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) (71 page)

"What—what?"

"Where
is your ancestor buried?"

"Ah!
I understand you now."

"And
I," said Mr. Chillingworth; "you would propose a visit to his
mansion?"

"I
would," added Marchdale; "anything that may in any way tend to assist
in making this affair clearer, and divesting it of its mysterious
circumstances, will be most desirable."

Henry
appeared to rouse for some moments and then he said,—

"He,
in common with many other members of the family, no doubt occupies place in the
vault under the old church in the village."

"Would
it be possible," asked Marchdale, "to get into that vault without
exciting general attention?"

"It
would," said Henry; "the entrance to the vault is in the flooring of
the pew which belongs to the family in the old church."

"Then
it could be done?" asked Mr. Chillingworth.

"Most
undoubtedly."

"Will
you under take such an adventure?" said Mr. Chillingworth. "It may
ease your mind."

"He
was buried in the vault, and in his clothes," said Henry, musingly;
"I will think of it. About such a proposition I would not decide hastily.
Give me leave to think of it until to-morrow."

"Most
certainly."

They
now made their way to the chamber of Flora, and they heard from George that
nothing of an alarming character had occurred to disturb him on his lonely
watch. The morning was now again dawning, and Henry earnestly entreated Mr.
Marchdale to go to bed, which he did, leaving the two brothers to continue as
sentinels by Flora's bed side, until the morning light should banish all uneasy
thoughts.

Henry
related to George what had taken place outside the house, and the two brothers
held a long and interesting conversation for some hours upon that subject, as
well as upon others of great importance to their welfare. It was not until the
sun's early rays came glaring in at the casement that they both rose, and
thought of awakening Flora, who had now slept soundly for so many hours.

A GLANCE AT THE BANNERWORTH FAMILY.—THE PROBABLE
CONSEQUENCES OF THE MYSTERIOUS APPARITION'S APPEARANCE.

Having
thus far, we hope, interested our readers in the fortunes of a family which had
become subject to so dreadful a visitation, we trust that a few words
concerning them, and the peculiar circumstances in which they are now placed,
will not prove altogether out of place, or unacceptable. The Bannerworth family
then were well known in the part of the country where they resided. Perhaps, if
we were to say they were better known by name than they were liked, on account
of that name, we should be near the truth, for it had unfortunately happened
that for a very considerable time past the head of the family had been the very
worst specimen of it that could be procured. While the junior branches were
frequently amiable and most intelligent, and such in mind and manner as were
calculated to inspire goodwill in all who knew them, he who held the family
property, and who resided in the house now occupied by Flora and her brothers,
was a very so—so sort of character.

This
state of things, by some strange fatality, had gone on for nearly a hundred
years, and the consequence was what might have been fairly expected,
namely—that, what with their vices and what with their extravagances, the
successive heads of the Bannerworth family had succeeded in so far diminishing
the family property that, when it came into the hands of Henry Bannerworth, it
was of little value, on account of the numerous encumbrances with which it was
saddled.

The
father of Henry had not been a very brilliant exception to the general rule, as
regarded the head of the family. If he were not quite so bad as many of his
ancestors, that gratifying circumstance was to be accounted for by the
supposition that he was not quite so bold, and that the change in habits,
manners, and laws, which had taken place in a hundred years, made it not so
easy for even a landed proprietor to play the petty tyrant.

He
had, to get rid of those animal spirits which had prompted many of his
predecessors to downright crimes, had recourse to the gaming-table, and, after
raising whatever sums he could upon the property which remained, he naturally,
and as might have been fully expected, lost them all.

He
was found lying dead in the garden of the house one day, and by his side was
his pocket-book, on one leaf of which, it was the impression of the family, he
had endeavoured to write something previous to his decease, for he held a
pencil firmly in his grasp.

The
probability was that he had felt himself getting ill, and, being desirous of
making some communication to his family which pressed heavily upon his mind, he
had attempted to do so, but was stopped by the too rapid approach of the hand
of death.

For
some days previous to his decease, his conduct had been extremely mysterious.
He had announced an intention of leaving England for ever—of selling the house
and grounds for whatever they would fetch over and above the sums for which
they were mortgaged, and so clearing himself of all encumbrances.

He
had, but a few hours before he was found lying dead, made the following
singular speech to Henry,—

"Do
not regret, Henry, that the old house which has been in our family so long is
about to be parted with. Be assured that, if it is but for the first time in my
life, I have good and substantial reasons now for what I am about to do. We
shall be able to go some other country, and there live like princes of the
land."

Where
the means were to come from to live like a prince, unless Mr. Bannerworth had
some of the German princes in his eye, no one knew but himself, and his sudden
death buried with him that most important secret.

There
were some words written on the leaf of his pocket-book, but they were of by far
too indistinct and ambiguous a nature to lead to anything. They were these:—

"The
money is —————"

And
then there was a long scrawl of the pencil, which seemed to have been
occasioned by his sudden decease.

Of
course nothing could be made of these words, except in the way of a
contradiction as the family lawyer said, rather more facetiously than a man of
law usually speaks, for if he had written "The money is not," he
would have been somewhere remarkably near the truth.

However,
with all his vices he was regretted by his children, who chose rather to
remember him in his best aspect than to dwell upon his faults.

For
the first time then, within the memory of man, the head of the family of the
Bannerworths was a gentleman, in every sense of the word. Brave, generous,
highly educated, and full of many excellent and noble qualities—for such was
Henry, whom we have introduced to our readers under such distressing
circumstances.

And
now, people said, that the family property having been all dissipated and lost,
there would take place a change, and that the Bannerworths would have to take
to some course of honourable industry for a livelihood, and that then they
would be as much respected as they had before been detested and disliked.

Indeed,
the position which Henry held was now a most precarious one—for one of the
amazingly clever acts of his father had been to encumber the property with
overwhelming claims, so that when Henry administered to the estate, it was
doubted almost by his attorney if it were at all desirable to do so.

An
attachment, however, to the old house of his family, had induced the young man
to hold possession of it as long as he could, despite any adverse circumstance
which might eventually be connected with it.

Some
weeks, however, only after the decease of his father, and when he fairly held
possession, a sudden and a most unexpected offer came to him from a solicitor
in London, of whom he knew nothing, to purchase the house and grounds, for a
client of his, who had instructed him so to do, but whom he did not mention.

The
offer made was a liberal one, and beyond the value of the place. The lawyer who
had conducted Henry's affairs for him since his father's decease, advised him
by all means to take it; but after a consultation with his mother and sister,
and George, they all resolved to hold by their own house as long as they could,
and, consequently, he refused the offer.

He
was then asked to let the place, and to name his own price for the occupation
of it; but that he would not do: so the negotiation went off altogether,
leaving only, in the minds of the family, much surprise at the exceeding
eagerness of some one, whom they knew not, to get possession of the place on
any terms.

There
was another circumstance perhaps which materially aided in producing a strong
feeling on the minds of the Bannerworths, with regard to remaining where they
were.

That
circumstance occurred thus: a relation of the family, who was now dead, and
with whom had died all his means, had been in the habit, for the last half
dozen years of his life, of sending a hundred pounds to Henry, for the express
purpose of enabling him and his brother George and his sifter Flora to take a
little continental or home tour, in the autumn of the year.

A
more acceptable present, or for a more delightful purpose, to young people,
could not be found; and, with the quiet, prudent habits of all three of them,
they contrived to go far and to see much for the sum which was thus handsomely
placed at their disposal.

In
one of those excursions, when among the mountains of Italy, an adventure
occurred which placed the life of Flora in imminent hazard.

They
were riding along a narrow mountain path, and, her horse slipping, she fell
over the ledge of a precipice.

In an
instant, a young man, a stranger to the whole party, who was travelling in the
vicinity, rushed to the spot, and by his knowledge and exertions, they felt
convinced her preservation was effected.

He
told her to lie quiet; he encouraged her to hope for immediate succour; and
then, with much personal exertion, and at immense risk to himself, he reached
the ledge of rock on which she lay, and then he supported her until the brothers
had gone to a neighbouring house, which, bye-the-bye, was two good English
miles off, and got assistance.

There
came on, while they were gone, a terrific storm, and Flora felt that but for
him who was with her she must have been hurled from the rock, and perished in
an abyss below, which was almost too deep for observation.

Suffice
it to say that she was rescued; and he who had, by his intrepidity, done so
much towards saving her, was loaded with the most sincere and heartfelt
acknowledgments by the brothers as well as by herself.

He
frankly told them that his name was Holland; that he was travelling for
amusement and instruction, and was by profession an artist.

He
travelled with them for some time; and it was not at all to be wondered at,
under the circumstances, that an attachment of the tenderest nature should
spring up between him and the beautiful girl, who felt that she owed to him her
life.

Mutual
glances of affection were exchanged between them, and it was arranged that when
he returned to England, he should come at once as an honoured guest to the
house of the family of the Bannerworths.

All
this was settled satisfactorily with the full knowledge and acquiescence of the
two brothers, who had taken a strange attachment to the young Charles Holland,
who was indeed in every way likely to propitiate the good opinion of all who
knew him.

Henry
explained to him exactly how they were situated, and told him that when he came
he would find a welcome from all, except possibly his father, whose wayward
temper he could not answer for.

Young
Holland stated that he was compelled to be away for a term of two years, from
certain family arrangements he had entered into, and that then he would return
and hope to meet Flora unchanged as he should be.

It
happened that this was the last of the continental excursions of the
Bannerworths, for, before another year rolled round, the generous relative who
had supplied them with the means of making such delightful trips was no more;
and, likewise, the death of the father had occurred in the manner we have
related, so that there was no chance as had been anticipated and hoped for by
Flora, of meeting Charles Holland on the continent again, before his two years
of absence from England should be expired.

Such,
however, being the state of things, Flora felt reluctant to give up the house,
where he would be sure to come to look for her, and her happiness was too dear
to Henry to induce him to make any sacrifice of it to expediency.

Therefore
was it that Bannerworth Hall, as it was sometimes called, was retained, and
fully intended to be retained at all events until after Charles Holland had
made his appearance, and his advice (for he was, by the young people,
considered as one of the family) taken, with regard to what was advisable to be
done.

With
one exception this was the state of affairs at the hall, and that exception
relates to Mr. Marchdale.

He
was a distant relation of Mrs. Bannerworth, and, in early life, had been
sincerely and tenderly attached to her. She, however, with the want of steady
reflection of a young girl, as she then was, had, as is generally the case
among several admirers, chosen the very worst: that is, the man who treated her
with the most indifference, and who paid her the least attention, was of
course, thought the most of, and she gave her hand to him.

That
man was Mr. Bannerworth. But future experience had made her thoroughly awake to
her former error; and, but for the love she bore her children, who were
certainly all that a mother's heart could wish, she would often have deeply
regretted the infatuation which had induced her to bestow her hand in the
quarter she had done so.

About
a month after the decease of Mr. Bannerworth, there came one to the hall, who
desired to see the widow. That one was Mr. Marchdale.

It
might have been some slight tenderness towards him which had never left her, or
it might be the pleasure merely of seeing one whom she had known intimately in
early life, but, be that as it may, she certainly gave him a kindly welcome;
and he, after consenting to remain for some time as a visitor at the hall, won
the esteem of the whole family by his frank demeanour and cultivated intellect.

He
had travelled much and seen much, and he had turned to good account all he had
seen, so that not only was Mr. Marchdale a man of sterling sound sense, but he
was a most entertaining companion.

His
intimate knowledge of many things concerning which they knew little or nothing;
his accurate modes of thought, and a quiet, gentlemanly demeanour, such as is
rarely to be met with, combined to make him esteemed by the Bannerworths. He
had a small independence of his own, and being completely alone in the world,
for he had neither wife nor child, Marchdale owned that he felt a pleasure in
residing with the Bannerworths.

Of
course he could not, in decent terms, so far offend them as to offer to pay for
his subsistence, but he took good care that they should really be no losers by
having him as an inmate, a matter which he could easily arrange by little
presents of one kind and another, all of which he managed should be such as
were not only ornamental, but actually spared his kind entertainers some
positive expense which otherwise they must have gone to.