The Penny Dreadfuls MEGAPACK™ (129 page)

“Then may I presume upon your courtesy so far as to beg that you will enlighten me upon the object of your visit!”

“Yes; in pretty quick time. Just tell me where you have stowed away my nephew, Charles Holland?”

“Really, I—”

“Hold your slack, will you, and hear me out; if he’s living, let him out, and I’ll say no more about it; that’s liberal, you know; it ain’t terms everybody would offer you.”

“I must, in truth, admit they are not; and, moreover, they quite surprise even me, and I have learned not to be surprised at almost anything.”

“Well, will you give him up alive? but, hark ye, you mustn’t have made very queer fish of him, do ye see?”

“I hear you,” said Sir Francis, with a bland smile, passing one hand gently over the other, and showing his front teeth in a peculiar manner; “but I really cannot comprehend all this; but I may say, generally, that Mr. Holland is no acquaintance of mine, and I have no sort of knowledge where he may be.”

“That won’t do for me,” said the admiral, positively, shaking his head.

“I am particularly sorry, Admiral Bell, that it will not, seeing that I have nothing else to say.”

“I see how it is; you’ve put him out of the way, and I’m damned if you shan’t bring him to life, whole and sound, or I’ll know the reason why.”

“With that I have already furnished you, Admiral Bell,” quietly rejoined Varney; “anything more on that head is out of my power, though my willingness to oblige a person of such consideration as yourself, is very great; but, permit me to add, this is a very strange and odd communication from one gentleman to another. You have lost a relative, who has, very probably, taken some offence, or some notion into his head, of which nobody but himself knows anything, and you come to one yet more unlikely to know anything of him, than even yourself.

“Gammon again, now, Sir Francis Varney, or Blarney.”

“Varney, if you please, Admiral Bell; I was christened Varney.”

“Christened, eh?”

“Yes, christened—were you not christened? If not, I dare say you understand the ceremony well enough.”

“I should think I did; but, as for christening, a—”

“Go on, sir.”

“A vampire! why I should as soon think of reading the burial service of a pig.”

“Very possible; but what has all this to do with your visit to me?”

“This much, you lubber. Now, damn my carcass from head to stern, if I don’t call you out.”

“Well, Admiral Bell,” slid Varney, mildly, “in that case, I suppose I must come out; but why do you insist that I have any knowledge of your nephew, Mr. Charles Holland?”

“You were to have fought a duel with him, and now he’s gone.”

“I am here,” said Varney.

“Ay,” said the admiral, “that’s as plain as a purser’s shirt upon a handspike; but that’s the very reason why my nevey ain’t here, and that’s all about it.”

“And that’s marvellous little, so far as the sense is concerned,” said Varney, without the movement of a muscle.

“It is said that people of your class don’t like fighting mortal men; now you have disposed of him, lest he should dispose of you.”

“That is explicit, but it is to no purpose, since the gentleman in question hasn’t placed himself at my disposal.”

“Then, damn me, I will; fish, flesh, or fowl, I don’t care; all’s one to Admiral Bell. Come fair or fowl, I’m a tar for all men; a seaman ever ready to face a foe, so here goes, you lubberly moon manufactured calf.”

“I hear, admiral, but it is scarcely civil, to say the least of it; however, as you are somewhat eccentric, and do not, I dare say, mean all your words imply, I am quite willing to make every allowance.”

“I don’t want any allowance; damn you and your allowance, too; nothing but allowance of grog, and a pretty good allowance, too, will do for me, and tell you, Sir Francis Varney,” said the admiral, with much wrath, “that you are a damned lubberly hound, and I’ll fight you; yes, I’m ready to hammer away, or with anything from a pop-gun to a ship’s gun; you don’t come over me with your gammon, I tell you. You’ve murdered Charles Holland because you couldn’t face him—that’s the truth of it.”

“With the other part of your speech, Admiral Bell, allow me to say, you have mixed up a serious accusation—one I cannot permit to pass lightly.”

“Will you or not fight?”

“Oh, yes; I shall be happy to serve you any way that I can. I hope this will be an answer to your accusation, also.”

“That’s settled, then.”

“Why, I am not captious, Admiral Bell, but it is not generally usual for the principals to settle the preliminaries themselves; doubtless you, in your career of fame and glory, know something of the manner in which gentlemen demean themselves on these occasions.”

“Oh, damn you! Yes, I’ll send some one to do all this. Yes, yes, Jack Pringle will be the man, though Jack ain’t a holiday, shore-going, smooth-spoken swab, but as good a seaman as ever trod deck or handled a boarding-pike.”

“Any friend of yours,” said Varney, blandly, “will be received and treated as such upon an errand of such consequence; and now our conference has, I presume, concluded.”

“Yes, yes, I’ve done—damn me, no—yes—no. I will keel-haul you but I’ll know something of my neavy, Charles Holland.”

“Good day, Admiral Bell.” As Varney spoke, he placed his hand upon the bell which he had near him, to summon an attendant to conduct the admiral out. The latter, who had said a vast deal more than he ever intended, left the room in a great rage, protesting to himself that he would amply avenge his nephew, Charles Holland.

He proceeded homeward, considerably vexed and annoyed that he had been treated with so much calmness, and all knowledge of his nephew denied.

When he got back, he quarrelled heartily with Jack Pringle—made it up—drank grog—quarrelled—made it up, and finished with grog again—until he went to bed swearing he should like to fire a broadside at the whole of the French army, and annihilate it at once.

With this wish, he fell asleep.

Early next morning, Henry Bannerworth sought Mr. Chillingworth, and having found him, he said in a serious tone—

“Mr. Chillingworth, I have rather a serious favour to ask you, and one which you may hesitate in granting.”

“It must be very serious indeed,” said Mr. Chillingworth, “that I should hesitate to grant it to you; but pray inform me what it is that you deem so serious?”

“Sir Francis Varney and I must have a meeting,” said Henry.

“Have you really determined upon such a course?” said Mr. Chillingworth; “you know the character of your adversary?”

“That is all settled—I have given a challenge, and he has accepted it; so all other considerations verge themselves into one—and that is the when, where, and how.”

“I see,” said Mr. Chillingworth. “Well, since it cannot be helped on your part, I will do what is requisite for you—do you wish anything to be done or insisted on in particular in this affair.”

“Nothing with regard to Sir Francis Varney that I may not leave to your discretion. I feel convinced that he is the assassin of Charles Holland, whom he feared to fight in duel.”

“Then there remains but little else to do, but to arrange preliminaries, I believe. Are you prepared on every other point?”

“I am—you will see that I am the challenger, and that he must now fight. What accident may turn up to save him, I fear not, but sure I am, that he will endeavour to take every advantage that may arise, and so escape the encounter.”

“And what do you imagine he will do now he has accepted your challenge?” said Mr. Chillingworth; “one would imagine he could not very well escape.”

“No—but he accepted the challenge which Charles Holland sent him—a duel was inevitable, and it seems to me to be a necessary consequence that he disappeared from amongst us, for Mr. Holland would never have shrunk from the encounter.”

“There can be no sort of suspicion about that,” remarked Chillingworth; “but allow me to advise you that you take care of yourself, and keep a watchful eye upon every one—do not be seen out alone.”

“I fear not.”

“Nay, the gentleman who has disappeared was, I am sure, fearless enough; but yet that has not saved him. I would not advise you to be fearful, only watchful; you have now an event awaiting upon you, which it is well you should go through with, unless circumstances should so turn out, that it is needless; therefore I say, when you have the suspicions you do entertain of this man’s conduct, beware, be cautious, and vigilant.”

“I will do so—in the mean time, I trust myself confidently in your hands—you know all that is necessary.”

“This affair is quite a secret from all of the family?”

“Most certainly so, and will remain so—I shall be at the Hall.”

“And there I will see you—but be careful not to be drawn into any adventure of any kind—it is best to be on the safe side under all circumstances.”

“I will be especially careful, be assured, but farewell; see Sir Francis Varney as early as you can, and let the meeting be as early as you can, and thus diminish the chance of accident.”

“That I will attend to. Farewell for the present.”

Mr. Chillingworth immediately set about the conducting of the affair thus confided to him; and that no time might be lost, he determined to set out at once for Sir Francis Varney’s residence.

“Things with regard to this family seem to have gone on wild of late,” thought Mr. Chillingworth; “this may bring affairs to a conclusion, though I had much rather they had come to some other. My life for it, there is a juggle or a mystery somewhere; I will do this, and then we shall see what will come of it; if this Sir Francis Varney meets him—and at this moment I can see no reason why he should not do so—it will tend much to deprive him of the mystery about him; but if, on the other hand, he refuse—but then that’s all improbable, because he has agreed to do so. I fear, however, that such a man as Varney is a dreadful enemy to encounter—he is cool and unruffled—and that gives him all the advantage in such affairs; but Henry’s nerves are not bad, though shaken by these untowards events; but time will show—I would it were all over.”

With these thoughts and feelings strangely intermixed, Mr. Chillingworth set forward for Sir Francis Varney’s house.

* * * *

Admiral Bell slept soundly enough though, towards morning, he fell into a strange dream, and thought he was yard arm and yard arm with a strange fish—something of the mermaid species.

“Well,” exclaimed the admiral, after a customary benediction of his eyes and limbs, “what’s to come next? may I be spliced to a shark if I understand what this is all about. I had some grog last night, but then grog, d’y’see, is—is—a seaman’s native element, as the newspapers say, though I never read ’em now, it’s such a plague.”

He lay quiet for a short time, considering in his own mind what was best to he done, and what was the proper course to pursue, and why he should dream.

“Hilloa, hilloa, hil—loa! Jack a-hoy! a-hoy!” shouted the admiral, as a sudden recollection of his challenge came across his memory; “Jack Pringle a-hoy? damn you, where are you?—you’re never at hand when you are wanted. Oh, you lubber—a-hoy!”

“A-hoy!” shouted a voice, as the door opened, and Jack thrust his head in; “what cheer, messmate? what ship is this?”

“Oh, you lubberly—”

The door was shut in a minute, and Jack Pringle disappeared.

“Hilloa, Jack Pringle, you don’t mean to say you’ll desert your colours, do you, you dumb dog?”

“Who says I’ll desert the ship as she’s sea-worthy!”

“Then why do you go away?”

“Because I won’t be called lubberly. I’m as good a man as ever swabbed a deck, and don’t care who says to the contrary. I’ll stick to the ship as long as she’s seaworthy,” said Jack.

“Well, come here, and just listen to the log, and be damned to you.”

“What’s the orders now, admiral?” said Jack, “though, as we are paid off—”

“There, take that, will you?” said Admiral Bell, as he flung a pillow at Jack, being the only thing in the shape of a missile within reach.

Jack ducked, and the pillow produced a clatter in the washhand-stand among the crockery, as Jack said—

“There’s a mutiny in the ship, and hark how the cargo clatters; will you have it back again?”

“Come, will you? I’ve been dreaming, Jack.”

“Dreaming! what’s that?”

“Thinking of something when you are asleep, you swab.”

“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Jack; “never did such a thing in my life—ha, ha, ha! what’s the matter now?”

“I’ll tell you what’s the matter. Jack Pringle, you are becoming mutinous, and I won’t have it; if you don’t hold your jaw and draw in your slacks, I’ll have another second.”

“Another second! what’s in the wind, now?” said Jack. “Is this the dream?”

“If ever I dream when I’m alongside a strange craft, then it is a dream; but old Admiral Bell ain’t the man to sleep when there’s any work to be done.”

“That’s uncommon true,” said Jack, turning a quid.

“Well, then, I’m going to fight.”

“Fight!” exclaimed Jack. “Avast, there, I don’t see where’s the enemy—none o’ that gammon; Jack Pringle can fight, too, and will lay alongside his admiral, but he don’t see the enemy anywhere.”

“You don’t understand these things, so I’ll tell you. I have had a bit of talk with Sir Francis Varney, and I am going to fight him.”

“What the
wamphigher
?” remarked Jack, parenthetically.

“Yes.”

“Well, then,” resumed Jack, “then we shall see another blaze, at least afore we die; but he’s an odd fish—one of Davy Jones’s sort.”

“I don’t care about that; he may be anything he likes; but Admiral Bell ain’t a-going to have his nephew burned and eaten, and sucked like I don’t know what, by a vampire, or by any other confounded land-shark.”

“In course,” said Jack, “we ain’t a-going to put up with nothing of that sort, and if so be as how he has put him out of the way, why it’s our duty to send him after him, and square the board.”

“That’s the thing, Jack; now you know you must go to Sir Francis Varney and tell him you come from me.”

“I don’t care if I goes on my own account,” said Jack.