with these thoughts, he fell asleep; he slept till morning broke. He was not
disturbed; it seemed as though the influence of sleep was sweeter far there, in
the cottage of the Bannerworths, than ever he had before received.

It
was late on that morning before Sir Francis rose, and then only through hearing
the family about, and, having performed his toilet, so far as circumstances
permitted, he descended, and entered the front-parlour, the room he had been in
the night before.

Flora
Bannerworth was already there; indeed, breakfast was waiting the appearance of
Sir Francis Varney.

"Good
morning, Miss Bannerworth," said Sir Francis, bowing with his usual
dignified manner, but in the kindest and sincerest way he was able to assume.

"Good
morning, Sir Francis," said Flora, rising to receive him; and she could
not avoid looking at him as he entered the room. "I hope you have had a
pleasant night?"

"It
has been the best night's rest I have had for some time, Miss Bannerworth. I
assure you I have to express my gratitude to you for so much kindness. I have
slept well, and soundly."

"I
am glad to hear it."

"I
think yet I shall escape the search of these people who have hunted me from so
many places."

"I
hope you may, indeed, Sir Francis."

"You,
Miss Bannerworth! and do you hope I may escape the vengeance of these
people—the populace?"

"I
do, Sir Francis, most sincerely hope so. Why should I wish evil to you,
especially at their hands?"

Sir
Francis did not speak for a minute or two, and then he said, turning full upon
Flora—

"I
don't know why, Miss Bannerworth, that I should think so, but perhaps it is
because there are peculiar circumstances connected with myself, that have made
me feel conscious that I have not deserved so much goodness at your
hands."

"You
have not deserved any evil. Sir Francis, we could not do that if it were in our
power; we would do you a service at any time."

"You
have done so, Miss Bannerworth—the greatest that can be performed. You have
saved my life."

At
that moment Charles Holland entered, and Sir Francis bowed, as he said,—

"I
hope you, Mr. Holland, have slept as well, and passed as good a night as I have
passed?"

"I
am glad you, at least, have passed a quiet one," said Charles Holland;
"you, I dare say, feel all the better for it? How do you feel yourself?
Are you much hurt?"

"Not
at all, not at all," said Sir Francis Varney. "Only a few bruises,
and so forth, some of which, as you may perceive, do not add to one's personal
appearance. A week or two's quiet would rid me of them. At all events, I would
it may do the same with my enemies."

"I
wish they were as easily gotten rid of myself," said Charles; "but as
that cannot be, we must endeavour to baffle them in the best way we may."

"I
owe a debt to you I shall never be able to repay; but where there is a will,
they say there is a way; and if the old saying be good for anything, I need not
despair, though the way is by no means apparent at present."

"Time
is the magician," said Flora, "whose wand changes all things—the
young to the aged, and the aged to nothing."

"Certainly,
that is true," said Varney, "and many such changes have I seen. My
mind is stored with such events; but this is sadness, and I have cause to
rejoice."

* * *
*

The
breakfast was passed off in pleasing conversation, and Varney found himself
much at home with the Bannerworths, whose calm and even tenour was quite new to
him.

He
could not but admit the charms of such a life as that led by the Bannerworths;
but what it must have been when they were supplied by ample means, with nothing
to prey upon their minds, and no fearful mystery to hang on and weigh down
their spirits, he could scarcely imagine.

They
were amiable, accomplished; they were in the same mind at all times, and
nothing seemed to ruffle them; and when night came, he could not but
acknowledge to himself that he had never formed half the opinion of them they
were deserving of.

Of
course during that day he was compelled to lie close, so as not to be seen by
any one, save the family. He sat in a small room, which was overlooked by no
other in the neighbourhood, and he remained quiet, sometimes conversing, and
sometimes reading, but at the same time ever attentive to the least sound that
appeared at all of a character to indicate the approach of persons for any purpose
whatever.

At
supper time he spoke to Flora and to Charles Holland, saying,—

"There
are certain matters connected with myself—I may say with you now—sure all that
has happened will make it so—of which you would be glad to hear some
thing."

"You
mean upon the same subject upon which I had some conversation with you a day or
two back?"

"Yes,
the same. Allow me one week, and you shall know all. I will then relate to you
that which you so much desire to know—one week, and all shall be told."

"Well,"
said Charles Holland, "this has not been exacted from you as the price of
your safety, but you can choose your own time, of course; what you promise is
most desired, for it will render those happy who now are much worse than they
were before these occurrences took place."

"I
am aware of all that; grant me but one week, and then you shall be made
acquainted with all."

"I
am satisfied, Sir Francis," said Flora; "but while here under our
roof, we should never have asked you a question."

"Of
this, Miss Bannerworth, the little I have seen of you assures me you would not
do so; however, I am the more inclined to make it—I am under so deep an
obligation to you all, that I can never repay it."

Sir
Francis Varney retired to rest that night—his promise to the Bannerworths filled
his mind with many reflections—the insecurity of his own position, and the
frail tenure which he even held in the hands of those whom he had most injured.

This
produced a series of reflections of a grave and melancholy nature, and he sat
by his window, watching the progress of the clouds, as they appeared to chase
each other over the face of the scene—now casting a shade over the earth, and
then banishing the shadows, and throwing a gentle light over the earth's
surface, which was again chased away, and shadows again fell upon the scene
below.

How
long he had sat there in melancholy musing he knew not; but suddenly he was
aroused from his dreams by a voice that shook the skies, and caused him to
start to his feet.

"Hurrah!—hurrah!—hurrah!"
shouted the mob, which had silently collected around the cottage of the
Bannerworths.

"Curses!"
muttered Sir Francis, as he again sank in his chair, and struck his head with
his hand. "I am hunted to death—they will not leave me until my body has
graced a cross-road."

"Hurrah!—down
with the vampyre—pull him out!"

Then
came an instant knocking at the doors, and the people on the outside made so
great a din, that it seemed as though they contemplated knocking the house down
at once, without warning the inmates that they waited there.

There
was a cessation for about a minute, when one of the family hastened to the
door, and inquired what was wanted.

"Varney,
the vampyre," was the reply.

"You
must seek him elsewhere."

"We
will search this place before we go further," replied a man.

"But
he is not here."

"We
have reason to believe otherwise. Open the door, and let us in—no one shall be
hurt, or one single object in the house; but we must come in, and search for
the vampyre."

"Come
to-morrow, then."

"That
will not do," said the voice; "open, or we force our way in without
more notice."

At
the same a tremendous blow was bestowed upon the door, and then much force was
used to thrust it in. A consultation was suddenly held among the inmates, as to
what was to be done, but no one could advise, and each was well aware of the
utter impossibility of keeping the mob out.

"I
do not see what is to become of me," said Sir Francis Varney, suddenly
appearing before them. "You must let them in; there is no chance of
keeping them off, neither can you conceal me. You will have no place, save one,
that will be sacred from their profanation."

"And
which is that?"

"Flora's
own room."

All
started at the thought that Flora's chamber could in any way be profaned by any
such presence as Sir Francis Varney's.

However,
the doors below were suddenly burst open, amid loud cries from the populace,
who rushed in in great numbers, and began to search the lower rooms,
immediately.

"All
is lost!" said Sir Francis Varney, as he dashed away and rushed to the
chamber of Flora, who, alarmed at the sounds that were now filling the house,
stood listening to them.

"Miss
Bannerworth—" began Varney.

"Sir
Francis!"

"Yes,
it is indeed I, Miss Bannerworth; hear me, for one moment."

"What
is the matter?"

"I
am again in peril—in more imminent peril than before; my life is not worth a
minute's purchase, unless you save me. You, and you alone, can now save me. Oh!
Miss Bannerworth, if ever pity touched your heart, save me from those only whom
I now fear. I could meet death in any shape but that in which they will inflict
it upon me. Hear their execrations below!"

"Death
to the vampyre! death to Varney! burn him! run a stake through his body!"

"What
can I do, Sir Francis?"

"Admit
me to your chamber."

"Sir
Francis, are you aware of what you are saying?"

"I
am well. It is a request which you would justly scorn to reply to, but now my
life—recollect you have saved me once—my life,—do not now throw away the boon
you have so kindly bestowed. Save me, Miss Bannerworth."

"It
is not possible. I—"

"Nay,
Miss Bannerworth, do you imagine this is a time for ceremony, or the
observances of polished life! On my honour, you run no risk of censure."

"Where
is Varney? Where is the vampyre? He ain't far off."

"Hear—hear
them, Miss Bannerworth. They are now at the foot of the stairs. Not a moment to
lose. One minute more, and I am in the hands of a crew that has no mercy."

"Hurrah!
upstairs! He's not below. Upstairs, neighbours, we shall have him yet!"

These
words sounded on the stairs: half-a-dozen more steps, and Varney would be seen.
It was a miracle he was not heard begging for his life.

Varney
cast a look of despair at the stairhead and felt for his sword, but it was not
there, he had lost it. He struck his head with his clenched hand, and was about
to rush upon his foes, when he heard the lock turn; he looked, and saw the door
opened gently, and Flora stood there; he passed in, and sank cowering into a
chair, at the other end of the room, behind some curtains.

The
door was scarcely shut ere some tried to force it, and then a loud knocking
came at the door.

"Open!
open! we want Varney, the vampyre. Open! or we will burst it open."

Flora
did open it, but stood resolutely in the opening, and held up her hand to
impose silence.

"Are
you men, that you can come thus to force yourselves upon the privacy of a
female? Is there nothing in the town or house, that you must intrude in numbers
into a private apartment? Is no place sacred from you?"

"But,
ma'am—miss—we only want Varney, the vampyre."

"And
can you find him nowhere but in a female's bedroom? Shame on you! shame on you!
Have you no sisters, wives, or mothers, that you act thus?"

"He's
not there, you may be sure of that, Jack," said a gruff voice. "Let
the lady be in quiet; she's had quite enough trouble with him to sicken her of
a vampyre. You may be sure that's the last place to find him in."